Chronicles of Growing Courage

Following Jesus amidst the tombs

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 00:56:00 +0000

This weekend I worked an adventure camp with kids who come from notoriously bad neighborhoods in L.A. I always enjoy these camps, because I essentially get paid to hang out with kids and do fun things with them. The part that is always difficult, however, is hearing their stories of the tremendous obstacles they face in life.

One obviously intelligent and creative 16 year old boy, allowing himself to dream a little, was telling me what he hoped to do when he got older. Just as quickly as his face lit up, however, did the sparkle die out as he lowered his voice to tell me that he knew this would never happened since he did not have "papers". His parents had brought him into the States when he was 3, and he knew the difficulty of receiving his documents. "I'll probably just end up doing nothing," he told me quietly.

Another girl sobbed out pent up pain with me outside in the freezing mist while the rest of the group was involved in a "conversation circle" inside. It seemed to me that her pain came just as much as from a profound sense of isolation as the hurt caused by being abandoned by her father and difficulty with her mother.

Hearing these stories reminds me that I do not enjoy feeling my own pain, not to mention other people's pain. The temptation to isolate myself from others' pain is a powerful and potent force. The day I got back from camp, however, I read the story of Jesus and the Gerasene demoniac. It struck me that Jesus seemed to have gone there for the sole purpose of meeting with this naked man who lived among the tombs. Assaulted by the demonic, this man was surrounded by the scent of death, yet Jesus walked in the midst of this. In view of my visceral reaction to pain, I have no doubt that I would have been hiding behind one of the tombs during the interaction between Jesus and the demoniac.

To follow Jesus, I have to follow him amidst the tombs. These kids are assaulted by those same forces that were in that ancient graveyard, forces that are attempting to destroy their lives, to bring them to a point of hopelessness and resignation at the prospect of things ever being different. To follow Jesus, I have to be present with them, to be able to squarely look at and try to understand their reality. This means really listening to their stories and allowing myself to be affected by their pain. Perhaps this allows me to bear a small bit of their burden, even for that moment that they are telling me their story.

Spinal Tap: Part 2 "Normal or just plain fishy?"

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sun, 10 May 2009 03:13:00 +0000

Dr. Ray Pevey is a strange man. Sometimes he seems borderline normal, but other times it seems that he pushes some kind of button and goes into an "auto-mode" chiropractic sales pitch.

Being as I had never had any chiropractic experience before, I tried to keep an open mind throughout the experience, although some parts of it made me a little uneasy. The office was one of those "used-to-be-house" type places decorated in a hunter green with pink accents. However, there was a front waiting room and a receptionist who seemed refreshingly normal.

As I was waiting for my appointment, I picked up a big binder with raving patient testimonials...the problem was most that of them were for a "Dr. Hess". Of the 4 or 5 that were singing Dr. Pevey's praises, one had a line that made me shudder: "It took 3 electric shock treatments before Dr. Pevey could even start working on my shoulder...." Electric shock treatments?

First, I was forced to watch a propagandaish video that detailed the entire educational process for chiropractors, narrated by a polite woman's voice that frequently assured me: "Your chiropractor is well-educated". Finally, Dr. Pevey sailed in to get me started. I was a little taken aback when he instructed me to take off my clothes and put on a hospital-type gown with Velcro in the back. After he left, I stared at the gown for a couple of minutes. "I wasn't expecting this," I thought. "What are my options here?" I opened the door just slightly and peered out into the hallway where I saw another patient clad in blue gown following another doctor (probably Hess..the guy with the fan club) down the hallway. "Okay," I thought. "So it is not just me...I guess it is standard procedure. My chiropractor is well-educated."

I donned the gown and then went through a series of tests and x-rays. Nothing bad happened, but I was mortified when I also had to walk down the hall in my gown of the "used-to-be-house" to the x-ray room. "Oh, Melody," Dr. Pevey boomed in a rather loud voice. "I'm really glad you came in, I think you came in just in time before some of your issues go too far down the line."

At the end, Dr. Pevey informed me that he had to "carefully analyze all the data" to come up with conclusive, comprehensive answers and recommendations and told me to come in the next week for the results. In retrospect, it wasn't too bad....except when I told my roommate about it (who has been to many chiropractors)and she said she never had to do most of that stuff. Hmmmmmmm......

Spinal Tap

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sat, 02 May 2009 02:18:00 +0000

We who live on the financial edge are drawn to the word "FREE" like an overheated dog to a pool of water. And so I found my legs heading over to the sign with said word at the Monrovia Street Fair.

"Mmmmm, " I thought as I saw the sign that read: Free Spinal Screening. I pictured a mealy-mouthed man with slicked-back greasy hair running his fingers down my spine. I kept walking past the booth.

"But when will I have another opportunity to get a spinal screening?" I thought. "I mean, I have been having trouble with my knee and foot." One minute later, I found myself in front of the smiley woman with the clipboard.

Initially, I was very suspicious of Dr. Ray Pevey who looked like an ex-body builder gone doctor. "A little too polished," I thought, "for someone who has biceps that big".

However, he conducted himself with utmost courtesy and validated my own suspicions: my pelvis looked to be out of alignment. He then offered me a fantastic deal...a full screening at his clinic that was regularly $195 for only $20! My suspicions were slightly alerted again when he mentioned "neurological testing" as one of the many tests they do (perhaps I am just chiropracticaly ignorant, but what do neurology tests have to do with your posture?) But somehow, before I knew it, I was signing up for the series of tests for next Friday. Although I have been known to be suckered before, Dr. Pevey does have a real business card and his smiley receptionist gave me a receipt, so it MUST be okay, right? After all, I can always flee the premises if it turns out to be a shady deal. Misaligned pelvis or not, I feel confident I can outrun Dr. Pevey with those big biceps weighing him down. What a great deal!

Tales from the Coffee Kiosk

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 01:09:00 +0000

I'm not really sure why I stopped writing over this quarter. It certainly wasn't for a lack of material; oh, the stories I could tell of crazy cat women, meeting Tony Blair, learning about the daily life of the homeless, falling out of windows in an attempt to rescue a cat(no, I am not in the "crazy cat women" category!), and so much more.... I will begin, however, with a story that moved me deeply of a homeless man name John.

I now work at a coffee kiosk outside of a public library. I was previously unaware of the centrality of a public library in the lives of many people: it is used it as a home, a warm, resting place, and a community center. The first thing that I noticed about John was that his nose had a black, cancerous looking growth spreading across it. Polite and quiet, his body held the posture of weathered survival. He would pay with change for a cup of coffee once a day. Apparently, he had lived in the apartments behind the library, living off of his social security check until the always-increasing rent forced him out on the streets, where he used his social security check to try to make food last for the month.

One day, one of our "dailies", a lawyer who worked across the street, began to slip us money for John so that he could have something to eat and drink when his social security ran out for the month. I felt sick to my stomach when one afternoon John came out of the library, pondering the kiosk's food selection, and decided on a scone for dinner because he felt that it would be the most filling. The most astonishing thing, however, was John's presence when he learned of his "special funds" we kept stashed in the cash register. His body, once bent over, stood straighter, his shoulders were back, he looked me in the eye, and would strike up a conversation with me. I was astonished at this change and mused over its ramifications with my boss.

"I think he felt that someone actually cared about him, and that made the difference, " he said. My boss, who seems to be part business owner, part counselor, part social worker for all the people who come into his coffee zone, took it upon himself to locate a place where John could have a bed for awhile. It warms my heart to see John come visit now after a good night's sleep in a warm place. "I won't be coming in tomorrow morning, " he told me the other day, "I think I'm going to relax and sleep in tomorrow!" What a potent reminder of the transformative power of love in action!

Eyes of hope

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 19:44:00 +0000

These two pictures show myself with two Serb teenagers who just graduated high school and one Albanian who also just graduated. Of course, they went to separate high schools, but they do know each other through the Summer English School that the missionaries here run at the community center. Through this summer program, these teenagers have broken down some walls, become friendly with each other, and will even greet each other on the street.

Roza, the Albanian, related an incident that happened a few months ago. She was walking down the street when she saw Elena, the Serbian, across the street. Roza greeted her and Elena returned the greeting. The group of Serb teenagers that were standing next to Elena said: "Don't talk to her...she's Albanian!" Elena replied: "She's my friend!" Although their friendship does not extend beyond greeting, I believe this is a significantly hopeful story.

The Serbian teenagers were extremely guarded about what they said to me regarding the situation and expressed little hope that anything would change. In fact, "uncertainty" would be a word to describe the state of the Serbians here.. . many are half-expecting to have to move to Serbia. Ironically, although Serbia is vying for Kosovo, Kosovite Serbs are not exactly welcomed to Serbia, being seen as "country cousins".

Roza, on the other hand, was full of optimism and hope about the future, wanting to build relationships and leave the past in the past even though her family had endured many hardships at the hands of the Serb soldiers. Even those that express this hope for the future, however, cannot practically relate how these relationships could be formed between the two groups.

I myself felt tremendous hope as I looked in the eyes of these young woman who were setting off to university. Despite difficult situations, there is an expectancy and enthusiasm that spills out of them, and in their eyes I saw the secret dreams and hopes that are so wonderfully bound up in youth. Hope, I believe, is a grace from God because it allows people to move through the rubble of broken lives towards the kingdom.

Albanian Hospitality: A night of tea(copious amounts) and talking

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 22:05:00 +0000

Amhad and Habbibba live with their 3 children in two small rooms in the small town of Lipje, where I am staying for several nights. I accompanied a young missionary couple on their visit to this family as my first experience interacting with some Albanians. I was met with warmth and friendliness, and I was amused to see their young son greet me in a miniature U.S. army uniform. Albanian Kosovites love Americans because of the NATO bombing, seeing us as their liberators. They celebrate July 4th and jokingly state the adage: God first, America second. Kosovite Serbs, on the other hand, have exactly the opposite feelings towards Americans for exactly the opposite reasons.

With one eye on the conversation and the other eye on my Turkish-style tea glass to ensure that I was drinking at a similar pace as everyone else, I found myself drawn into Amhad’s passionate views on Kosovo. “Nobody wants to speak the truth here, “ he claims. People shut their eyes to the truth of all the corruption, the mafia, the humanitarian aid that is being exploited for the rich….people are too afraid to speak the truth because you might compromise your relationships with people. And besides, most people play along with the corruption. They may not get even half of the aid they are supposed to get, but at least they get some if they keep their mouths shut.” He proceeded to tell me about last winter, when there was no wood for the stoves at his kids' school. Since the winter before had been mild, the municipality had pocketed the money designated for school fuel. Consequently, the kids were suffering through below 0 temperatures at school. Amhad tried to rally the parents to demand fuel, but no one wanted to raise any trouble. Eventually, Amhad went down to the president of the munincipality and demanded that either he take action or Amhad would go to the media. The next day, a truckload of wood appeared at the school.

By this point in the conversation, I had already drank 5 cups of the tea, and there was no end in sight. I asked Amhad if he believed peace could exist between the Kosovite Serbs and the Kosovite Albanians, since most towns were completely segregated(even the schools) and mistrust and hatred for the other are rampant. Amhad declared that people needed to decide to see the other as a person and not disregard them for their ethnicity. He said there needed to be an increase in morality. He said that if justice came to deal with the corruption, the economic situation improved, if people had jobs, then it would be easier to live in peace once more. Amhad himself has not worked since the war: 12+ years ago. In fact, he turned down a job as a border guard because he would have had to participate in corruption. "I may not have money, " he said, "but I am clean. Someday they will have to answer for every penny they take."

After 2.5 hours of conversation and swimming in a stomach-full of tea, we took our leave amidst warm handshakes and their promises to make me Amhad's famous Swiss coffee were I to visit again before I left the country.

Albanian hospitality is equivalent to the Serbian hospitality I experienced. However, they are divided by language, religion, and a bloody past. Both sides have committed ethnic cleansings, although history is viewed through only one lens in each respective group. If the children remain segregated, learning about the other in terms of mistrust and hatred, I fear for this new country. I would guess most ordinary people, like many others I have met in the Balkans, only want to live their lives in peace, being able to provide for their families. However, it seems that the way to peace is impassable by the fierce rivers of an unresolved past.

P.S. For those concerned with my previous dire post, the next day in Belgrade was much better. That lady made some more time for me and I got to ride on a green scooter next to the river. Who can ask for more?

Wilting in Beograd

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 08:16:00 +0000

Yesterday I hit a wall; in fact, if it hadn't been for the kind painter, the cafe waiter, and Ratko, I think I might have had a complete meltdown. It's been very hot here in Beograd, Serbia--close to a 100 with humidity. Yesterday I had two appointments scheduled, and the first lady was supposed to drop me off at my next appointment. We were supposed to meet each other in front of a massive hotel; so, I walked around this hotel about three times looking for her.

I was baking in the heat, drenched in sweat, and feeling extremely miserable because there was no pay phone around and I was in a completely different part of Belgrade than I was used to. I had a map, but having a map is not exactly helpful in Belgrade. Why? Because even though Serbian is almost the same as Croatian and Bosnian, they write it with the Cyrillic alphabet. In other words, when you look at the map, you might see a street that looks like this: Lbjinka. When you look up at a street sign, you might see something like this: #@%#L*$. Well, not exactly, but the characters are about as foreign as that.

I finally tried to communicate with some painters that I needed a phone. After much wild hand gesticulating, a painter took me around the hotel again and took me down to a little cafe on the river. Talking animatedly, he seemed convinced that I would begin to understand him. I tried to smile and nod a lot, hoping I was agreeing at the right places in the conversation. He took me up above the cafe to the manager's office and the manager let me use his cell phone. When I found out that the lady had left the hotel at 12:15 after waiting for 15 minutes(because it was so hot). I felt the weight of a whole lot of factors pressing down on me: I did not have much sleep the night before because certain people in my hostel were not practicing good hostel etiquette, I didn't know where I was, this was a very important appointment, I lost my hostel bed for the night and had no place to stay, I was hungry, and the intensity of the heat..all these factors contributed to my incoming meltdown. I was so discouraged that I wanted to sit down and cry. I think the painter saw the look on my face and took me back down to the cafe where he told the cafe waiter to bring me a cold sprite. They wouldn't let me pay for it, and the painter left after shaking my hand.

After riding on a random bus for an hour, I finally was able to figure out how to get back to the main part of Beograd. Dirty, sweaty, hungry, thirsty, I stumbled into my next destination: a small humanitarian organization. I think I might have had a touch of heat exhaustion, so my head was spinning as I sank into the warm hospitality that Bread of Life offered me. I met Ratko, one of the Christians who worked there, and my day got a whole lot better. I related the story of my day to him, and he began giggling so hard that I also began to laugh.

When the sun went down, he gave me a little tour of different sites. He helped me take my luggage to the new hostel, and then took me out for a drink. We walked all over the city and enjoyed the nightlife and I tumbled into bed at 2 a.m. What a day!

My pilgrimage to the pilgrims of Medjugorje

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 21:00:00 +0000

I took a small side trip in Bosnia because Medjugorje has an interesting connection to not only Bosnia's war, but to Catholic pilgrims worldwide. And of course, I was just curious.

In 1981, Mary, mother of Jesus, allegedly began showing herself to six children on a hill above Medjugorje. On the third day of the apparitions, Mary gave the children a message of peace for the world: "Peace, peace, peace--and only peace! Peace must reign between God and man and between men!" Ten years later on the exact day of this message, the war broke out in Bosnia.

In the decades that followed, literally millions of people have come through to pray, talk to the visionaries, and perhaps to be a part of a supernatural experience. Now the village is overrun with people capitalizing on the history: stores and boothes abound selling statues, trinkets, and rosaries.

My particular experience took place on an extremely hot day. I trudged up to a Catholic community center where the Fransicians run AA programs. I was overrun by a large Irish group. "We've come to check out the site because someone is going to get a vision on Tuesday and we want to be here," they told me.

Later, I sat on "Apparition Hill" where Mary first appeared to the children. I was soon engulfed by a wave of Italians. They each took turns embracing Mary's statue and then began to pray through the entire rosary together. I listened to the hum of their murmured prayers for awhile before I started back to the village.

On my way back, I walked with two Scottish ladies with brogue so thick I could scarcely understand them. They were excited and glowing about their experience in Medjugorje, having been there multiple times. Christina told me of the special handkerchief she had dipped into the water flowing from a bronze statue of Jesus that is supposed to have healing qualities. "My friend has terminal cancer and I am bringing it back to her," she told me. They were lovely ladies, and as we were walking and chatting, Christina's phone rang. Betty and I continued talking as we waited for Christina. Suddenly, we saw her walking along the sidewalk, weeping. Her friend that she had just told me about had passed away. It was an immensely tragic moment, watching her move from hope and excitement to terrible grief. I offered my condolences and was quietly moving away when Betty slipped me 5 Euros and some Mary medallions. "I have a feeling you'll be back, " she whispered as she embraced and kissed me.

Waiting at the bus stop to go back, I met two young Germans who had come to Medjugorje for their honeymoon. Their eyes were sparkling and they were brimming with stories about the peace and hope they find when they come. "Why do you think Jesus Himself does not appear?" I asked them. "Well, perhaps because a man is more stern, and Mary is like a mother full of compassion and easier to know because she is a woman, " the man answered. "But isn't the New Testament full of stories about the tenderness and compassion of Jesus? I can think of no one that surpasses Him," I countered. A doubtful look crossed his face. "Well, maybe, but....anyway...." . Just then their bus pulled up and they shook my hand. "Go up to the mountain!" he said to me. "I will pray for you"!

It was truly a fascinating day, and I think what most poignantly stood out to me is this: People are hungry for God and want to be close to Him.

First Impressions of Bosnia: Part 2-Dinner in Sarajevo

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 21:16:00 +0000

"Can I sit here?" the man asked, standing over me while I was eating my lamb sandwich. "Sure," I said.

I was surprised to find out that the man was an Iraqi business man selling noodles in Bosnia(his biggest competitor is Ramen!). When he first told me he was Iraqi, I tensed up, but he actually grew up in Dubai and loves Americans.

"Americans, they are good people inside. You have a bad government sending all those soldiers over to Iraq to die, but American people are good. " He began to tell me of all his business ventures: his chicken farms, his hopes to buy land in Serbia and put Muslims to work, etc. I watched, fascinated, as he took gigantic bites of his greasy sandwich and continued to talk as if he did not have a small mountain in his mouth and occasional saliva dripping down to the table.

As he told me about his young wife and kids, we moved quickly into a civil disagreement after he stated his desire to take a second wife who was Bosnian. "I need a son with Arab and Bosnian blood to run this end of the business, " he told me. "How is your wife going to feel about this?" I asked him. Finally he stated: "What can she say? The Qu'ran allows it! Besides, is it better to have a girlfriend or a wife?" He looked expectantly for my answer, and since I was thinking with an American mind and he was thinking with an Arab Muslim mind, I had no response for him. We then moved on to arguing about whether it was better to keep it a secret from his wife or not. "It's better if she doesn't know so she won't get hurt; I love my wife very much!" He insisted. "How is she going to feel in 10 years when she finds out about your second family?" I answered.

In the end, we were joined by his Director from Bosnia, and they gave me their card and told me if I needed any help in Bosnia, to give them a call.

Note for the Reader: I certainly did not plan to get in this particular conversation nor would I particularly advise such a conversation on one's first night in a new country.

First Impressions in Bosnia: Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 20:42:00 +0000

I stepped off the train at dawn, feeling very alone as my feet touched Bosnian soil for the first time. I was supposed to meet a local pastor at 7:15, but it was only 5 o'clock, and Zenica isn't exactly a thriving metropolis at that hour. Wild dogs were skittering around the streets; one looked at me with a half-guarded, half hopeful look. When I spoke kindly to it, it ran up and began gleefully nipping my heels and wagging its tail. Word must have quickly spread in the wild-dog world, because as I began roaming the streets looking for a bank machine, all of a sudden there were three dogs following me.

Dario, a Bosnian pastor, picked me up for the church's daily 7:30 a.m. prayer service. He said he began it just with one other man, and every morning they walked around the city praying together. A couple of months ago, his church had grown to 30 people and 10-12 would show up to prayer in the mornings. Unfortunately, there is great tension between another evangelical church in town(there are actually only three Protestant churches for a population of 110,000), and Dario lost a lot of members. This particular morning, only one man named Yhugo was there with us. And yet, Dario played his guitar, prayed, and sang with great passion.

Later on, as we chatted over chicken sandwiches, I began to realize the formidable challenges here in Bosnia for Christians. There are actually very few Christians in this country: 500-1000 are the estimates. Dario, himself a radical convert out of a life of drugs and alchohol, has challenges that almost seem to be choking him. He has almost no financial or other support and he trusts God to provide for him and his wife and two kids. The tensions and competition between the Evangelical churches in town seem quite ugly, and contribute to very little cooperation together. It is very difficult to evangelize here, due to a variety of reasons. Dario is trying to do everything himself, simply because there is no one else. "I need help!" he asserts. "I need someone to come for 4-5 years so they can learn the language and culture and share this responsibility!" Our first couple of hours together, he was enthusiastic and energetic; speaking of the challenges and frustrations and yet his face continually lighting up in an infectious smile. As the morning wore on, however, I sensed a fatigue and discouragement settling on him. We ended up watching his two girls practicing tennis at the local courts and he seemed lost in tiredness and silence. When I noticed him glancing at his watch a couple of times, I realized it was time for me to go. "I"m sorry, " he said as he shook my hand. "I'm so tired all the time now that sometimes it's hard to concentrate." I told him I would pray for him and tell people about his situation, but I wondered if he had hoped for more. Although I am usually unaware of such things, I was increasingly feeling stifled in the town. "What is your sense of the spiritual atmosphere here?" I asked him upon parting.

"It is very oppressive, " he answered.

Quite honestly, although I am ashamed to admit it, I could not wait to hop on the bus and leave the town.

The Veil over Vukovar

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 21:37:00 +0000

Vukovar is quiet today
And yet
whistling through the pock-marked buildings
murmuring in the piles of rubble
are the faint and distant echoes of
violence
hatred
destruction
agony
tears

A city's survival of a three month siege
untold murders
rapes
torture
bloodshed
is no small miracle.

The victors thought
the last few remaining
carted away half-dead,
minds wailing the dirge-like notes
of memories to heavy to bear,
would signal an ethnic triumph

And yet admist this grisly death
The city lives,
but not easily.
It is like a sleeping beast
and its food is destruction
were it to be awoken hungry once more.

Life and death
stand side by side
against the grey sky
one proud in its post-war beauty
the other huddled ashamed
against his brother's wall,
its decaying sides
mocking the fresh paint next door.

Does Jesus sit over every ravaged city
weeping over humanity's lust for power?
Does He walk the streets
sit among the rubble
waiting for someone to notice Him?

Croatia

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 22:00:00 +0000

The church clock is striking midnight outside in Osijeck, Croatia, and the storm that has been pounding my window for the last hour is fading into a pleasant pattering. For those of you who quickly had to grab a world map to discover the whereabouts of Osijeck, join the club. I have been keeping an Eastern European map very handy these days.

This is my first day in Osijeck, and it has already been an eventful day. The Missions conference ended last night and this afternoon I accepted a kind offer from the academic dean of Osijek's Evangelical Theological Seminary. Thus, after a quite pleasant car ride, I am now comfortably set up in the guest quarters for the night.

As we crossed the border into Croatia, I suddenly felt that I had entered a movie. The academic dean got out of the car and began animatedly discussing a matter with which clearly the border guards were very unhappy. The border guards were opening and gesturing at one of the five boxes of books that the dean was carrying back from the conference to distribute to seminaries in Croatia, Bosnia, and Serbia. Finally, we pulled out of line and parked the car where the dean switched from Croatian to his native Romanian to describe the situation to our other companion. I, of course, speaking neither of those languages, decided to remain unobtrusively quiet. We were there for almost an hour, in which two more guards came up to get proof that the books were donations for seminaries and that we really were at the conference we claimed to be, before the guard let us go. As we drove away, the Dean admitted that although it was a bit of ridiculous situation, as we were not carting alcohol or drugs across the border, they were technically in the right because he had not filled out the proper forms stating they were a donation. Both men had a good laugh that the American student was able to get a little taste of post-Communist borders!

Later on, we were enjoying dinner on a restaurant patio when a fierce storm swept down on us quite suddenly. Large branches were flying across the patio, my cheeks were getting pelted with gravel, and we found it very hard to enjoy our pizza. The thunder and lightning have been truly magnificent! After constant heat, I truly welcome the freshness of a rain.

In the next couple of days, I hope to go visit Vukovar, just south of here, which was a stronghold of violence during the war. It was already sobering enough to see remaining effects of the war here in Osijek, including bullet holes in buildings and a town that looks like it has seen much tragedy.

The House of Terror and Pieces of Joy

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 15:21:00 +0000

Yesterday, day three of the Missiological Studies conference which I am attending was devoted to what was called "Exposure Trips". I travelled to the one entitled "Christianity under an Ideology", which essentially wanted to expose us to what the Church in Hungary was doing during 41 years of a Totalitarian regime (one year of national socialism and 40 years of Communism). It was an extremely moving and interesting day. First, we went to see the House of Terror: both the Nazi's and Communists used this house as a detention center and torture place for "enemies of the state". Next, we went to hear from four Church leaders, representing the basic four Christian streams in Hungary(Catholic, Lutheran, Reformed, and Baptist, regarding their experience under Communism. I was most moved by the Benedictine priest who served 10 years in the Gulag, the Communist version of a concentration camp in Siberia, and I feel compelled to share the highlights of his story.

Father Oloffson's words moved me deeply, not just because of his story, but from the quiet power that emanates from words forged during the crucible of suffering. I scribbled furiously as he spoke, trying to capture the words themselves, but being conscious that I could not capture his fiery spirit which exploded from his body in animated gestures and through his loud, passionately expressive voice. In fact, although he was 92 years old, the best word to describe his demeanour is LIFE: he radiated a full and joyous life. Perhaps you can see this in the picture that was taken of he and I!

He said that shortly before he was sentenced to the Gulag, God gave Him a special experience in which He revealed his assignment in the Gulag: to encourage his fellow prisoners. "We were not heroes", he claims, "but we wanted to survive the hell, because it was hell". To do this, he and some others came up with four rules that enabled their survival over the next 10 years of nine hours a day, seven days a week of gruelling manual labor in the harsh Siberian climate.

1. "We should not dramatize suffering, because it makes you weaker". In other words, they did not allow complaining, and when one member of their little group began complaining, he was forced to start talking about his former occupation before the Gulag.
2. "We should not be looking for suffering...suffering will come on its own, but we should be searching for the little joyous moments of life". In fact, they went so far in this as to have "Pieces of joy Olympics". At the end of a day, they would compare who had found the most moments of joy and the two highest would compete the next day. The final winner would have his favorite song sung to him by the others. One such piece of joy is as follows: They would not be forced to go outside to work when the temperature hit negative 20 below Celsius because it was too cold for the horses. Although a horse's life was considered more important than theirs, they found the joy in remaining inside for the day!
3. "At the right moments, boost your self esteem (when you are treated like an animal, he said it is difficult to maintain your own thoughts as a human being) by proving yourself better than your captors and oppressors".
4."The one who has someone to hold onto, it is easier for him/her to survive suffering.We believers cling to the Lord, and we discover that He wants our survival".

Although not all the group of 26 Hungarians were believers before this experience, they all survived and are all now believers. From stories like this, I always ask myself what sort of Christian I will be when confronted with impossible circumstances. Will I be able to follow the suffering Christ down such a narrow road? Would I be able to take a special assignment in the Gulag and carry it out faithfully during 10 years of hell? I think it is difficult for Americans such as myself to really understand such a regime, but we have much to learn from such people who have had such life experiences. Yesterday, I was humbly aware that I was in the presence of greatness. I close with a last quote from Father Oloffson:

"Why am I so happy? Because I am a child of the gospel. And that was my task, to bring this happiness into that situation".

Gypsies: Not quite the romantic figures in my childhood storybooks

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 20:31:00 +0000

As soon as I found out that Esther, the pastor of a small Reformed church in Budapest, has a special calling to what she calls "gypsy ministry", I was completely intrigued. Gypsies seem to be the scourge of Hungary. Although they are less than 10 percent of the population, their populations are rapidly growing while the "white" Hungarians are shrinking(although gypsies are considered to be Hungarian citizens, there is always a distinction made between "Hungarians" and "Gypsies"). You might see the gypsies as musicians and beggars, and often stereotyped as thieves and sluggards, for most are illiterate and rarely do any keep a job.

"Well, the stereotypes are kind of true, " one Hungarian Christian told me. "In fact, I had an experience where two gypsy men and a gypsy woman tried to rob me".

Esther used to pastor a small congregation in the Ukraine, where there is a large Hungarian minority population who were unfortunately on the wrong side of the territorial pie that was sliced up post-World War II. She told me the story of a Hungarian woman who in 1992 felt called by God to participate in ministry. She went to her pastor who told her that she needed to first receive some training. One day she had an encounter with a gypsy, and began to entertain the idea of praying for the gypsies. Although this idea was at first repugnant, as she started praying for them and visiting their villages, she began to develop relationships with them. Ten years later, a gypsy woman saw the Jesus film and realized the message was for her. She wasn't sure what to do so she went to visit the very Hungarian woman who had been faithfully praying and visiting for 10 years. And thus began the blossoming of the gospel in that particular gypsy area of the Ukraine. The Hungarian woman invited the gypsy woman to a Bible study in the Reformed Church, and she brought two friends. Eventually, because the gypsies began to overpower the Hungarians, who were also reluctant to participate in Communion with them, the Bible Study moved onto gypsy territory. My new friend Esther enters the story at this point: she was called on to administer the sacraments to the gypsies as well as developing training programs for some of the new Christians.

These age-old Hungarian-Gypsy tensions are an interesting and unexpected find for my research. I think probably most countries have their "gypsies": a marginalized, stereotyped group of people who don't fit in with the larger culture, and have many problems and issues that may threaten or are perceived to threaten the stability of the general society.

Exploring Budapest

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 07:05:00 +0000

A day in Budapest is not nearly enough to explore its beauty and mysteries, but I tried to make the most of it, even though the temperature was in the 90's(not unlike L.A.) with an extremely high humidity(unlike L.A.). Consequently, my first night in my hostel was almost unbearable: six people in a small room with no air-conditioning or fans, on the fourth floor and myself being in a top bunk! It was like being stuck in a sweaty sock that had just been on a 21 day wilderness course. However, other than that, this is great hostel. I had a great day, probably walking close to 10 miles, exploring the castle district and other historical sites. I had the pleasant surprise of making a new friend: Matt is a medical student who met Kelli in India and happens to live in Budapest! He very graciously showed me some sites yesterday evening, and I plied him with questions about the spiritual climate of the city, gypsies, and other questions that only a local could answer. There's nothing I love better than to travel a foreign city with a local! I move onto Balaton today, where the missions conference is being held. Although the temperature is taking a cooling trend, I look forward to being right on a lake!

Vienna quips

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 07:53:00 +0000

-I love the traditional Viennese coffee called the "melange".
-The Viennese film festival that i have been enjoying is not really showing films. The first night it showed a Japanese opera, and the second night it highlighted a Venezuelan symphony. I found it interesting the amount of young people that turned out to watch this classical music.
-I awoke this morning to a cockroach crawling in my ear. Not really what I expected in Europe, although I have been suspicious for some time that the Australian cockroaches have sent out an international alert to terrorize me wherever I go since I made such a dent in their colony. However, I handled this rude awakening very maturely: I just let out a little yell and threw myself off my bed, hunted down the cockroach, and sent him to cockcroach....uh...afterlife.
-I had a great lunch with Don, an American who has been here for 22 years. See post below for details.

"The Heaven's are closed, but...."

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 07:50:00 +0000

“Austria is beyond a post-Christian culture”, said Don over the Greek food he suggested we eat. “But of course people are searching. I think Austria has the second highest youth suicide rate in the world. They don’t want to talk about the church; however, in recent years they are more open to talk about Jesus. The lack of spiritual vitality here is not because Christians are not trying, though. It almost feels like the heavens are shut”.
Don, an American living in Austria for the past 22 years, currently runs a non-profit aimed at unifying Christians across denominational lines in Austria. Despite Don’s feeling that the heaven’s are shut, he testifies to glimmers of God’s movement. When he and a friend came to seek the blessing of the Austrian Cardinal regarding part of their ecumenical vision, they were surprised when the Cardinal placed his hands on them and blessed them before they could barely get the words out. It turns out that the Cardinal had had a dream in which God had told him to bless the work two Americans coming to visit him.
“Being part of this is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, although it has its extreme difficulties. Theological balance is inherently part of these gatherings because of the denominational representation. Sometimes, all we can agree on is our confession of Christ”. But Don says that this is really all they are required to agree on.
“If the church cannot be reconciled within itself, what hope does a place like Bosnia have? “ asks Don, who was involved in relief work in Bosnia right after the war. He believes it has to start within the church. Part of why he thinks there are little holes growing the spiritual atmosphere is this movement toward unity as well as the intense intercession that remains a central part of their reconciliation ministry.
Another part of Don’s part reconciliation ministry branches into Messianic Jews and Christian Gentiles. Over ten years ago, three men (two messianic Jews and one Gentile Christian from different countries) had a similar vision of a second Jerusalem council, which would counterbalance the first council (See Acts 15). In other words, just as Gentiles were released to be full members of Christ body while still being Gentiles, this second council would release Jews to be Jews. These three men all traveled to Auswitch where they spontaneously met and discovered they all had a similar vision. For the last 10+ years, they have been periodically traveling around and holding mini councils with churches to share their vision.
“At the end of the day, God reigns over the earth and all nations. I think Western Christians, like Israel in Scripture, have underestimated our covenant with God. I believe as conflicts in the world continue to happen and even expand, reconciliation between all committed Christians will increasingly be needed. Maybe one day we will be forced to cling together because that is all we’ll have”.
In Don’s view, staying focused on Christ while building relationships is crucial. Once that relationship is there it becomes easier to disagree and discuss doctrine while remaining united in Christ.
“It’s a long road,” says Don, “but we’re making progress. And there are signs of change”. Quite a significant statement, in my opinion, after 22 years of faithfulness. What a great lunch!

The Joy of the Wild...er....I mean Los Angeles

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 17:38:00 +0000

Last night I successfully trapped eight feral cats in order to take them to the free spay/neuter clinic this morning. Folks, let me tell you something: You have not truly lived until you have driven through L.A. traffic with eight feral cats piled in your car. Any visual images that you just pictured from that last sentence are probably true: only multiply it by 100. The crazy thing is that I am trying to get ready for my month long trip to Europe. Shouldn't feral cats be the lowest thing on my priority list? Well, perhaps for a sane person. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of calling a couple of non-profit feral cat organizations in the L.A. area regarding the growing cat colony next door. Make no mistake: Once you have made such calls to people EXTREMELY committed to saving all the feral cats of Los Angeles, there is no going back. They send you emails and leave phone messages checking up on your progress with trapping the colony, not to mention that when they learned I was going to be gone for a month, made offers of who to hire to feed the colony while I am gone! It is under this kind of pressure that I crumbled and decided to attempt to trap the entire cat colony.

For those of you who are worried that my father's worst fears are coming true and I am becoming a creepy cat lady, put your minds at rest. I do not yet have a motor home or school bus, and I promise I AM NOT KEEPING THESE CATS!

P.S. I just discovered I have a baby possum living outside my window that crawls around in the bushes all night. No wonder Nattie wakes me up every night to bark out the window! Where do I live again?

Neighbor News

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 18:13:00 +0000

I like my neighbors...they are both nice and quirky, which is just perfect for a neighborhood, in my opinion. My neighbors to the northeast have been raising baby possums the last few weeks. It has been a little disconcerting seeing one of them walking around with a possum crawling all over their body, given my childhood traumatic memory of a possum killing all of my bunnies and leaving their body parts strewn about the lawn. A few days ago, they accidently left the cage unlocked, and suprisingly, the possums left(those ungrateful beasts!). The mother is very worried and asked my neighbor to the East: "What do you think they are eating?" Mmmmmm, luckily there are plenty of other possums around, so the good news is that there is plenty of possum food to keep those suckers alive.

My neighbor to the West has a yard that looks like it was hit with a bomb. He had a giant yard sale about 6 months ago, and when nothing sold, he just sort of left it all outside. This yard houses about 3 feral adult cats and 6 feral kittens, which I have been taming and hoping to move off the streets(yes, I admit this is my own particular quirkiness). Anyway, I brave his yard about every other day to go say hello to the cats. The other morning, I ran into him sitting on his front porch, bare-chested, having a morning smoke. Although I found it somewhat awkward to conduct a conversation with a shirtless, smoking man, I politely began to give him an update about the cat situation. Unfortunately, at that moment, our neighbor across the street turned on his very loud leaf-blower, thereby reducing our already awkward conversation to a loud shouting match. The good news is, of course, the whole neighborhood probably received the cat update, so maybe they will feel inclined to help. The bad news is, of course, that they were probably thinking: "Who are those two fruit loops?"

Rain: the milk of heaven

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 04:14:00 +0000

In a surprising twist, a freak thunderstorm just arose, complete with lightening, thunder, and heavy rain! I watched it come over the San Gabriel's-- first with the flashes of silent lightening, then as it got closer, the accompanying rumbles of thunder. When the rain started I just went outside and inhaled long, deep breaths of the fresh air, marveling that this experience could be so soul-satisfying. My favorite part was that when I went outside, I could hear screams of joy from kids all over the neighborhood-running around and enjoying the novel experience of the rain.

New York or Bust: Adventures with Latter-Day Saints and New Yorkers

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 17:15:00 +0000

I was warned before going to New York that New Yorkers are often rude, particularly to tourists. With this warning in mind, I kept my eyes and ears open for this kind of behavior, but instead was overwhelmed by the helpfulness and kindness of strangers in both Palmyra and New York City in restaurants, subway, and street corners. This experience, along with the beauty of upstate New York and the electric feeling pulsating through New York City, is enough to make me want to visit again.

My journey began in Palmyra, New York, where 21 Evangelical and Mormon scholars and students met for two days to discuss the topic of "revelation" in conjunction with visiting Joseph Smith's birthplace and some of the sacred sites where he allegedly received both revelations and the golden plates. This was a fascinating two days, watching and observing the respectful yet honest ways the scholars engaged with each other as well as contemplating within myself what might have happened as I walked through the "Sacred Grove" (where Joseph Smith received his first revelation) and meandering through the farmhouse where he dictated the Book of Mormon. The two days raised many questions and new thoughts for me and also helped me to see the value of this kind of dialogue which seems more profitable and truth seeking rather than the polarization and defensiveness that often comes through debate. Also, I had my own beautiful room in the hotel which was larger than my living space here in Pasadena! It was like a mini-retreat.

After the dialogue, two of the other students and I drove up to New York City and spent an exhilarating and exhausting 2 two days cramming as much sight-seeing in as we could. Aside from our many mistakes on the Subway(the first series resulting in us being buried within the system for about two hours with all our luggage) we had a grand time seeing Chicago on Broadway, Times Square, Soho, Ground Zero, Wall Street, Ellis and Liberty Island, Central Park, and many other sites. This visit merely whet my appetite for more exploration of the East Coast!

Passing the torch

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 15:27:00 +0000

Yesterday I participated in my baccalaureate service(can you believe I am graduating?). It was a very moving service for me for two reasons: first, I couldn't help but reflect on what a wonderful two years it has been, and how God has provided for and blessed me here at Fuller. I cannot believe how fast it has gone! I'm glad I have one more year to study theology.

Second, dear Dr. Scholer gave the message. He spoke on the importance of remembering ourselves as being "jars of clay" whom are cracked and weak, so that the power of God is able to radiate out from our cracks. Over and over he reminded us that it is not about us, but about God, and that we have this treasure in clay jars. I have heard this message before; but this was particularly poignant because Dr. Scholer is at the end of his life. His terminal cancer that he has had for the last 6 years just spread to his brain a month ago. He was so weak he had to be helped up to the stage by two people. He is a man in the twilight of his life, and his sermon was perhaps the last public address he will ever give. To see a man who remains faithful up to this very point, when he is facing imminent death, was a powerful exhortation to all of us who are setting out on a new phase of life. If this was one of the most important lessons of his life, that God's grace is sufficient in our weakness, than surely we need to embrace that as we set out.

Although at times his voice quivered, or choked up with emotion, his final AMEN with which he ended his sermon was strong and confident, and had most of us in tears and then brought us to our feet in applause as we recognized his lifelong faithfulness to Christ. What a moment.

Why?

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Thu, 08 May 2008 03:33:00 +0000

Why does a new parking ticket come just when you've paid off the old one?
Why does the banana bread you've looked forward to eating all day have mold on it?
Why does the garbage truck come at 6 a.m. the only day you can sleep in a little?
Why does early morning truck coincide with the day of a three hour midterm?
Why do fun things happen on the same day?

Well, it feels good to complain on a blog. I think I got it off my chest.

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Thu, 01 May 2008 20:44:00 +0000

" What the Gospel offers is not a new understanding of self in an unchanged world but an invitation to adventure in a world in which all things have become new". Stephen Neill

Spring Break 2008!

noreply@blogger.com (Melody) — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 22:34:00 +0000

What a grand time! I was able to enjoy some great skiing(minus the first day and a half when I swore to myself I would never come skiing again), some beautiful mountains, and reunions with 3 different sets of friends! I felt very fortunate and thankful to have such a great time away for spring break. If you are reading this and were someone who was very patient with me when I was freaking out on my skis on the top of a steep hill...well, all I can offer in return is for you to come to L.A. and I will drive the crazy freeways for you.