the world through the eyes of josh

Updated 3 Guys in Haiti Site!

2010-03-19T13:52:00.000-07:00

Be sure to check out our Haiti website: http://3guysinhaiti.wordpress.com for a new video and more cool stuff!

Haiti - A Severe Mercy

2010-03-10T12:53:00.000-08:00

Haiti: A Severe Mercy

Tragedy has a cruel way of visiting those who can endure it least. The devastating quake of January shook a country where nearly half of its population did not have access to clean water; a nation with an unemployment rate hovering just under 60% and an illiteracy rate around 45% - the country designated as the poorest in the western hemisphere - Haiti.

At 4:53 p.m., January 12, the Caribbean Tectonic Plate, grinding against the North American Plate, slipped; the built up pressure releasing a tremendous burst of energy. The force rippling through the earth’s crust created an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 on the Richter scale, convulsing and shaking an area just 15 miles south east of Haiti’s capital, Port au Prince. Within a few hours, the immensity of the worst quake to strike Haiti in 200 years became apparent. As darkness settled over the rubble-strewn streets of Port au Prince, screams and cries of anguish echoed through the city as children and adults desperately called out to missing loved ones buried under the debris. As the first rays of morning streaked down, the scene revealed was beyond anyone’s imagination. Entire blocks were completely leveled; the top floor of the capital building had collapsed to the ground; the general hospital was no more than a heap of wreckage. Worst of all were the thousands of critically injured residents lying in the streets or still buried in the rubble. Foreign response was massive but had difficultly accessing the victims due to the damaged airport and collapsed government. In the days that followed, rescue workers from around the world pulled out a rare survivor, thousands of medical workers set up tents and tended to severe crush wounds, performing mass amputations in an effort to keep the thousands of badly infected patients alive. In the following weeks, the death toll would be estimated at an astonishing 250,000; and nearly as many amputations would be administered.

Haiti, a country with a tragic history of revolutions, mass murders and bloody coups, is not foreign to pain nor to earthquakes. Port au Prince straddles the Plantain Garden Fault System, a fault line that has undergone several massive quakes in the past 500 years. In the same span of time Haiti has endured an even rockier political and social history. Exacerbating the tragedy is the fact that the crisis struck in a rare moment of optimism in the country’s troubled history. A nation already on its knees was hurled flat on its face.

From the moment Haiti appears in western history, suffering has been a way of life. Hispaniola, the island Haiti shares with the Dominican Republic, was first sighted by columbus in 1492. The Spanish claimed it as a colony and immediately put the natives to work on a desperate search for gold. The harsh working conditions and diseases brought from Europe devastated the indigenous population. In 1697 Spain ceded the western half of the island to France. The French saw a different gold mine on the island - sugar cane. Thousands of slaves were captured and shipped from Africa to work the plantations and the ecology was wrecked as huge tracts of forests were cleared to allow room for sugar plantations. Throughout the following century tensions between slaves and the French escalated to the point of revolution. In an act of desperation, the aid of Satan was invoked to deliver the slaves and grant them freedom. After 13 years of bloody civil war, Haiti gained its independence in 1804 with former slave Jean-Jacques Dessalines emerging as emperor. Two years later he was deposed by rebels in another civil war. By the turn of the 19th century political stability had still not improved. Citing the Monroe Doctrine of U.S. oversight in the Americas, President Woodrow Wilson ordered marines to occupy Haiti in 1915 to help establish a democracy. This was at the height of racial prejudice, however, and the United States favored the biracial, wealthier minority, severely deepening tensions. In 1934 the United States withdrew its forces. Voodoo doctor Francois Duvalier was elected President in 1957. “Papa Doc” was very popular with the black population but he turned Haiti into a police state and practiced mass genocide, murdering nearly 30,000 people during his 14 years in office. After his death in 1971, his son declared himself president for life. In 1990 Jean-Bertrand Aristide won the first free election but was deposed eight months later. The military junta refused to give up power despite widespread HIV, malnutrition and abject poverty, causing President Bill Clinton to send 20,000 troops to Haiti in 1994. President Aristide resumed office in 2001 but was exiled three years later. Powerful hurricanes swept over Haiti in 2005 and 2008, causing wide spread flooding, wiping out roads and crops, and displacing hundreds of thousands of Haitians. Apart from the hurricanes, the years just preceding the quake were marked by a relative calm under the leadership of President René Préval. Many Haitians were experiencing an unusual sense of common purpose and material upgrade - traffic lights were working 24/7 for a change - and the U.N. and other members of the international community were stepping up, giving Haiti direction for progress in the global market.

This positive momentum was swallowed up overnight as viciously as the earthquake razed the flimsy concrete buildings of Port au Prince. Many of Haiti’s finest buildings which helped give a sense of identity and history are now reduced to rubble. Haiti not only has to discover how to recover from devastation, but also how to rebuild its sense of self.

Shelton Ebby, Seth Haley and I stepped out into the warm, salty breeze and down onto the tarmac at the Santo Domingo airport. Lush fields of bananas and sugar stretched to the base of steep hillsides towering thousands of feet above the flatland. On the right I could just make out strips of the teal-blue Caribbean Ocean highlighting white sandy beaches. It was easy to see why the Dominican Republic was known as “paradise of the Americas.” I was having a hard time preparing myself for the horror I knew waited just over the border.

We found our plush, reclining seats (this was no chicken bus) and my eyes fell on a little girl, not older than two, standing on her mother’s lap smiling widely, revealing her only two teeth. Her huge brown eyes seemed too expressive for her young age and after staring at me for a minute she finally grew shy and dove back into her mother’s lap. I later discovered she and her parents were vacationing in the Dominican Republic when the quake struck. Now they were on their way to see what remained of their home in Port. My heart ached as I watched the little family; everything they knew and all they owned had been lost overnight - yet at least they still had one another. Many families could not say as much.

Six hours later we reached the Haitian border. A weathered, hand-painted plaque informed us we were now in Haiti but we needed no such notice. The stark contrast of the two countries was sobering. The border headquarters was doubling as a relief post; pallets of food and medicine were being transferred to smaller trucks which could manage the winding road to Port au Prince. There was a vacant, haunted look in the eyes of the many Haitians squatting in small groups, hoping for the luck to leave the country or at least taste some of the enriched biscuits being lowered into a nearby U.N. truck. After a brief stop to stamp our passports, we rumbled off in a cloud of dust, the blacktop giving way to a winding gravel road strewn with pot-holes and washboards. We were now in the routine agony that is Haiti.

“Well, here it goes, boys!”

Stephen Shankster called out some final instructions and bits of advice as we pulled up to a wide field that was now serving as a “tent city” - neighborhoods of sheets draped over crossed poles or sticks, housing thousands of Haitians who have lost their homes and their few possessions.

“This is a moderately sized tent city,” Stephen explained. “There’s probably around 3,000 people living here.” Stephen is a German Baptist who has volunteered with Christian Aid Ministries in Haiti for the past five years and is fluent in Creole. Seth and I, along with four CAM missionaries and two Haitians, were in the back of a covered truck filled with hygiene kits, tarps and other relief materials. The living conditions in these cities are beyond deplorable. The hastily erected tents are stacked almost on top of each other and there is no running water and no sewage. The only food and water they receive is brought in by relief organizations or the U.S. military.

“Back up against that wall, really close,” Stephen called out to the driver. “Closer! It has to be narrow enough that only one person can fit through at a time so they don’t mob us.”

“Looks like we chose the local bathroom to hand our stuff out,” Daniel Horner, another German Baptist working with CAM, observed as he gingerly alighted from the back of the truck. By now a crowd of curious onlookers was quickly closing in on the truck. Their wild eyes emanated desperation. For a moment I could feel their anguish as I looked into their eyes and I saw myself. These were people, just like me, with hopes and dreams for their futures. Now by circumstances completely out of their control they were here in this squalor, existing little better than animals.

At first the distribution went relatively smoothly, the crowd forming a line on one side of the truck and exiting the other with a tarp and rope for a more weather-resistant home and a pack containing a towel, shampoo and soap to help stop the rampant spread of disease. When the thronging crowd realized there wasn’t enough for everyone, they became more desperate than ever, attempting to squeeze through the line or crawling under the truck to get ahead. Several men began to climb on top of the truck and snatch packets through the windows. The mob grew angry, and began hurling rocks at us.

“Time to go!” Stephen shouted as he dashed to the cab of the truck and fired up the engine. Most of the crowd backed away, but some began leaping onto the bumper or hanging on the windows. The truck peeled away, the doors flying open and closed as we tried to bolt them shut. As we made our way to the main street, the desperate men still hung on, banging on the doors and yelling curses at us. As we approached the make-shift police station they began hopping off one by one. They knew they risked being shot if they were caught being disruptive.

We were all silent as we jostled about in the empty truck on our way back to the CAM base. Daniel broke the silence “Relief work lesson 101. Just because you’re trying to help someone doesn't make you their hero.”

The first rays of sunrise chased away the grey morning as we negotiated the labyrinthine streets and back alleys of City Soleil, a vast network of slums known for it’s ravaging gangs and abject living conditions. Even before the quake, the U.N. had described this area as “the most dangerous place on earth.” In the past four years the Haitian police system had breakthrough progress in combating gang members and reducing crime. The morning of January 13th would find over half of the police force working in that area dead, and over a thousand of the worst criminals at large in Soleil due to the damaged prison. Despite all of this, the surviving residents stated their quality of life had actually improved after the quake. At the bottom of Haiti’s complex economic totem pole, getting something to eat required long hours driving a tap-tap, a small pickup used for a taxi and the local produce and livestock transporter, or sweeping the streets. The few goudas they made might buy them a small bag of rice; now there were truck loads of rice handed out for free by the U.S. military. Crime became nearly non-existent with heavily armed marines patrolling the streets, another tremendous improvement since the quake.

Even at this hour the swarming traffic brought the Toyota Hilux pickup Lamar Nolt was driving to a standstill . As we waited for a gap to squeeze through, the pungent smell of rotting vegetables, pigs and sewage wafted to the back of the pickup where I was standing.

“Wow!” I coughed. “This is squalor with a capitol S!”

My Dad seized the moment to pass out small gospel booklets in Creole. They went like hotcakes. Soon half the slum was pressing in, outstretched arms grasping for the tracts faster than Dad could hand them out. It was exhilarating to see such a ravenous hunger for God; the one glimmer of hope they could grasp and never fear to lose.

The congestion began to disperse, and in the distance I could just make out what seemed an enormous wall. As we grew closer, I realized these were the bases of high mountains, their cloud covered peaks soaring thousands of feet above us.

“Behind that peak is our destination,” Lamar pointed out. We were on our way to the remote church missionary Harold Herr had planted over 20 years ago.

“We still have another two hours of driving ahead of us,” Harold informed us as he fired up his Polaris UTV, “But we only have 12 miles to go.”

We crawled up the undulating ridge on a road little wider than a trail, our breaths snatched away as we came around a bend and were greeted by a vast expanse of mountains plummeting down to blue-green ocean far below. Palm trees and lush crops graced the steep hillsides, interspersed only by a small house or a herd of goats. I had a difficult time convincing myself we were still in Haiti.

I was soon reminded that though we had escaped the mass chaos of Port au Prince, even here the quake had left its cruel mark. As we piled out the back of the little pickup in the courtyard of the clinic, a middle aged man with bandages tightly wrapped around his leg sat alone on an old wooden bench. Lamar seated himself beside him, put his arm around his shoulder, and between sobs the man poured out his story.

The man had been working his crops on the precipitous hillside when he heard a great rumbling sound rushing down the valley toward him. Soon he was shaking violently, and it was all he could do to keep himself from tumbling down thousands of feet to the river below. Suddenly whole sections of the mountainside broke off and bus-sized boulders came hurtling down around him. He dove under a rock, and waited out the tremor, boulders bouncing all around. When all was still he poked out his head to look around. It was quiet - way too quiet. A shriek rang through the hills.

“My family!”

He leapt to his feet, attempting to run across the hillside in the loose broken rock. At that moment he heard the ominous rumbling of an aftershock, and before he realized what had happened a boulder crashed into his leg, hurling him into the air and down the mountainside.

He awoke to the humming of a bright florescent light. Three nurses were gathered around the table he was lying on, cleaning the deep gash down his leg. Spasms of excruciating pain shot through his body.

His mind cleared, and his thoughts flew to his wife and daughter.

“My family! Where is my family?”

He would later discover his wife and daughter had been herding goats when a wall of rocks came rushing towards them.

“Run!” the mother had called out above the roar.

“I won’t leave you!” the girl responded.

“Obey me! Run!”

The girl sprinted to the edge of the woods, rocks crashing all around. As the dust settled, there was no sign of her mother. An eire silence hung over the mountains. Her mother’s body was found three days later.

As the old man finished his story, tears were streaming down his cheek, soaking his ragged tweed pants.

The next morning as we scrambled up the long winding trail to the small church perched on a ridge far above, I watched streams of villagers making their way to worship and I wondered how many of them had similar stories.

We stepped inside the old building and squeezed onto a crowded bench as the 300 or more villagers clapped and invited God to the service.

As the lively singing began, the small building reverberated with their rich voices. Their vibrant African heritage shone through as a beacon of courage that has given these people spirt and resilience throughout their sad and bitter history. They seem unquenchable; despite trials and suffering, they face life with brave optimism and lift their voices in praise.

Not one of them, nor any of us, can claim to know why a tragedy of this magnitude was allowed. As Christians, we must be careful not to presume God’s mind in world events and assume this disaster is divine punishment on a depraved country given over to voodooism. Whatever factors induced the earthquake, there is no question that God is working through this catastrophe to bring about positive changes in Haiti. Throughout the country, impromptu worship services are springing up attracting large crowds. Haiti’s huge medical needs and widespread malnutrition is now receiving an unprecedented degree of attention and aid. The collapsed political infrastructure and ruined capital gives the international community a chance to help guide Haiti into establishing a successful democracy and self-sustaining economy. It will be a long and difficult haul, and as Haiti fades from the headlines we cannot forget our neighbor who still needs help as it builds a new future. Many are desperately searching for a deeper hope; a hope to cling to in the difficult days ahead. The people of Haiti long for a new life of purpose and faith. I am certain their prayers will not go unanswered.

Website

2010-02-07T21:29:00.000-08:00

This trip has been a fast paced blur of one place to the next, but we finally got a website up that will host all of the photos, videos and thoughts of Seth, Shelton and I in one spot. There isn't much content yet, but more is soon to come. Check it out at http://3guysinhaiti.wordpress.com/

Haiti

2010-02-04T19:51:00.001-08:00

I'm still awestruck that God opened the doors for me to embark on this adventure in Haiti this week. I'm in Port-au-Prince now, and I can't wait to tell you all about our experiences so far and share some photos. Hopefully I can update tomorrow night, so stay tuned!

Eternal Perspectives Samoa Article

2009-12-07T12:01:00.000-08:00

Let the Isles Rejoice

Psalms 97:1

The grey light of early morning slowly dispelled the darkness as I gazed out the window of the Air New Zealand Boeing 777. It had been a long night since we embarked on the last leg of our journey from Los Angeles. The clouds thinned as we began to lose altitude and I made out vast stretches of dull blue. Suddenly, a green strip appeared, rushing towards us - my first glimpse of Samoa. It was the island of Upolu, the smaller but more populated and developed of the two main islands, that along with Sa’vai and eight other small islands make up the nation of Independent Samoa.

Situated just to the east of the international date line, I was struck by just how remote a place I was coming to - sequestered on a huge volcano rising from the sea floor with thousands of miles of ocean on every side. It felt awful and wonderful all at once to know you're in one of the most remote places in the South Pacific - indeed, in all the world.

The Independent Nation of Samoa, along with the islands that form the U.S. territory of American Samoa 30 miles to the east, are all a part of the Samoan archipelago. No one knows for sure how people originally came to these isolated islands. Samoan legends tell of great voyages by brave navigators who dared to cross the thousands of miles of ocean in dug out canoes. Older legends speak of still greater men who swam all the way from Asia and Indonesia. However they came, archeological research points to the first known settlement dating to around 1,000 B.C., the era of David. With a current population of around 200,000, the vast majority are of polynesian ethnicity, closely related to the natives of Hawaii and the other islands of the South Pacific such as Fiji, Tonga and Tahiti.

Our interest in Samoa began when a towering tsunami struck the southwest coast of Upolu in early October. Over 150 people were killed and hundreds of homes and business were destroyed. Jenna Matthews was adopted from a family in Samoa and naturally was deeply concerned about her Samoan relatives. When C.C. contacted her uncle there, he asked if there was any way we could help. Her uncle replied that there was already much relief work going on, but that there was a great need for information regarding tsunami preparation. Also, several village elders voiced great interest in Americans teaching English in elementary schools on Sav’ai. C.C. mentioned this need to Dad, who was enthusiastic about an outreach work there. After much prayer and discussion, plans were made to head out on November 10th and spend three weeks distributing tracts, CDs and tsunami emergency packs throughout the island. We also prepared to show the Jesus Film in Samoan and teach English in the village schools if the opportunities arose.

At about 5:30 AM we touched down on the runway in Apia, Samoa’s capital and largest city. After steering all 11 of our team members - C.C., Jenna, Micah, Sarah Foster, Yolanda Halteman and my family - and upwards of 20 bags of luggage through the tiny airport, we found our rental van. After a short drive, we arrived at the wharf where a ferry takes vehicles and passengers across the 10 miles of ocean that sever the islands of Upolu and Savai’i. As the old Japanese ferry creaked and groaned across, I was stunned by the beauty around me. In the distance I could just make out a small, rocky uninhabited island with dense vegetation shrouding it’s conical top, asserting it’s volcanic origins. Deep in the mist ahead of us the volcanic peaks of Savai’i began to emerge. After unloading our van, we started to wind across the undulating road cutting through Savai’i’s mountainous coast. I was awestruck at the exotic and exquisite beauty of the island. Deep blue ocean fringed by lighter shades of teal interspersed by black craggy igneous rocks; white sandy beaches graced with coconut palms and mango trees shot up to steep volcanoes shrouded in clouds, covered by dense tropical jungles. Samoan girls wearing colorful lavalavas with white hibiscus flowers adorning their dark hair smiled and waved at us as we passed them on the road. Fales, traditional open meeting huts, rose periodically as we drove through villages. The only road in Savai’i is a large circuit around the island, making its way along the coast, leaving the rugged interior virtually inaccessible. Two hours later we arrived at the small hotel that served as home for the next three weeks.

The first week we plunged into distributing tracts and gospel CDs around the island. Most Samoans we encountered were very friendly and received the gospel literature warmly and even enthusiastically. As we met village chiefs and leaders, we scheduled appointments to show the Jesus Film in their villages. This turned out to be a great success. Each time we showed the film, more than 100 people gathered to see this vivid portrayal of Christ's life and work. It is a fabulous way to share the core teachings of Jesus and the heart of the gospel with those who are not very literate. Many were greatly moved, asking us through teary eyes if we had additional copies so they could view it again and share it with family and friends.

As we proceeded from village to village, I tried to take in the all the sights of daily life in a traditional Samoan village. Most of the homes, although crudely constructed, were clean, well maintained and accented by neatly manicured flower bushes and shrubs. The lush environment accommodates a wide diversity of flora in brilliant hues all around. The center of daily life is the fale. Similar in structure to a pole barn, it is a great room open on all sides and covered by a palm frond or sheet metal roof. Around this structure are various other small buildings for daily life - a kitchen, an outhouse, sleeping quarters, a workshop, and so on. Most people appear quite poor by western standards, owning no vehicles and living in simple cinder block homes, but have the basic commodities for an acceptable standard of living. Nearly everyone is engaged in some activity relating to food; fishing or working on a small pineapple plantation or running a tiny shop or restaurant. The pace of life is easy going but disciplined. There is a strong moral framework integral to the society, largely due to the influence of British missionaries of the nineteenth century. First pioneered by John Williams, who arrived in 1830, the missionary efforts of the London Missionary Society are still evident in both the worldview and practice of many Samoans. Church is the foundation of social activity, the niche that defines one’s place in Samoan life.

Even though the majority of Samoans have been evangelized and nearly every village has at least one church, the pre-Christian traditional class structure and many cultural standards were not necessarily transformed by the gospel. There is a great deal of formalism within and denominational rivalry between many of the churches, and often heavy demands are placed on the congregations for financial support. A host of new challenges face these churches as the next generation seeks a hope and a future amid an influx of cults, high teen suicide rates and other obstacles. Another formidable challenge is the exponential growth of Mormonism throughout the island. Pray that those seeking truth could be enlightened and see the errors of this cult and won over by the love of Jesus.

The Samoan’s attitude to church tends to be quite ritualistic. It seems to many to be the “anchor” to their social life with little emphasis on a personal relationship with Christ. Not unlike very legalistic churches such as the Amish, many do not really understand the new birth. They are very moral, devout and religious, even setting aside a daily curfew in the evening for prayer and singing. Despite all this, there is a great need for a clear understanding of a vibrant, personal connection with God.

By the end of our first week in Samoa, final approval to begin teaching English in the elementary schools was granted. This proved to be by far the most rewarding aspect of the trip for all of us. Each morning our team split up into five groups to teach at all the schools in that district. Yolanda, C.C., Mom, Dad and I each taught in different villages, and the rest of the team assisted us in class. It was quite daunting at first to attempt to hold the attention of 44 6th and 7th graders for two hours of English, but through the course of two weeks we and the students came to look forward to it each morning. Most of our students were exceptionally smart and caught on very quickly to the various aspects of grammar, spelling and vocabulary definitions we went over. This provided an excellent opportunity to share Christianity by teaching them Bible verses in English, and they were enthralled with stories from the Bible. But the greatest part was when class was finally over and we exploded out of the classroom onto the field outside. There, I would show them how to play American football and they in turn patiently attempted to show the dense Pa’lagi (foreigner) the basics of rugby.

The two weeks flew by, and I was surprised how difficult it was to say goodbye to my little friends when the time came. Before we left, the school held a farewell ceremony in our honor, presenting us with intricate gifts hand crafted by the students and bestowing leis about our necks. As our van jostled down the school’s long, dusty driveway for the last time, I waved to all of my students, wondering where they would go in life and if I would ever see them again. The last night we all fought tears as we said our farewells to Jenna’s family. As I watched my last Samoan sunset at the Apia airport, I thought over the many things I had learned from this beautiful culture and of all the new experiences I encountered and friends I had made. I was amazed by how much Samoa had given me when I had come expecting to do the giving.

2009-12-02T15:01:00.000-08:00

exotic samoa

2009-11-18T17:20:00.000-08:00

Nov. 10

The great Samoan adventure has begun! As I roll out of bed and glance out my window, I am greeted by grey skies and a dreary drizzle, almost as if the weather were conspiring to increase my anticipation for the balmy breeze and glorious sunshine of the South Pacific. The morning runs the familiar course of the immediate hours before an international trip in the Grizzard home - perfect chaos. Everyone is engaged in the effort - desperate stuffing of bags, weighing and reweighing to keep them under the 50 lb. limit, running around the house finalizing domestic issues for a 3 week absence, and even a last minute jounce to Wal - Mart for forgotten necessities. All 11 of us, along with our personal luggage, hundreds of copies of messages in Samoan and 1,000’s of tracts in Samoan, finally roll out of our drive way packed into one of the C.O.P.’s 15 passenger vans. 15 minutes down the road I suddenly remember the projector to show the Jesus film is still sitting in the back of the Suburban at home. We make a u turn and a quick call gets Willie hurrying to us with the forlorn projector. After a few wrong turns and detours we finally make it to the Charlotte airport. Upon arrival, Dad employs his legendary diplomacy skills to get 14 bags checked in with no fees, and we make our way for the security line. After a quick pit stop at KFC we pile on our flight to Cleveland, OH and then on to L.A. It’s a great feeling. Samoa, here we come!

Nov. 11

The grey light of early morning slowly envelops night as I gaze out the window of the Air New Zealand Boeing 777. It’s been a long night since we embarked on the last leg of our journey at L.A. As we begin to lose altitude, the clouds begin to thin and I make out vast stretches of dull blue. Suddenly, a green strip appears, rushing towards us - my first glimpse of Samoa. It is the island of Upolu, the smaller but more populated and developed of the two main islands that make up Independent Samoa.

At about 5:30 AM we touch down on the runway in Appia, Samoa’s capital and largest city. As soon as we step through customs we are given a warm welcome. Four men are arranged just inside the baggage claim playing guitars and a percussion instrument played with a long pole in the South Pacific style. Their big grins and catchy “Welcome to Samoa” song make it impossible to keep a smile off your face. After negotiating 11 people and upwards of 20 bags of luggage through the tiny airport we are met by a smiling lady holding a sign with Dad’s name scribbled on it. She shows us our Ford E-350 van we’ll be renting for our stay in Samoa. After a short drive we arrive at the wharf where a ferry takes vehicles and passengers across the 10 miles of ocean that sever the islands of Upolu and Savai’i. As the old Japanese ferry creaks and groans across, I am stunned by the beauty around me. In the distance I can just make out a small, rocky uninhabited island with dense vegetation shrouding it’s conical top, asserting it’s volcanic origins. Deep in the mist ahead of us the volcanic peaks of Savai’i begin to emerge. After unloading our van, we begin to wind across the undulating road cutting through the mountainous Savai’i coast. I am awestruck at the exotic and exquisite beauty of the island. Deep blue ocean fringed by lighter shades of teal is interspersed by black craggy volcanic rocks. White sandy beaches graced with coconut palms and mango trees shoot up to steep volcanoes shrouded in clouds, covered by dense tropical jungles. Pretty Samoan girls wearing colorful lavalavas with white hibiscus flowers adorning their dark hair smile and wave at us as we pass them on the road. Fales, traditional Samoan outdoor meeting huts, rise periodically as we drive through villages. The only road in Savai’i is a large circuit around the island, making its way along the coast, leaving the rugged interior virtually inaccessible.

Two hours later we arrive at our spartan missionary compound. Perched at the end of the biggest bay in Savai’i, a expanse of glassy teal water stretches just outside our windows. Two small palm frond roofed fales along the water’s edge sit next to a small pool, volleyball court and a shaded area with tables and chairs and a pool table. Ok, let’s just say I have to slap myself to remember I’m on a mission trip, not on vacation.

C.C., Jenna, Micah and I go to visit one of Jenna’s uncles, Venna. As we chat in the shade of his fale looking over the bay, feeling the gentle ocean breeze ruffling my hair, I am struck with one aspect of Fa’a Samoa - the Samoan way - the easy going pace of life. No one wears watches, and it seems like everyone slows down to take in life instead of rushing through it. Before we leave Venna’s home, I get the chance to experience one of the most unique cultural delicacies of Samoa - Se’a. Venna explains that to make se’a, you first catch a sea slug and remove his guts. You then bottle it up in a coke bottle and let it ferment for a few days. Then, yum yum, crack open the se’a. It tastes great draped over rice, fish, anything, even slurped up like long noodles all by itself! This is about the rudest thing I’ve heard of eating, but I have to at least try it. The texture is similar to chewy snot, and the taste isn’t too bad at first, just really salty. Then the after taste kicks in - wow. The closest thing I can think of is it tastes the way rotten seaweed smells along a hot beach. Exotic Samoa. Exuding with color, culture and life.

In the evening we are treated to a more savory dinner at Venna’s home. Huge steaks of fresh yellow-finned tuna are grilled over an open fire to make the best fish I ever put in my mouth. All the meat comes from one gigantic tuna, feeding all 11 of us, Venna and his wife, several cooks and maids with more than enough to eat.

Nov. 12 - 15

Life is beginning to assume a pattern here is Samoa. In the morning we head out to the numerous villages along the coast handing out tracts and cds and making contacts to show the Jesus film. We find one of Jenna’s cousins named Wallace, the son of a Ma’tai, or chief, who is fluent in English to guide us to villages and interpret for us as we make appointments and witness. In the afternoons we have some free time. The beaches here are teeming with tropical fish and vibrant coral, so snorkeling is naturally a favorite past time for me. One afternoon Sarah and I climbed into our two person inflatable kayak and made out for a tiny uninhabited island about 2 miles out in the bay. We chose the worst time to embark on such a voyage as a considerable breeze picked up, and it took a great deal of effort to maneuver through the waves. Along the way a sea turtle surfaced, almost close enough to touch, and floated for a few moments until he suddenly became aware of our presence and dove back into the depths. About an hour later, we reached our little island. It was completely lifeless except for an abundance of hermit crabs and some low growing shrubs. As we turned around, the view of Sa’vai was stunning. The entire landscape of the island stretches out on both sides, with huge volcanic cones jutting up covered in thick forests. Massive clouds seen only at sea glide around the peaks. I was struck by just how remote a place we’re at - sequestered on a huge volcano rising from the sea floor with thousands of miles of ocean on every side. It feels awful and wonderful all at once to know you're in one of the most remote places in the South Pacific - in the world.

We have a very warm reception to the literature we distribute, and most are supportive of our work. In one village, a leading elder called C.C., Dad and I to his porch to give us a traditional Samoan blessing. As we took our seats on a long bench, I noticed a large bowl filled with a thin brown liquid on the table before the man. He asked for each of our names and then took a small coconut shell, stired the liquid for a moment and then scooped it up to the capacity of the shell. He then crieed out Dad’s name and a long formal blessing and gave the shell to Dad to drink. He then proceeded with the same ritual for C.C. and I. When I tasted it, it had a strong earthy, organic taste with a tingle that hinted it was partially fermented. When the ceremony was finished, I discovered the unusual drink is made from the bark of a native tree.

As we proceed from village to village I, try to take in the all the sights of daily life in a traditional Samoan village. Most of the homes, although crude in construction, are clean and well taken care of and are surrounded by neatly manicured flower bushes and shrubs. The lush environment accommodates a wide diversity of flora in brilliant hues all around. The center of daily life is the fale. Similar in structure to a pole barn, it is a great room open on all sides and covered by a palm frond or sheet metal roof. Around this structure are various other small buildings for daily life - a kitchen, an outhouse, sleeping quarters, a workshop, and so on. Most people appear quite poor by western standards, owning no vehicles and living in simple cinder block homes, but have the basic commodities for an acceptable standard of living. Nearly everyone is engaged in some activity relating to food; fishing or working on a small pineapple plantation or running a tiny shop or restaurant. The pace of life is easy going but disciplined.

There is a strong moral framework integral to the society, largely due to the influence of British missionaries of the nineteenth century. First pioneered by John Williams, the missionary efforts of the London Missionary Society, or LMS as they are known here, are still evident in both the worldview and practice of many Samoans. Church is the foundation of social life, the niche that defines one’s place in Samoan life. All along the road numerous churches can be seen. Most are Catholic or LMS, and Mormons are beginning to gain a formidable presence throughout the island. Sunday morning we attended a large LMS church in a nearby village. As it turned out, this particular Sunday was a type of fundraiser in which all the LMS churches on the island gathered together. As I stepped in the huge, poorly ventilated sanctuary, my breath was taken away by the sea of people before me. Around 500 people were seated, arranged in groups by the district they are from, each church represented wearing matching colored lavalavas. All were clad in white shirts and all the women wore large white lace hats. Before each group was a small organ or electric keyboard and a song director. As the first group began to sing, I was amazed. Breaking out into four parts, they sang choruses from the turn of the century in tight, even harmonies, the Samoan translations in perfect step to the rhythm. As each group took their turn, all sang in the same style. It is intriguing to me to hear western singing so thoroughly embraced by an island culture with bigger and bolder voices than Americans or Europeans. After a lengthy sermon in Samoan, the service was dismissed and the crowd almost magically disappeared into a few dozen trucks and rumbled away.

Later that afternoon, I asked Wallace, who attends church there, about the service and the Samoan’s attitude to church. I am surprised by how ritualistic a place the church serves here. It seems to many to be a place to give your tithes and put in your time for God and be the “anchor” to your social life with little emphasis on a personal relationship with Christ. Not unlike very legalistic churches such as the Amish, many do not really understand the new birth. They are very moral, devout and religious, even setting aside a daily curfew in the evening for prayer and singing. Especially in the Catholic churches, many members also integrate the pagan Samoan deities into their religious life. There is a great need for a clear understanding of a vibrant, personal connection with God.

P.S. The internet is really slow, but pictures are coming soon!

alpenglow and life

2009-07-15T15:24:00.000-07:00

What is it about the alpine that strikes such a spiritual chord within me? It is almost as if something is awakened, a deep insatiable longing for something... something so distant and indistinct and yet almost familiar, as if once known in the deep past.

If only I could tap into that existence, above the ruts of the mundane of life and live on a higher plane, an indescribably broader, richer and more vivid perspective. The alpenglow of sunrise enveloping the dark peaks and valleys with vibrant rose red hues... I wish the alpenglow would always gleam in my life

Celaque

2009-03-12T15:01:00.000-07:00

Celaque

Yesterday morning, we headed out to climb Mount Celaque, or Cerro Las Minas, the highest peak in Honduras at 9,347 feet. It was a great climb. The trail was quite steep at times, and the elevation gain from the trailhead to the summit was around 4,000 feet. The trail meandered through several fascinating ecosystems, beginning in an arid, pine tree forest, then down into a rainforest in the valleys, and finally climbing up to the unique cloud forest ecosystem. Huge, ancient trees, with vines and moss hanging from their branches, loomed all around us, their sheer size and age demanding respect by all trespassers. Wisps of cloud shrouded the forest, and it was so still you could hear the silence. It almost felt haunted. The erie quietness was suddenly broken by loud, clumsy crashing high in the branches of a tree above us, and we soon spotted 4 or 5 spider monkeys, leaping about and scolding us for daring to enter their domain. I was awed by the realization that this forest was still virtually unchanged from how it had been for hundreds, even thousands of years. It was like entering a new world, a world completely untouched by man and unlike anywhere else I had ever been before.
We spent the night at a campsite around 8,500 feet in elevation, and awoke this morning to the sounds of exotic birds. After a quick breakfast of campfire-smoked summer sausage, we ran down the trail and made it back to the truck in about two hours. It was an unforgettable experience!
One year ago today, Isaac was hiking along the Lenca River with Daniel, Micah, Michael, and Caleb, the wild and mighty river that claimed Isaac’s life. I thought this morning that this was the perfect way to remember him. It was something Isaac would have loved. I climbed this peak in memory of him.

P.S. Sorry the pictures are so small. The internet was really slow today, so I had to shrink them down.

2009-03-12T14:32:00.000-07:00

Volcanoes y la Playa

2009-02-21T13:27:00.000-08:00

La Antigua

2009-02-14T16:53:00.001-08:00

Kids, Churches and Hikes

2009-02-04T12:28:00.001-08:00

2009-02-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

2009-02-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

2009-02-02T10:44:00.000-08:00

Honduras

2009-01-28T11:50:00.000-08:00

Pena Blanca

The pictures... finally...

2008-10-15T18:47:00.000-07:00

I've certainly hit the ground running since I've been home - it's hard to believe it's been less than two weeks that we've been back! I finally found some time to pick out some of my favorite pictures from India.

A really long post to make up for the absence of periodic shorter ones

2008-10-02T23:26:00.000-07:00

What? Can this be for real? Josh actually updated his blog? We all thought he must have died in India or something. Most of us despaired of checking his blog, each futile effort met only with the monstrous invariable post “India...” he posted like three weeks ago. But nay, vitality and change has once again triumphed in the end. Alright, that’s the epic explanation, and, I admit, rather lame. In reality, Internet has proven to be a remarkably difficult commodity to obtain on this trip. For the past three weeks, we have been in some really mountainous and remote villages where hot water heaters are cutting edge technology.

So much time has elapsed since my last entry, I hardly know where to begin or what to say. Or rather, what not to relate. I could attempt a detailed chronicle of our entire trip as best as I can recollect, but I fear that it would be not only quite voluminous, but would also run the high risk of boredom for me and probably for you, the reader. Instead, I’ll try to give a (hopefully) brief summary of what we’ve been up to the last while.

Where I last left off, we had just undergone the excitement of a near accident with a motorcycle on a wet road, the refused demand for money, and the resulting physics lesson on the capabilities of the kinetic energy of a rock to shatter the back window of our vehicle when set in motion by a very angry man. Although Rachelle ended up with a big bruise on her shoulder, cuts all over her face, and a large piece of glass imbedded in her lower lip, we all thanked God the accident wasn’t more serious. We spent the night in a little town not far away, and were very refreshed and inspired by some astounding views of the Himalayas the next morning.

The following evening we finally pulled into the town of Bageshwar, where we spent the next week working with a young Methodist pastor named Manoj. The town is nestled in a deep valley, so in order to reach the many small villages scattered on the surrounding hillsides, a stiff hike is usually required. As we trekked along some remote trail, surrounded by an amazing variety of flora - everything from oranges and bananas to apples and potatoes - I was often sure we must be so isolated as to be throughly beyond any place where anyone would actually live, when we would come around a corner or emerge from a dense forest only to see a whole new valley with dozens of small clusters of homes sprinkled throughout small terraces of wheat and rice crops. I was overwhelmed by the huge need here. One could be sure that almost all, if not all, of those villages had ever even heard of Jesus, much less a clear presentation of the gospel. As we wandered from village to village, we distributed tracts and when there was a small group of people gathered, we would stop and share with them, using a large chart with pictures from the Bible. Dad would often do some medical work, cleaning and bandaging cuts from sickles or giving medicine for ear infections or asthma. When we would say goodbye and head to the next village, I often looked back at the watching faces of the people we had just ministered to. A certain excitement would rise up within me, knowing this was probably the first time they had ever heard the truth of life’s real meaning and what God has done so they can still experience this life despite their sin. And yet at the same time I couldn’t help feeling discouraged as I wondered what the chances of them embracing this truth really were. The nearest church is an hour and a half hike away and no Christians are around for them to ask questions. Manoj may come by every few months, but there is such a need for more follow up, for pastors and evangelists from the local area who know the people and can teach and live among them.

After spending a week with Manoj, Dad thought we should drive north to a little town right against the Himalayas to see if we could get some good views. The road soon lost the right to be called by that name - wide, rocky trail being a more accurate description - and we knew we were there when it abruptly ended altogether. It was very cloudy, however, and we only got a glimpse of a peak when the clouds parted for a few minutes. I still had a lot of fun, hiking around and hanging out with my crazy sisters and taking even crazier photographs of them. Sometimes I wonder if the “crazy” poses they strike are actually more accurate representations of their real personalities and their “normal” pictures the abnormalities. But now that I think about it, my sisters say the same of me... perhaps they’re right...

Our next stop was to see Mahesh, a young evangelist who lives in the town of Pitoraghar. Sprawling along a high ridge, the elevation is much higher than at Bageshwar and the cooler weather was a welcome change. I came down with a pretty bad case of gastro-intestinal sickness while we were there, though, and spent nearly the whole time in my hotel room. But as it turned out, that was the best time to get sick. India’s rainy season was just finishing up, and it gave us a grand finale. For three entire days and three entire nights it poured rain. It soaked the ground so thoroughly little lakes began appearing everywhere. The steep ground along the narrow roads carved into the mountainsides was so saturated that huge landslides took out whole portions of the road and several bridges were washed out. The ground supporting the porch in front of Mahesh’s house was eroded away and nearly the whole porch slid down the hillside, narrowly leaving the house intact. Everyone else had to stay indoors, too, so if one has to be laid up, it is better somehow to be curled up with a good book, with thunder and stormy weather outside than when the sun is shining and the birds are beckoning you to come out. I read nearly the whole time, and it actually was a very refreshing and encouraging time for me. By Sunday I had mostly got over the bug and the weather finally let up. As we hiked up to the little church Mahesh helps pastor, I turned around to see beautiful, golden rays of unfiltered sunlight pouring down on the valley below, shrouded in mist, with green, steep, round peaks poking through. Far aloft these, the Himalayas towered, with Indian eagles circling high above the valley floor.

By Monday the stretch of road we needed to get to our next stop was open and we arrived in Champawat late that afternoon. Just outside the town is a small Methodist church pastored by Surrendra Singh. (Actually, as a side note, all three of the pastors and evangelists we visited have the last name of Singh - Manoj, Mahesh and Surrendra - yet none of them are related. It is estimated that around 30-40% of Indians have the last name of Singh. Before the British came, Indians didn’t have much use for last names, and when it was time to think up one, well, let’s just say originality wasn’t their strongest trait.) Anyway, back to Surrendra Singh, he has a wonderful family and we really enjoyed spending time with them. For the week we were with them, we hiked around stopping in local villages, handing out tracts and sharing. Sometimes we ventured far off the beaten path, into some deep jungles that epitomized for me what Rudyard Kipling must have had in mind while writing The Jungle Book. In fact, at one house we visited we were told they often see jaguars roaming the opposite ridge. One of the highlights of being in that area for me was when we came across a group of young guys playing a game of volleyball with a long piece of cloth stretched out across a courtyard for a net and a partially deflated soccer ball. After playing with them for a while, I got to talk with them for a few minutes. They were paying really close attention, and I could see their earnestness and sincerity in their expressions. You could tell they were desperate for real purpose in life, something to pour all their enthusiasm into and pursue whole heartedly. What would it be? Volleyball or Cricket? A good education and then a high paying job? If they pursued something more spiritual, it would probably be in the radical Hinduism and relentless pursuit of making it the only religion in India, or Hindustan as they would like to call it. Oh if they could experience Jesus Christ, the fountain of living water springing up into everlasting Life, the abundant life that gives us true purpose and by His Spirit within us real life itself, the One in whom we find who we really are.

The following Monday (which was also last Monday) we bade a sad farewell to Surrendra and his family and headed out to go down the steep, winding mountain roads in our descent to the hot plains to visit COI’s work in Sitarganj and see Sunnil. This proved to be a nearly epic adventure, with huge portions of the road washed out and landslides to negotiate, a complete standstill when a jeep lost its front axle in a spot narrow enough only for one vehicle to utilize at a time, and our battery dying with jumper cables an unheard of novelty and batteries difficult to obtain. When we finally got the SUV up and running again, we made several wrong turns, and had to make a long detour along narrow village streets because the bridge over a lake was down. We finally pulled up in front of Sunnil’s house around 9:30 at night and had a difficult time staying awake while they served us dinner. The next day we spent with Sunnil, visiting several of his house churches and meeting some of the local pastors he is training. God is really using him in an amazing way. Since 2003, he has started 65 house churches, 30 of them this year, and he has a goal to start 10 more before the year is up. I think a big key to his success is the amount of regular follow up he and the 10 pastors working under him provide. Most of these pastors still live in the village they grew up in, and they know the people they are working with well and understand the obstacles they need to overcome. Also, they do an excellent job of incorporating Christianity into Indian culture. Certainly some aspects of it must be discontinued, such as their reverence for Hindu deities or Sikh gurus, but much of it should still be retained. Most of the struggling churched we visited on this trip were established by British Methodist missionaries at the turn of the century, and not much has changed in those churches since. Attending large, vaulted ceiling churches with pastors wearing long robes before lighted candles singing old English hymns translated into Hindi is difficult for many Indians to adopt. Here, pastors showing up in a village, informally waiting for a crowd to gather in local homes, everyone sitting on the floor, clapping and singing Hindi style songs and sharing testimonies is natural for them. Christianity can become their life, as Indians, without the obstacles of having to also meet the prerequisite of embracing western customs.

Wednesday we survived the long, jarring drive back to Delhi, and that evening and all of yesterday had a delightful time with our translator, Max, and his family.

So that brings us to today. It is our last day in India - tonight we board our plane for the U.S. I am both excited and sad at the same time. More than ever, I have been so impressed with great need there is in northern India. With 300 million people living in the northern Ganges plain - the population of the United States - hardly more than 20,000 Christians are actively working there. This makes it the largest concentration of people with the the least amount of Christian work in the entire world. Truly, God must be so sorrowful, longing for all these precious people to experience all that He meant them to be. I pray that I would never forget, that this burden would always be fresh and impact my heart the way it must burden God’s.

P.S. Sorry I still don't have time to post any pictures. Once I get home, I'll post like 20 of my favorites. And then, I probably will not update my blog for like another 4 months...

India

2008-09-12T21:15:00.001-07:00

India... vivid, noisy, dirty and yet so beautiful... A land of so many contrasts. As we stepped out of the Delhi airport, waves of familiar sights, smells and sounds came rushing towards me. After being in a completely new country and culture in China, I was somewhat surprised to find myself almost feeling like I was coming home, or at least to a place I knew well, as we jolted along the Indian highway, dodging motorcycles, rickshaws and huge Tata trucks. We finally reached our hotel around five in the morning, and as I had slept for nearly our entire 8 hour flight from Beijing, I decided not to try to sleep to help adjust to the new time zone.

That afternoon we needed to change some dollars to Indian Rupees, and planned to head to a central part of Delhi where some of the best conversion rates are. As we stepped out of our hotel, two auto-rickshaw drivers eagerly told us they would take us there for a cheap price. We agreed, and so we took off, each holding three members of our family, plus the driver. If you have never ridden in an auto-rickshaw in Delhi, it can be an exhilarating experience. It is like a three wheeled motorcycle with a top, a windshield and open sides. They can go surprisingly fast, and as they fly around sharp corners, dashing between trucks and cars with only a few inches on either side, you have to be sure to keep your limbs inside the rickshaw or face the possibility of an amputation. When we finally screeched to a stop, we were not at the destination agreed on with drivers. They had taken us to some shopping strip, apparently bribed by the owners to get tourists to buy their goods, and refused to take us farther. When we realized any more disputing was futile, we walked the remaining mile or so, trying to shake off numerous beggars and hawkers all along the way.

After exchanging our money and haggling over prices in the markets for some commodities for our trip, we headed back to the office of COI, a Christian organization we work with, and the home of its director. This time we opted to take the Delhi Metro back, and other than all six of us piling into one rickshaw this time to take us from the station to the apartments, and getting lost a few times along the way, our journey back was relatively uneventful.

That evening we had a joyful reunion with some of our great friends here - Nana & Nani, Jojo, and Max and Della. They are such a blessing, and it was great catching up. We had such a good time and it was so good to see them all again.

The next morning, we started early and began strapping our mountain of luggage to the top of our small SUV to head in to the remote, mountainous and almost completely unevangelized province of Uttaranchal. We were so blessed to have Max able to join us, and by 7:15 we were rolling out of Delhi.

The drive is a long, grueling one along a two lane highway with everything from water buffalo drawn carts to bicycles to trucks whizzing by, not necessarily in their lane. It is slow, hard going, with lots of jolting and stopping for the huge potholes and dodging the slower, unconventional vehicles along the way.

For lunch we stopped in a little shop opening up to the main road. As we walked in, I was immediately reminded of how different table manners are in India. None of the tables had been wiped for a month, the floor hadn’t been swept for at least that long, and over on one table a man was sprawled out taking a siesta. When the food was served, no plates were given as the preferred manner of eating is using a chapati - a wheat tortilla like bread - to sop up sauce and scoop up meat and vegetables from a dish shared by all. Bethany exclaimed to me, “Can you imagine how rude this would be back home? Everyone reaching across the table dipping their bread in the same dish and then shoveling it in to your mouth before the sauce runs off!” The food was really good, though, and I think everyone enjoyed the meal, if not the cultural experience.

All this while we had been traveling along a vast, flat plain and it was so refreshing to see the foothills begin poking their heads out of the fog. As we approached them, I was once again amazed at their steepness. The sides of the hills are almost perpendicular to the valleys below, and the trees seem to grow at right angles in an attempt at being horizontal. The cool, crisp air was so invigorating, and the blue sky - the first we had seen since the United States except for in the plane - was a welcome sight.

The steep, narrow road, undulating up the sides of the hills, was even slower going than it had been in the plains, but it provided us the opportunity to pass out Christian tracts and Gospels of John in Hindi to villagers walking along the road or nearby shop keepers, calling out “Ek tofa ap kelia!” (A gift for you). Most seemed interested or even grateful. Pray that the message of Life will touch their hearts, a shaft of Light in the darkness of Hinduism.

As we continued down the road, we came to a place where the traffic had come to a complete stand still. When Max asked someone what was going on, he was told that a Hindu procession was taking place. Max and I ran down the road a little ways to see if we could get a glimpse of it. As we got closer we could hear bells ringing, gongs, enthusiastic chanting and an ominous rhythm beaten out on large drums. They were moving the idol from one shrine to another, and all were so wholehearted and earnest in their commitment to this deity. I was keenly reminded of just how desperately these people are pursuing religion and how fervently they are seeking to fulfill the spiritual vacuum in their hearts. I thought how painful a sight like this must be to God. They fear, revere and even love these gods who not only do nothing for them but even in their legends and stories are just as or more corrupt and perverted than man, while the all perfect God, the One who created them, cares for them, and loves them so passionately above all else is not even acknowledged. How much God must long for them to return that love.

The following day we were once again on the road when torrential sheets of rain began pouring down. The rainy season in this area lasts from about June to September, and each storm can last for several hours or even several days. The roads were starting to get quite slick when a motorcycle came flying around a corner. The roads up here are too narrow to have two lanes, so when one is going around a corner, it is difficult not to drift into the center of the road. When the motorcycle saw us, he braked hard and spun out, falling off his bike and skidding along the road a ways. Fortunately he was not injured except for some minor abrasions and his bike was fine, too. He was very upset, however, and demanded Dad pay him for compensation. Dad refused and started to drive off. I felt bad for the young man, wondering if we had done the right thing, when my thoughts were interrupted by a loud smash and the sound of glass shattering. In his anger, the man threw a brick sized rock into the back window of our SUV. Rachelle and Sarah were sitting in the back, and the rock narrowly missed hitting Rachelle on the head, careening into her shoulder instead. When I looked back, I saw blood all over her from cuts from the shattered glass, and a large piece embedded in her lip. We all praised God for protecting Rachelle from a more serious injury. Later, once we were back on the road again, while Rachelle was leaning across Bethany’s lap holding tissues to her mouth trying to stop the bleeding and while Sarah and I were in the back attempting to keep the rain out of the car with a make shift tarp, I struggled with feelings of discouragement. What were we really here for, anyways? Had we really handled that situation as Christ would have? What if God had allowed that man to have his accident with us so he could have the chance to come into contact with Christians? I felt God was using it to teach me just how important t is to abide in Him, to be tapped into Him for strength and real newness of Life. Without Him, we have nothing to offer; without Him we really can do nothing.

It was getting dark, and so we stopped in a little town we had never been to before for the night. As we were unloading our bags from the top of the car, Dad suddenly pointed to something high above the clouds. When I saw what it was, I stopped short in amazement. Towering far above the valley below was a portion of the Tibetan Himalayas. They were the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen, so sharp and rugged, so insanely high, they appeared to be from another planet, even as if heaven had opened up in the sky. The valley at their bases was around 6,000 feet above sea level while the top of the peaks reached to around 21,000 feet - we could see a 15,000 feet elevation gain. I was so awed by God’s majesty, the smallness and insignificance of man, and yet the fact that the same immensely powerful God who formed these magnificent peaks cares for us above all else on earth. The words from a song ran over and over in my mind:

From the highest of heights to the depths of the sea
Creation’s revealing Your majesty.
From the colors of fall to the fragrance of spring
Every creature unique in the song that it sings
All exclaiming

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name
You are amazing, God!
All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees as we humbly proclaim
You are amazing, God!

Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go?
Or seen heavenly storehouses laden with snow?
Who imagined the sun and gave source to its light?
Yet conceals it to bring us the coolest of nights?
None can fathom

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name
You are amazing, God!
Incomparable! Unchangeable!
You see the depths of my heart and You loved me the same
You are amazing, God!

P.S. The only internet cafe here is really slow, but I'll try to post some pictures later.

Last Days in China

2008-09-11T01:48:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened since my last blog entry. For our last day in Beijing, we visited the Summer Palace, a huge, beautiful park on the outskirts of the city built hundreds of years ago as a place of respite during the hot summer months for the royal family. In the center lies a lovely lake enclosed by massive and yet elegant water lilies. Running along one side of the lake is a long hall, covered with over 8,000 paintings exhibiting graceful, enchanting classical Chinese art.

That evening we boarded a plane for Chengdu, a large city in central China where a friend of ours is working with an organization called Global Tribes Outreach (GTO). We had packed around 200 pounds of Chinese Bibles in our check in luggage to bring there from the U.S., and since it is illegal to distribute any Christian literature in China except for that approved by the government, we were all nervous that there might be complications at the multiple security checkpoints. The bags passed through each one with no problems, and we all breathed a pray of thanks when we safely reached Chengdu with all the Bibles.

The next three days were filled with catching up with old friends, getting to know the GTO missionaries and observing their work there, and experiencing the unique culture and cuisine of the area. Chinese believe the more exotic the meat, the better it is for you, and I promise I had never before seen so many strange things consumed as food, and food they presumably enjoyed. Long, squiggly octopus tentacles impaled on a shish-kabob and grilled were avidly slurped up, suction cups and all. Pickled chicken feet are the rave, and slimy brown pig snouts, feet and tails (I didn’t realize pigs even had tails long enough to eat) were delicacies at the meat markets. Fortunately our friends knew the restaurants that served sweet and sour chicken and lo mein, and I had some really good meals there. I also was pleased that I ate three entire meals using only chopsticks, though there was a ring of rice strewn for a one foot radius all around my bowl on the table, and I usually ended my meal not because I was full but due to my exceedingly sore fingers.

On Saturday we visited an old market street where various Chinese arts and crafts were made and sold. It was fascinating to see silk being extracted form the silk worms’ cocoons, spun into string and then made into fabric. We watched an artist create exquisite landscapes using tree bark and paint, blending the two so well that though the paintings conveyed a sense of dimension, you could never discern where the bark ended an where the paint began. Hints of beautiful oriental music wafted throughout the street. When I came closer, it was being played on flute type instrument with a gourd affixed to the top to give it increased resonance. I was mesmerized by it, so soulful and sad and yet tinged with a hopeful, almost magical expectation. As we headed back to our hotel, I was impressed by the Chinese’s love of beauty and a desire for the peaceful and perfect. This is evident in the fine details on their teacups, the intricate carvings on their older buildings, the names they give - Gate of Heavenly Purity, House of Peaceful Longevity, Temple of Perfect Equity - even in their names for the mundane (their word for Coca Cola means “delicious happiness”.) Deep within their culture and their hearts is a longing to transcend the ordinary, commonplace existence of man. They searched for it for centuries in their traditional arts and through Taoist and Confucius ideals without discovering it. Most have given up, attempting to find fulfillment in a successful job and urban lifestyle. If only they could realize these yearnings for the transcendent are not empty desires, but God’s image implanted within them, craving to discover its real existence, its true identity in a relationship with a perfect and complete God.

Sunday morning we joined the GTO missionaries’ worship service in one of their homes, and had a wonderful time. This is illegal for Chinese nationals, and everyone present was American. It is illegal to be a Christian in China unless you attend one of the state approved churches. There is only one of these in Chengdu. Around 800 people attend there, but given Chengdu’s enormous population of 10 million, this is a fraction of the city. Also, you are not allowed to attend if you are under 18 years old. The goal is to prevent children from growing up as Christians and inhibit the next generation from embracing Christianity. In addition to this, very little church participation is encouraged or even allowed, which often turns Christianity into something you observe instead of something you live for, and this often makes it difficult for Christians to have active spiritual lives. For these reasons, multitudes of illegal house churches are springing up all over the country. A spiritual explosion is taking place in China right now like nothing before. Millions are discovering their true purpose and life in Jesus Christ, and it is spreading like wildfire in underground churches. Some estimate there are around 100 million Christians in China, and it is still growing. Along with this tremendous growth is a tremendous need for competent pastors and especially for Chinese Bibles. This huge growth is so exciting, but the support for these Christians and the remaining 1.2 billion people in China is still an incredible mission field.

It was interesting to learn how the GTO missionaries evangelize in a country where it is illegal. They have to use a lot of caution, and their main focus is to support the local house churches. It is a very different approach than the type of evangelism I have done in India - distributing thousands of tracts, hiking into villages and doing Creation to Christ presentations, showing the Jesus movie in Hindi. You have to have a “reason” to be in China if you are a foreigner, so most of them are either studying at a college or running a business there. Evangelism is on a much smaller scale, and personal with friends as you begin to gain their trust. I was encouraged and challenged by the commitment necessary to be effective for Christ in such an environment.

Sunday evenings the young people have dinner at another of the missionaries’ homes and play games. We had a lot of fun getting to know them and learn more about their work here. It also reminded me of the great times we have with friends at home, though, and it brought feelings of homesickness. But I was really glad we were able to come to Chengdu, and get a glimpse into the Christian effort in China.

Monday afternoon we flew back to Beijing to pick up Hindi literature we had left locked up in the airport, and then embarked for New Delhi, India - sort of. We almost missed our plane, racing down the long gate terminals and barely passing through the jet door before it was closed behind us. One hour later, however, we were still sitting on the runway. The reason, given over the intercom in the silted, choppy Chinese accent of a flight attendant, was “technical difficulties”. We later found out one of the jets was not operating at full power, and after another hour in the airport we were transfered to a different airplane. We finally arrived in New Delhi around three in the morning, ready to start the next chapter of our adventure.

The Great Wall of China

2008-09-04T09:51:00.001-07:00

What an exciting adventure today has been. We got up a little earlier this morning to embark on a tour of the Great Wall of China. Our bus was to depart at 7:00 am, and when we stepped outside our alley, I noticed a brand new, shiny charter bus parked along the street. I joked to mom, “There’s our bus.” Then to our amazement, we were lead up to and then in it. “Wow. This is for real,” I chuckled.

Beijing is a massive, sprawling metropolis with around 17 million people and it was nearly two hours later until we finally left its last suburbs. The longer we drove, the scenery looked increasingly more like a third world country. The gleaming high rises shrunk to lower, squat buildings with living quarters in the upper stories and small, dirty shops below. More rickshaws, bicycles and pedestrians were common instead of late model sedans. As we passed into a more agricultural area, the countryside strikingly reminded me of farming villages in India. Small, stained homes opening up to courtyards with various domestic animals milling about were dotted throughout acres of corn. Women could be seen husking corn while small groups of old men squatted together in close circles, chatting or playing cards.

As I looked out the high bus windows, I pondered the lives of these people. What do they live for? What are their hopes and dreams for the future? Most imagine happiness and success can be found in an affluent western lifestyle. Chinese are moving to the cities by the droves, hoping to get an education, find a good job and buy a house, car and flat screen TV. If only they could know the emptiness and dissatisfaction that haunts such a life. My heart was heavy for them, wishing they could discover the source of real life, the abundant, ebullient joy within that is so much more than just happiness, and realize their purpose to live in a relationship with Jesus Christ.

As we drew nearer to our destination, we began to get faint glimpses of steep, verdant mountains emerging from the dense fog. Once closer to them, I was shocked at just how sheer the sides actually were. Walls of dense vegetation shot up almost perpendicularly, and then abruptly plunged down over the top of ridge. It was then I noticed the Great Wall, stretching on an on, undulating over the highest ridge as far as the eye could see. I could hardly believe my eyes, incredulously staring as the wall climbed impossibly steep ridges and then plummeted out of sight, only to rise again to the next apex along the ridge.

The Great Wall of China began as a series of smaller walls constructed along China’s northern border to protect against invaders. Some portions dating back to the 6th century B.C., it was expanded upon and later joined into a formidable wall throughout successive dynasties. At its peak during the Ming Dynasty, it spanned approximately 4,100 miles and was guarded by over one million men.

As I climbed along the wall, I was blown away by the tremendous amount of labor that must have been required to accomplish such a feat. It was pretty hard work just hiking along the top of the wall - I couldn’t imagine hauling load upon load of bricks, stone and mortar up the mountainside. The vistas were incredible, and we all immensely enjoyed the fresh mountain air and the exercise after the smog of Beijing.
After walking along the top for about 6 miles, we came to the trail to take down to our bus. As a shortcut, a “cable route” was provided. You are strapped into a harness, clipped onto a cable, and pushed off the edge, hanging 80 or so feet above the river below. Rachelle and I were clipped on together and after the first rush of adrenaline as I fell of the edge, it was a blast. Bethany and Sarah and then Dad and Mom followed, and then we took a small boat back to the bus. It was a terrific way to end an amazing day.

China

2008-09-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy Rachelle Grizzard

Photo courtesy Bethany Grizzard

Wow. It’s hard to believe we are really in Beijing, China. The last three days blur in my memory, but I’ll try to relate some of our experiences thus far.

We left Denver for San Francisco Monday morning, laden down with 11 check in bags, just one shy of our total limit of two per person. The bulk of these are comprised of Christian literature, and nearly every one weighs within a few ounces of their weight limit of 50 pounds. But despite lugging around 500 pounds of baggage, we were able to navigate the airports relatively easily and we were soon in California awaiting our Air China 747 to take us to Beijing.

While in the San Francisco airport, we quickly noticed that we were already the minority. All throughout the terminals, among hundreds of passengers and even employees of the airport shops, Chinese was obviously the most commonly heard language. While in line to grab some lunch at a Burger King, I was trying to tell Dad one of the 4 Chinese phrases I know, “Nee hwua shaw yinwin ma?” (“Do you speak English?”). An ethnic Chinese man in front of us spun around, looking greatly amused and slightly disgusted. I’m sure never in his life had he heard his mother tongue so excruciatingly butchered.

Some 15 hours later we touched down on Chinese soil. To say the Beijing airport, newly renovated in time for the Olympics, was impressive would be an understatement. We walked down vast corridors of granite slabs and expansive ceilings swelling up in a similar design to the Bird’s Nest Olympic stadium, equipped with the latest in technology and aesthetic design. I looked around, noticing in every direction large, colorful posters sporting “Beijing 2008 - One World, One Dream.”

To say that the Chinese script is daunting to decipher would be an even greater understatement - impossible would be a more appropriate description - and we were inexpressibly grateful for the English subtitles to aid us in negotiating the airport.

It really is an exciting time in China’s history. The world is observing the country in the midst of an unfinished revolution. It is in drastic contrast to the Communist Cultural Revolution of the 70’s. Instead of clamming up and isolation, it is throwing the doors wide open to the global market. Instead of destroying the old and traditional, China is attempting to restore it, if for no other reason than tapping in to the prosperous tourist market. And with its enormous population and booming economy, China is undertaking an unprecedented transformation of the country, attempting to modernize and develop at breakneck speeds. In less than 15 years, China has nearly eradicated every trace of the 40 years of stagnant Maoist socialism. Beijing and Shanghai are teeming with new cars, neon lights, state-of-the-art skyscrapers and the latest mobile phones.

But behind the impressive economy and hype, a confusing picture lurks. The gap between rich and poor is better described as a chasm, the government resists any progression to democracy, and restrictions on free speech and access to information are intensifying. As Damian Harper describes it, “The government pays lip service to Marxist-Leninism while knowing that its grip on power may depend purely on embracing capitalism for economic growth.” In the midst of all this, Chinese society gagged by censorship and restrictions struggles for expression and real identity. I believe this is one reason for the incredible growth of Christianity in China. God is using this search for meaning and the spiritual bankruptcy at the heart of their society to cause the Chinese to find true purpose and life in Jesus Christ. Due to the necessity of secrecy for security, it is impossible to know just how many Christians are in China, but many estimate it to be around 100 million. This is equivalent to one third of the population of the United States, but with China’s population topping 1.3 billion, it is still only a thirteenth of the total amount of Chinese. Please pray that the church here would continue to grow and prosper, and that Christian materials so desperately needed could make it into the hands of Christians.

As we attempted to secure a taxi driver and haggle over the fare to bring us to our hostel, I became painfully aware of just how little I know of the language and culture. Since I was 12, I have only spent time in a country where the predominant language was either Spanish or Hindi. It was amazing to discover what a difference knowing just a few words and phrases in those languages makes in day to day travel.

Fortunately Dad had the phone number to the hostel we were to stay at, so the taxi driver, who knew no English, could call the manager and ask her for directions. When we finally stopped in front of a dark alley and were told this was the place, I couldn’t help but begin mental preparations for some dark, dank rundown operation. The manger came out to usher us down a series of alleys that would not have been too long a walk had it not been for our multitude of heavy bags. When we reached the gate, I was delightfully surprised to find my fears proven quite false. The hostel is designed to mimic classical Chinese architecture, with cozy rooms opening up around a lovely courtyard. We ate dinner in the courtyard, savoring wafts from the fragrant plants growing nearby and enjoying the cool summer breeze.

This morning’s adventures began when we decided to seek out breakfast in China. After ambling down several streets we came across a “dumpling” shop. When we came up to the counter to order, I glanced up at the menu - an intimidating series of columns of Chinese characters, almost menacing in their impossibility to be understood. Dad attempted to order with various sounds and gesticulations, but as the waitress was having considerable difficulty making sense of them, we were blessed to have a man who understood a little English help order. We received a steaming tray of these “dumplings” - flat strips of flour filled with vegetables or meat, rolled into a ball and then boiled. A few were quite tasty, depending upon their filling. This ranged from egg and mushroom to broccoli and spinach to pork to fish to shrimp, most of which my stomach was having difficulty mastering for breakfast.

After breakfast we hopped aboard a very crowed, albeit quite new bus and rode to Tien’amen Square. This large concrete expanse is the epitome of Maoist propaganda, with several monuments honoring various communist leaders called “Liberators of China” or “Heroes of the people”. Flanking these on either side are the building in which the communist legislature meets and a museum on the history of China, and on one end of the square one can go see the embalmed body of Mao himself, if so inclined. Surrounding this are remainders of the old Beijing wall built during the Ming dynasty, ironic remnants of a more beautiful and dignified age.

After this we entered the exquisite Forbidden City. Built in the 1400’s, 24 different emperors ruled China from this vast network of walls, palaces, moats, halls and gardens all ornately decorated with intricately carved wood, bronze and marble. Its name was earned because for nearly 600 years no one could enter it unless given express permission by the emperor himself. We had a very enjoyable time wandering through the vast halls and expanses in awe of the mighty empire that once governed this country.

Afterward we decided to stop in a local restaurant for some lunch. While we were there, we attempted to learn the discipline of eating with chopsticks. This, of course, had comical results, much to the amusement of our fellow diners. Finally a couple of them patiently tried to show us how, and when we could finally pick up one grain of rice, we felt like maybe we had started to get the hang of it. The eggplant and rice was good, but the meat seemed a little strange. Sarah was confident our shish-kabobs were comprised of dog meat, which actually, according to one of our guidebooks, “is eaten commonly in Beijing, especially in the winter months.” I can only hope Sarah was wrong...

Mt. Elbert

2008-07-21T14:48:00.000-07:00

Last week my family and I spent a wonderful day climbing Mt. Elbert. Over 14,400 feet, it is the highest peak in Colorado and the second highest peak in the lower 48 states.

Rafting the Yampa River

2008-07-02T13:16:00.001-07:00

Yes, I know it's hard to believe. Josh actually updated his blog. I just got back from a wonderful trip with my family, the Friesons and the some of the Eatons down the Yampa River on the border of Colorado and Utah. It was such a refreshing time to get away from the pressures of life and spend a week in some of God's spectacular creation.

2008-07-02T13:14:00.000-07:00

2008-07-02T13:12:00.000-07:00

2008-07-02T13:09:00.000-07:00

2008-07-02T12:53:00.000-07:00

2008-05-29T06:42:00.000-07:00

Our final experiences in India

2008-05-29T06:40:00.000-07:00

I am now in Delhi after a wonderful trip. We head to the airport in an hour or so, but thought I’d post what we did since my last entry.

We met with the evangelist in Pitoragar, Mahesh, and he took us to the village where he was born. It is interesting to see that often the most difficult people to reach in our lives are the ones we know best. I think this is the case with Mahesh. They can see an amazing difference in his life since he was become a Christian, and they admire and respect him, but it seems they know him too well to want to hear new teachings from him. It reminds me of when Christ had a similar response in Nazareth, and Jesus said “A prophet is not without honor except in his own country.” I can only pray that the messages Dad and I shared and the numerous tracts we distributed there might touch some of their hearts.

On Sunday, we attended a service in a church about 15 miles outside Pitoragar. Mahesh actively evangelizes in this area, and since the pastor lives in Pitoragar and can’t make it out to the church very often, Mahesh plays a principal role in nurturing and encouraging the believers there. A lot of visitors came, and the church was nearly full. Afterwards, we had lunch with one of the Christian families and then headed out for Bageshwar. We experienced torrential rain along the way, and the hillsides are so steep, flash floods and landslides can be a real problem. At one place a large amount of water came ripping through a narrow ravine and across the road. Although it wasn’t very deep, it was quite swift and we all held our breathes as Dad backed up to gain some speed to blast through it. We made it through safely, but it certainly added some excitement to our day.

The next morning we met with a pastor, Manoj Singh, who we had first encountered in 2004 just outside Bageshwar. He is such a sweet man and full of love for the people he works with. He wanted to take us to a very remote village where he had gone before several years back but had not visited since. So we started up the trail, accompanied by several faithful members of his church. The trail was quite steep, and since some of the women along were having some difficulty, it was slow going. Along the way we stopped at several houses, giving out tracts and witnessing to some of the villagers. It was a beautiful hike. I relished the expansive views and the pristine mountain air, the sound of pine needles crunching under our feet and the delightful smell of the pines. I also had a great time attempting to relate with Manoj along the way. His English is limited and it would be a vast understatement to describe my Hindi in that way, but it’s amazing how much you can communicate and bond with someone without knowing each other’s language. When we finally reached the village, we had hiked about 4 miles and gained about 2,000 feet in elevation. Edwin said, “I think we can be pretty sure that we are the first Americans to visit this village.” Of course this was the event of all time for this small village, and nearly every inhabitant came to listen to songs, Dad and I share some messages, and receive tracts and New Testaments. They paid close attention, and seemed to really appreciate the New Testaments. We had brought only 5 along, and several more villagers asked if they could have a copy. After we were through, we got to watch how they pound their wheat to remove the hulls. It takes a tremendous amount of work and skill, and they all laughed when Dad attempted to try it. It was getting late, so we began the long descent and reached Manoj’s home shortly after dark.

The next day we spent the morning in the area around Manoj’s church to hand out tracts and speak with some of the Christians there. Many of the Christians here are nominal, and are confusing some interested neighbors. It is interesting to see how integrated Indian culture is with Hinduism. So many things in their lifestyle, world view, thought processes and even their daily lives are connected with the Hindu deities. Hindu superstitions can be seen from the numerous shrines to the faces painted on houses and shoes hung on new vehicles to ward off the evil eye. It really is a transformation of not only of soul but mind when converts, and it is often a slow process. Many Christians need clear teaching and instruction to put away their Hindu practices and accept a new world view. Manoj feels very few of the Christians there are strong, and seemed to really appreciate the time we spent speaking with the some of the Christians there.

That afternoon we said goodbye to Manoj and headed to Almora, the first stop in the long haul back to Delhi. The road passed though some very high passes, and had it not been so hazy we would have had an excellent view of the Himalayas. As it was we still got some breathtaking glimpses of the lofty peaks and ridges, most over 21,000 feet, their sharp points and astounding height seeming almost ethereal and unearthly.

Wednesday we left Almora at 6:00 in the morning and made the grueling drive to Delhi. That evening we had supper with Max’s family and then bade a sad goodbye to Max and Della. They were such a blessing on our trip, and I will really miss them.

Today we did some shopping and finished up packing for the long flight home. As I am writing this I am both sorrowful and glad that we only have a few hours here in India. I miss my family and I have those SATs and ACTs looming before me needing studious preparation, but I will really miss being here. I feel I have been able to appreciate and experience the culture and country in a way that I never have before, and I have been so enriched by it. I feel I have left a part of my heat here, and my life has been changed.

Champawat

2008-05-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

Well the air card I was using does not get service here, so I have been dependent on internet cafes which are few and far between here, and when you do chance upon one, they rarely work. I finally found one, so I’ll catch you up on what we’ve been up to but it is too slow to upload any pictures.

For the last few days we have been working around the area of Champawat. Our departure from Sitarganj Tuesday morning had an interesting start when after we loaded our Eiffel Tower of luggage on the top of our small SUV, we realized it was almost too high to get out of the hotel’s parking garage. Dad was able to squeeze under without taking any bags off, and we were finally on our way to the mountains. It was a pleasant drive, all the time gradually approaching the increasingly high horizon, carpeted with thick forest and blanketed in mist. We began slowly ascending the meandering switchbacks, pushing higher and higher along the incredibly steep terrain. In some places, the ground fell away so sharply that the trees bend nearly 90 degrees to grow vertically. Monkeys ran all about, leaping from branch to branch and scolding us for invading their arboreal domain. Although it was only a four hour drive from Sitarganj to Champawat, Dad was glad to stop driving the narrow, rough roads complete with wide trucks always flying around sharp corners to greet you with an ear-piercing blast from their enormous horns.

We stopped at the hotel in Champawat where we have stayed two times before. We were greeted by the comical owner of the hotel, Andragh. He knows a lot of English, and has the most hilarious smile and is always cracking corny jokes and in a good natured way snooping around and asking questions. He knows a lot about Christianity and is very friendly towards Christians, but he is still devoted to his Hindu faith.

I feel that God worked out a miracle for us in Champawat. No sooner had we checked in to our hotel, then a man appeared and said he was a pastor at a church just a little distance outside Champawat. He took us to his home, and introduced us to his wonderful family. He had just recently moved there, and it was so exciting to see a strong Christian witness in the Champawat area. His family is so kind, and very sincere in their faith. They sang us some songs and showed us some of the different plants and fruits that grow around their house. The next morning we went back up into the same area to go with the pastor to evangelize some of the surrounding villages. We hiked in about 5 miles, and along the way picked the fruit of the prolific wild berries that grow along the trail and distributed Christian literature. At one place we waited for a little while until a small crowd gathered and then I shared a concise version of the gospel. When I was finished, Max asked them what they thought. Someone answered, “It is all very interesting but it is difficult to process so much new information at once.” We told them about the church nearby, and they said they wanted to come and hear more.

Please pray for this little church. It was started nearly 100 years ago by British Methodist missionaries, and it feels like it really needs some vivacious Christians willing to reach out to people around them. I think that this pastor and his family could be just that. They are new to the idea of evangelism, and I think they were really encouraged by going along with us to the villages and joining us as we showed the Jesus movie both nights we were there.

This morning we met with another Christian evangelist in Champawat we had met on our previous trip. He is sent out by Action for Asia and spends every day speaking and witnessing in Champawat and the surrounding area, in addition to conducting a daily Sunday school for children. We had just had a short visit over some chai, but I think we were both encouraged by it. He is planning to get married next month, and kept inviting us to come. I wish I could, but it is only a week after the day we get back to the U.S.

Once again we assembled our tower of luggage and then set out for Pitoragar. Along the way, we stopped in the town of Lohaghat to encourage a small house church there. They were busy, but seemed very blessed by our short visit.

It was a long drive to Pitoragar, but the vistas along the way were breath taking. As we crawled up and up passes and then headed back down into a valleys and then back up again, we got our first glimpses of the lofty peaks of the snow capped Himalayas. We also enjoyed watching monkeys, marveling at the narrow terraces carved into the immensely steep hillsides and practicing our tract throwing skills as we attempted to give them to the passengers of the trucks and taxis that passed us.

After we settled into our hotel in Pitoragar, we went out to see if we could find a young evangelist we had met on our last trip. We were glad to find he still lives in Pitoragar and is still working in the villages in the area. We had a delightful time drinking chai and talking with him, and he has promised to take us out to go and work with him tomorrow morning.

2008-05-21T01:39:00.000-07:00

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Working with Sunnil

2008-05-21T01:31:00.000-07:00

What a wonderful and eventful time we have had working with Sunnil and the other pastors in the Sitarganj area. I am sorry I have not been able to upload anything for a couple of days. We have been out late every evening.
Sunday was a full day for us. Each of the churches in the area have their own Sunday morning service, and Sunnil thought we should split up and go to a couple of them. Dad and Marvin attended the service held in Sunnil’s house and Edwin and I went a short distance to one of the churches in a small village. Vijay and Jugdis accompanied us, and we met the local pastor of that church, Mandrah, and his wonderful family. About 25 people attended this service, and all of us crowded into Mandrah’s small house to worship. After several very uniquely Indian praise songs, accompanied by congo drums, tambourines, and clapping, Edwin and I both shared a short message. I decided to tell the story of Gideon, and encourage them that even though they as Christians are often the minority and sometimes not accepted by their neighbors, with God’s help they can stand up for their faith, just as God empowered Gideon with his 300 men to defeat the Midiannite army of 20,000.

Afterwards, I asked Vijay what he thought of the service. He said that was probably the first time they had heard that story, and by the way they sat glued to their seats, I would not doubt him. Vijay also said that he thinks stories are the best way to touch the hearts of the people in theses villages. I have been thinking a lot for the past few days what the ministry of Jesus was like while He was here on earth. He came to culture more similar to this than our own, and in an environment just like this. The people hard working, barely eking out a living in their fields or with their livestock, many having a minimal education and not having much time for the luxury of reading and thinking. I think this is why our Lord told parables. A simple, applicable story that they could relate to, but full of profound truth when sought for by a heart with faith.

After the service, the elder of the village invited us to his house for chai. He has a delightful family, and we had a very enjoyable time trying to relate with them. One of his daughters, about 12 years old, spoke a little English and told us that they had given Edwin and I nicknames - “Gulabi brother” (pink brother) and “Suffayed brother” (white brother) respectively. We laughed so hard, and for the rest of the evening they only called us by these names.
That day we also visited a widow and her family. It is such a heart wrenching situation. The father of the family accepted Christianity shortly be for he fell ill and then passed away, and his daughters, who were very close to him, blame Christianity for his death. Also, they have no man in the house who can work and earn a living for their family, so the mother had to borrow land and money so she and her daughters can pay for the medical bills for the father before he died. Please keep them in your prayers, that they would see it is not God’s fault and that He does care for the widow and the fatherless.

Monday we gave a sad farewell to Vijay. He boarded a train for Delhi to get back to work in his office at COI. He was such a blessing, being willing to come along at such short notice and so wholeheartedly pour his heart into what we were doing.

Our next stop was to see COI’s sewing workshops. They have sent several Christian seamstresses and sewing machines to teach the local women a trade they can use to support themselves and bless others with. After Della chatted with the women for a few minutes, she told us some very sad things. She said that many of these women's husbands are drunkards, and spend nearly all of what little money the husbands may earn on alcohol. This ministry of COI gives them a way to provide clothing for their families and also helps put food on their tables. Most of all, it provides an excellent opportunity for one on one discussions about Jesus and Christianity.

After another service, we visited a very sweet Christian family. Some of them were grinding up corn stalks for fodder so Edwin, Dad, Della and I all had a lot of fun helping them out.

That evening, we showed the Jesus film in a small village where there is no church. Due to some complications with our equipment, it took awhile to get started, and even though it was late, around 40 people came to see it. Most seemed to listen very carefully, and stayed for the entire film.

Today we visited a village quite a distance from Sitarganj. There is only one Christian family there, and they have only recently converted. I used a book with large pictures to share with this family and a few other interested neighbors. I really appreciate the content of this flip chart. It is an excellent summary of the gospel, starting with the creation, then God creating man to have a relationship with Him, man’s sin separating us from God, and God Himself paying the penalty for us. There are about 40 pages, but everyone listened so intently, even the children, that you could have heard a pin drop had we not been outside. Afterwards, while we were drinking chai, all the children and many of the adults spent at least 20 minutes looking at the pictures again and again. Della translated for me, and she said she thinks they really were paying attention and allowing it to really sink in. After this, we headed to another service at the home of another young Christian pastor. Edwin and I rode on the back of his motorcycle (three or even four people on one motorcycle is common here), and though it was a little tight, I really enjoyed it. It was stormy all day, and the cool breeze and smell of rain throughout the day was very refreshing. Along the way we passed by groves of oranges and mangos, their cool, delectable scents swirling up to greet us. After the service, we had fun trying to convey intelligible concepts with English and Hindi words with some of the villagers.

We returned to Sunnil’s home for a meal for the last time. After many affectionate farewells to Sunnil, his wife and children, and Jugdis, we loaded up several boxes of Hindi tracts to take into northern Uttaranchal tomorrow. We have had such a wonderful time visiting and encouraging (and being encouraged by) these simple and yet sincere churches, but I am eager to head into the mountains, to areas where the gospel has never been spread.

2008-05-17T12:04:00.000-07:00

2008-05-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

A student at a school we passed

2008-05-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

We have been really busy the last two days. Yesterday, we were awakened by the zap zap of our obnoxious hotel room door bell. When Dad answered, we were delighted to see Sunnil. He had come down from Sitarganj with another pastor, Jugdis, to take us to see the new outreach COI has in the villages surrounding Rudrapur. After taking us to a scrumptious hole-in-the-wall restaurant for breakfast, we met the local evangelist who works in this area on a daily basis. Called Bapoo, he is only 21 and a really neat young man who is so earnest and sincere in his ministry to the villages.
It was a bit of a drive to the village, and along the way the scenery changed from dusty and urban to vivid green with lush rice crops. It also seemed that we could have been in a time transporter. Apart from the few tractors and motorcycles, there is hardly a trace of modern comforts and technologies. It is astounding to see how hard these people work. On the way to another village today, we saw about a dozen guys slaving away boring a hole for a well. 5 hours later we passed the same group and they were still there, working as hard as ever. Although some of the villagers can afford tractors and plows, many do all the work by hand. This includes plowing the field, planting the rice, flooding the field, harvesting it and then separating the chaff before the rice can be cooked. In so many things in their simple lives they put forth such a tremendous effort to sustain themselves.
The people in the village we visited yesterday are primarily of the Sikh religion. While we were in Delhi, Ramesh told us some very interesting things about this religion. He explained that they do not really believe in any gods or even an afterlife. The religion is all about improving our lives here on earth - caring for the poor and sick, loving people, and respecting others. There were 10 gurus long ago who set down their laws that they follow, and adherents revere these gurus to the same degree that in other faiths is held for gods. You see pictures of them in many of the Sikh homes. After meeting some of the people and drinking some chai (Indian tea that is always served to respected guests - we stop by so many homes I think we drink around 5 cups of it a day!) a worship service was held in one of the courtyards. Sunnil told us that there are about 3 Christian families there and many Sikhs who quite interested in Christianity. When Dad and I were given the opportunity to share with them, I tried to focus on the fact that there is a God, a tangible, personal God, who loves us and created us for His pleasure and when we restore our relationship with Him, that is the ultimate reason for doing good works. Around 40 people were there, and they listened intently to all that we had to say. Pray that they will consider these new ideas and have the courage to accept it. Also pray for the few Christians there, as they do not have much support and it must be very difficult at times to stand up for their new found faith in their village.
Today we went to two other small villages in the same area. The first one we visited is the home of another Christian evangelist, Sunnil (not the same Sunnil who is in charge of the outreach here.) The Christian witness in this primarily Hindu village is very new, going on for only about two months. We joined a worship service there held in a small school hall. Marvin shared a message regarding the Son of God who is innocent paying the penalty of the guilt of His creation, mankind. This idea was very new to them and they listened spellbound the entire time. When he was done, they had many good questions. They are very interested in God, and pray that this seed will sprout up and take root. When we stopped in the next village later this evening for another service, we had a great time walking about the quaint countryside and trying to relate with some of the people there before it started. I always carry my camera around, and they always chuckle at they funny things I take pictures of - a water buffalo, a rusty old bike or their small stoves fueled by water buffalo dung. When I start taking pictures of the children, more and more people begin gathering around to see the pictures on the LCD screen. Then they start asking for me to take photographs - first of themselves, then them and their buddies, then their siblings, then their family, and sometimes I find my self putting on my wide angle lens to take a huge extended family shot with uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents - sometimes 30 in one photo. Although these posed photos aren’t as interesting as more natural shots, it’s serves as a great icebreaker and a way to connect with the people. Marvin’s get-the-ring-off-the-string puzzles and Edwin’s string tricks always gather a large crowd of delighted spectators, all trying in vain to accomplish the puzzle and laughing loudly when they are shown how simple it is after they give up.
After a long day in these villages, we headed up to Sitarganj. I tagged along on the back of Sunnil’s motorcycle. It was a lot of fun, riding astride Tatas and navigating between cars and narrow bridge walls. Max and his wife arrived in Sitarganj today via bus, and we had a delightful time with them this evening. It will be such a blessing working with them for the rest of our trip.

2008-05-16T12:42:00.001-07:00

2008-05-16T12:38:00.000-07:00

2008-05-16T12:35:00.000-07:00

2008-05-16T12:19:00.001-07:00

Marvin engaging some of the young people with string tricks

A Quiet Village Outside Rudrapur

2008-05-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

It is very late, so I don't have much time to write about our day now, but I'll just mention that it was very busy and very enjoyable. We went with Sunnil and two other local evangelists to a village outside Rudrapur and joined a worship service with some of the few Christians there and around 40 people (primarily Sihks) who came. I'll tell more about it later, but for now here's some pictures.

2008-05-15T12:56:00.000-07:00

2008-05-15T12:49:00.000-07:00

An exciting ride to Uttar Pradesh

2008-05-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

What a wild ride it feels I have just been on. Although just a normal Indian day trip, the exotic sights, sounds (and smells) all around, combined with the constantly comical and often crazy traffic, have been both fascinating and exhausting. We have left Delhi, and though we only traveled about 120 miles, we were on the road for 9 hours. The roads in India are like nothing we can see in the USA. Due to the wide variety of vehicles, (cars, trucks, rickshaws, bicycles, horse & water buffalo drawn carts and pedestrians to name a few) and a lot of construction, the roads are very inefficient. The nearest thing to an interstate here has all of the above mentioned traffic on it, making it impossible to have a minimum speed limit. Also, every time you pass through a town or village, the congestion reduces your speed to around 13 miles per hour. Although it can be frustrating how much time you have to spend driving to get some where, I found that I really enjoyed it. Often when we travel in the United States, it is easy to “check out” and not really experience what we are whizzing by at 75 miles an hour. Here, you are immersed in it every moment, the slow speeds and constant stopping providing a much more intimate contact with the country and with the people.
We left Delhi a little bit later than we had hoped. Max, who was to be our translator, called us and said that he would not be able to join us until Saturday, so in the mean time Vijay has very graciously agreed to come along. He was such a blessing. In addition to asking directions in Hindi along the confusing roads he did a terrific job navigating through the complex and tight traffic. Delhi is so huge it takes hours to get through, and then there was most of the height of the province of Uttar Pradesh. It is here that Dad first met Sunnil, and we are planning on visiting his many churches he has help start in this area. Today our destination was not Sitarganj, were Sunnil lives, but Rudrapur. COI has started a new outreach here and has ordained several new evangelists to head it up. We are hoping to spend a few days encouraging the Christians here and aiding Sunill and the other pastors in outreach.When we reached Rudrapur we met one of the local evangelists for this area, Rajaram. Although he speaks no Englsih, he is so kind and obviously full of the Spirit of Christ. I am eagerly looking forward to seeing the new work here, as well as getting into the countryside and being with these humble, quiet people.
Today I was reminded of how important language is to evangelism and how little Hindi I know. As we were doing some errands is Rudrapur, I came across a group of young men. I gave them each a Christian Hindi tract, which they enthusiastically opened and began reading. One of them, in very broken English, was able to communicate to me that, “I muslim... you Christian... you tink Jesu is son of Allah... I tink Jesu is messenger of Allah.” As I attempted to explain how Allah could have a son, and that with out his perfect sacrifice, there is no way we can appease God, he shook his head and said, “I no understand what you saying. You speak Hindi?” I had to give my one of twenty sentences answer, “Me boht zya da nahe bolte hain,” (I speak very little.) I can only pray that he will read the tract and seek Allah for truth.

2008-05-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

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(Click on photos to enlarge)

Children begging

Catching up from jet-lag and preparing to head to Uttaranchal

2008-05-14T11:29:00.000-07:00

Today was a good, restful day. It was very stormy, with strong winds and a heavy downpour of rain. Due to the bad weather, we could not go out and visit the slum schools, but hopefully we can when come back to Delhi before we fly home.
After having a delicious egg breakfast served by Nana Gee, we had a fascinating discussion with Ramesh, ranging from topics to the history of the Sikh religion to how COI was first started to the influence of the Persian language on Hindi. After that, Vijay attempted to teach Edwin and I how to play cricket. After multiple swings, I finally got the hang of the cricket bat, but no matter how many times I pitched, I just couldn't get it.
After lunch, we headed into central Delhi to exchange our money and pick up a few more things before we head up into the much more remote regions in Uttaranchal. Along the way, I had a blast soaking in the uniquely Indian landscape and traffic (see pictures above and below.)
Later this evening, Maxwell Goerge and his dear wife Della came by to visit us. Max had been our translator on our last trip, and he is an excellent friend and brother in Christ. He has agreed to come with us to translate again, and his wife may join us later on.

2008-05-14T09:56:00.000-07:00

2008-05-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

Praise God. We are finally safely in Delhi. It is midnight here, but due to jet-lag I don’t feel very tired. The 13 hour flight was long, but I slept for about 5 hours of it and it didn’t seem as long or grueling as I had expected it to be. We landed at about 8:30 PM - the same time we left Newark on the 12th, so it feels as if 24 hours has gone by - and were greeted by some delightful old friends - Vijay and Divender. As we rode to COI’s headquarters, Vijay caught us up on all that is happening in Delhi, Utar Pradesh and Utarranchal. It is really amazing how God is working through this ministry. In Delhi and Uttar Pradesh alone, Ramesh excitedly tells us once we arrived, around 6,000 new Christians have been baptized since we were here two and a half years ago. (You can check out COI’s website at http://www.coindia.org/ .)
It is so thrilling to be in India again. The ride from the airport is just an ordinary drive in India, but Vijay can’t help but chuckle when he seems how amazed Marvin and Edwin seem at the crazy traffic. Horns constantly blaring, two or three auto - rickshaws or scooters in one lane, big Tata trucks pulling in front of you only inches away, all the while dodging dogs, cows and people crossing the streets.
It is also a delight to be around Indian people. Always so courteous, friendly and artistic. You see their love of art all around - from the colorfully painted trucks to the neatly arranged beads decorating a shop to the intricate paintings on a telephone booth. At the same time, though, you can see that they are desperately hungering for something. Their beautiful, intense eyes show an emptiness that they cannot seem to fulfill.
As I was flying over, I passed the time reading renowned Christian thinker Ravi Zaccharias’ autobiography. Born and raised in India, he provides some very interesting insights into Indian culture. One thing he mentions is that for the average Indian, your identity is very much tied up in your family and your religion. Many Indians do not know very much about Hinduism, but will always see themselves as Hindus. It is part of who they are. That is why, Zaccharias points out, it is such a major upheaval in family and social acceptance when an Indian converts to another religion.
He also states that for many people in India, your religion may or may not have any effect on your personal life. He recollects trying to sleep to the sound of his neighbor mercilessly beating his wife amidst desperate pleas from her to stop, and then awaking the next morning to the sound of the same couple singing praises to the Hindu deities.
That is what I think these people are looking for, whether they realize it or not. They are looking for more than an identity, but the power to have a new life. That is just what we are hoping to tell them of throughout the next two weeks.
I should try to sleep so my body will start getting used to the 12 hour time difference. Vijay has promised to take me to see COI’s work among the slum children here in Delhi tomorrow morning.

India

2008-05-12T11:28:00.001-07:00

Right now, Dad, Marvin, Edwin and I are sitting at the Denver air port waiting for our two hour delayed flight. I am so excited, eagerly anticipating the joys of being in a new place, a new culture and most of all, looking forward to spreading the great news of our saviour to others who may not yet have heard it. The 20ish hours of flying time is looming before us, but when you consider other missionaries of old who would spend 3 or more months on a ship to reach foreign lands, suddenly our flying time sounds like a trifle. We board in about 10 minutes, and I'll keep you posted on the next stage of our adventure

Letter to the Editor - Support Change

2008-03-05T18:10:00.000-08:00

This is a letter to the editor of the Cheyenne Tribune Eagle I sent in. It was published today.

Next Saturday, voters will choose which candidate Wyoming selects for the Democratic National Convention. It is a tight contest, and amidst all the rallies, ads and debates many prospective voters are undecided and perhaps confused.

It is not surprising. Both candidates have similar economical, educational and political goals. More than ever, Americans long for more than just a president who has all the right qualifications and political views. The people of America want to be excited about their country again, to rally behind a leader who can inspire hope, unify our country, and give us a course we can pursue with confidence.

Senator Barack Obama rises above as a candidate who has exhibited strong leadership and the potential to bring a new era of involvement and excitement to the people of America. He has shown that in a time when many Americans are discouraged and face an uncertain future, he can instill hope throughout the country. He has shown his ability to reach the hearts of young people and all Americans and generate excitement for the future and for our country as few others have in the past two decades. He has the charisma to ignite the public and to help us to realize the significance of every American.

Barack Obama has what it takes to excite Americans with hope, portray a new vision for the future, give means to accomplish those goals and help us to join hands and initiate change.

We have the opportunity and privilege to make a difference right here in Cheyenne at the caucus on Saturday. Registered Democrats, make sure to put in your vote at a polling center and help bring about lasting change for our country.

Folktale

2008-03-05T18:08:00.000-08:00

In this assignment I had to compose and develop a folk tale type story. It was a lot of fun.

A Tale of a Tail

A beautiful morning was just breaking in a Florida bayou. Sleepy Panther indulged in a long stretch, yawned, and looked about him. The early sun reflected brightly on patches of water intermingled with cypress trees, while herons walked awkwardly on their stilted legs about the long eldritch roots of mangroves.

Suddenly, the morning’s silence was pierced by a loud, heinous scream. Panther sprung to one side and spun around to see where the awful noise had come from.

“Ha! I really frightened you that time!” laughed Lynx. “I hope I didn’t scare you too badly! You’re up early for once. Isn’t it a gorgeous morning? How ‘bout we climb some trees or go for a hunt?”

“Yes, it is a fine morning,” replied Panther. “Although it would have been fairer had you not startled me with that detestable scream that only you can emit. And actually, I was about to head off to the pond.”

“To go for a swim?” asked Lynx.

“Of course not. You know how I despise water. I was going for a drink and...” Panther’s voice trailed off.

“I know. You want to gaze at your beautiful reflection.”

“Well, yes,” Panther stammered. “But it is a pretty reflection. Just look at my wonderful coat - is there any other like it? And look at my long, marvelous tail. I believe it is the finest in the world!”

“That is a quite a statement.”

“Well, it is certainly better than your tail! That ugly little stub! Ha ha! At least it matches your pointed, stunted ears! Ha ha!”

With that, Panther dashed off to the pond.

“That stupid lynx,” he mumbled. “Not only is he so unsightly, he’s quite a pest. Go for a swim indeed!”

After a long drink and a little breakfast, Panther looked into the still water.

“Yes, I am handsome. Those great paws, magnificent head, and ahh... my majestic tale. What a tail indeed!”

Panther primped himself and pranced about the water for a little while longer, but then decided that he needed a little nap.

“After all,” he yawned, “I awoke quite early this morning.”

He found a deliciously sunny spot on a soft, moss-covered tree that had fallen across the pond. He curled himself up, dangling his tail off the edge of the log, and was soon fast asleep.

Panther was abruptly wakened by a sudden, painful jerk of his tail. To his horror, he was wrenched off the tree and slapped the water with a splash. As he was sinking down through the deep water, he frantically tried to swim back to the surface. Despite all his strength, he could not ascend, and only then did he realize what was happening. An alligator was attempting to drown and devour him. Searing pains shot through his tail as the great reptile’s teeth tore through his flesh.

Just as Panther was despairing that the end was near, he heard a splash, wild struggling, and then that hideous scream which had frightened him earlier this morning. He burst out of the water, and then a tremendous bellow rang from the alligator’s throat and through the forest. Lynx was on it’s back, slashing and biting it as if he were a demon.

The massive lizard flung the cat off his scaly back, and Lynx flew with a crash into the undergrowth on the shoreline. Panther scrambled out of the water and raced to where Lynx was lying.

“Oh Lynx! You saved my life! Never before was I so glad to hear your scream!”

“I saved your life,” Lynx said, wiping off slime and mud from his fur, “but unfortunately, not your tail.”

Panther turned and looked at where his tail had once been.

“Oh, well. A new friend and my life rescued is better than any tail! But I do think climbing a tree sounds more enjoyable than swimming - what do you say?”

As they trotted off together into the forest, Panther peered over his shoulder at the two short tails wobbling behind them.

“Perhaps stubby tails really aren't so bad after all.”

In Class Essay

2008-03-05T18:07:00.000-08:00

This wasn't as fun as some of my other ones, nor is it very good. I was under a time limit, which was good for me because usually I take a lot of time to write.

The Three Greatest Inventions of the Twentieth Century

Of the thousands of inventions developed during the last century, three stand out among man's greatest accomplishments. They are the invention of the light bulb, the airplane, and the computer. I will briefly mention each, and give several reasons why I believe they are so great.

The light bulb's invention has had an astronomical impact on man. It has completely changed his lifestyle, allowing so much to continue on well after dark. Business can operate at all hours, games can be played late in the evening, and travel can continue without the need to wait for the arrival of morning.

Another important invention is the airplane. Nothing else has brought our world so close together as it has. Impassable mountains, vast oceans, and thousands of miles can be spanned in a matter of hours. This has had an incredible impact on the way we travel, and politically, countries are much more related and easier to attack in war.

The last great invention to mention is the computer. Since its first widespread use in the late 1970's, its users and the uses of the computer have grown at an incredible rate. The amazing things the average person can do with a computer today were unimaginable only 30 years ago. The computer has revolutionized the way we do everything - the ways we communicate, entertain ourselves, and conduct business. Along with computers, the World Wide Web should also be mentioned. The overwhelming amount of information available at one's fingertips is astounding, far superseding any information source before it.

We have looked at three inventions - the light bulb, the airplane, and the computer, and how they have so dramatically changed our world, more than any others in mankind's history.

Anton Chekhov’s Use of Ironies in His A Dreary Story

2008-03-05T18:04:00.000-08:00

Here's some school stuff I've done. In this assignment, I was to analyze the topic of my choice from A Dreary Story by Anton Chekhov. I chose to analyze his use of irony in this writing. Although it is a rather said and depressing story, there is rich literary skill here and many lessons to be learned from the life of Nikolay Stepanovitch. If you would like to read Chekhov's story before my essay, click here.

Anton Chekhov’s Use of Ironies in His A Dreary Story

Russian author Anton Chekhov, in his A Dreary Story, masterfully employs the literary device of irony to subtly reveal his main character, Nikolay Stepanovitch. Sprinkled throughout this writing are many clever ironies that serve to give a glimpse into the melancholy life of on old man.

It is worth noting before actual examples of irony are examined, that this entire story is, in fact, one skillfully depicted irony. Nikolay Stepanovitch is continually desiring that his life would be bright and enjoyable while he himself is the cause of most of it’s dreariness by his pride and his refusal to reflect on all the good things he does have in his life. He sees himself as a great and wonderful professor, when in reality, he is an old, self-centered, unhappy and poor man. If he were willing to realize his own problems, work through them, and then look at the good attributes of his life, this story would be vastly different.

Interestingly, Chekhov contributes to the poignancy of this great irony with many small ones. One of the first ironies to stand out appears while he is speaking of Stepanovitch’s long, wretched nights and the cock that hails the beginning of the day. He says, “He is my first bringer of good tidings”, only to go on and tell of his miserable and predictable mornings. Another excellent irony is seen wile his old wife is giving her daily report of their sad financial status before breakfast. While she is talking, Stepanovitch looks at her and wonders how this could be the beautiful young woman whom he married, always positive and speaking of the finer things of life. He does not realize that he is in much the same state – aged, grouchy, and seeing life only as the monotonous schedule that elderly people often allow their lives to degenerate into. His financial life is also an irony. He tries to dress himself in fine clothes so as to appear a refined professor, while still trying to pay off his debts to his footman. He is upset that his daughter will not give up her lovely clothes and expensive music lessons, and that his son will not give his money earned in the army, so that Stepanovitch can have his luxuries. He then admits that this not what he wants, though. At one point he mentions “The Temple of Science” which is ironic due to the fact that science is what Stepanovitch worships. Another irony is seen when he says the erudition of the porters is greatly exaggerated and then goes on to speak of the long quotations and other scientific things his porter can do. Also, his pride and view of self superiority is seen here.

The greatest of all ironies however is his realization of the proximity of death and that he soon will be in the afterlife, but all he will think of is science. He says “As I yield up my last breath, I shall still believe that science is the most important, most essential thing in the life of man; that it always has and always will be the highest manifestation of love, and that only by means of it will man conquer himself and nature.” This is what this belief leads to. When all that is valued is the strong and tangible, when life draws to a close, one is left without purpose and without the joy of relationships. One is in despair at the end when he was no hope in the life hereafter.

As we have seen in this brief essay, Chekhov demonstrates how a literary device can be utilized not only to enhance a story, but also to emphasize and empower one’s writing. By carefully weaving ironies throughout his story, the reader is impressed with the fact that it is ironic to blame circumstances on our happiness, for it is within us to accept and enjoy our lives or cause it to be dreary.