Looking toward the cross and home

Looking out the window of the plane while circling over Mt. Vodno in final approach to the airport in Skopje, my eyes eagerly searched for what I knew would be there: the cross.

I was returning to the Balkans after spending three months on home assignment in the US. The sight of the cross at once filled me with the comfort of the familiar, the instant relaxing of shoulders, knowing that my travels would soon be over and I'd be able to rest in the comfort of my own home.

Honestly, it struck me that seeing the cross could be so comforting to me, because no matter how much I may love Skopje and the people here, I am still very aware of my foreignness. [Frankly, I even felt a bit of that same foreignness while in the States...] On reflecting, I realized that the comfort I felt had more to do with the cross and it's meaning rather than its location. My apartment in the city overlooks the cross and I find myself several times each day looking towards it, standing strong in the day and lighting up the night. My eyes instinctively look for it out the window each day, and each time I'm reminded of a cross from so long ago and what God did for us through it.

Unlike the cross on Mt. Vodno, which lights up at dusk and gets turned off at midnight, the cross of Jesus shines brightly, day or night and into eternity. In the same way that my eyes search out the cross each day or upon returning from travels, it's a reminder to fix our eyes on Jesus and to look forward with eager anticipation for when our travels on this earth will be complete and we'll be at home with Him. In the meantime, while we sojourn here in this place, it's our privilege to serve at the pleasure of the King and to see many others come journey with us, looking toward the cross each day and to Home.

Embracing the Sweat

It’s not the heat of the deep south, the tropics or the high desert, but the scorch of summer in the Balkans. My apartment, for instance, is a steady 83 degrees – even with the old wall-mounted air-conditioner on full-blast in the living room. Some nights it’s so hot that the outside air is stale and murky, the inside air the same and the air-conditioner useless.

Even cooking in my kitchen is no fun and worth considering eating only cold salads for the remainder of summer. [In my kitchen during the summer it’s normally around 90 degrees as the sun beats on it for most of the day. Yesterday the indoor thermometer read 97 degrees after making fajitas].

Inevitably, though, each year I learn to embrace the sweat. I can’t really explain it, but there comes a moment when you just accept that it’s hot and sticky, the discomfort of it all (wet shirts, wet face and wet hair) and actually adapt to it. Living with it rather than against it.

When I first moved here to the Balkans, there was absolutely no reprieve from the heat—at home, in the field office, in stores, etc. Even cold drinks seemed scarce, at room temperature and with no ice. Everywhere the summer heat extended its tentacles and squelched out every ounce of cool that might have been found. The reason for me being here, though, helped to keep things in perspective, and I learned embrace the discomfort with a smile and sense of humor.

Embracing or adapting to certain discomforts is just one of the things I’ve learned to do since coming here to the Balkans. I’m convinced I’m exactly where God wants me to be, doing what He has for me to do. For Him, I’ll do anything, even embrace the sweat.

[Incidentally, after four summers of working in field offices that were more like saunas, the new field office actually has air and it’s SO wonderful and I’m grateful for the reprieve it gives.]

A Timely Strike

To the frustration of commuters, the consternation of traffic cops and the befuddlement of foreigners like me, strike demonstrations of unhappy workers, vendors, taxi cab drivers or anyone else with a grievance take place with amazing regularity here.

The worst protests or strikes are the ones that block the traffic arteries in the already congested downtown area. On any given day one is faced with being quite creative in getting around town and not getting stuck in the mess of honking horns, gestures, and frustration with inconvenience. My personal visual favorite was when the city taxi-cabs made a parking lot of all the city streets – oh how I wish I’d had my camera that day! You’ve never seen such a sight as hundreds of cabs lined up like ribbons all around the city!

Yet, as disruptive as it is, this is a fact of life here and seems pretty accepted. Unlike in America where strikes happen with pickets and days or weeks of standing vigil with emotions high, strikes here seem to have a set time and are more like people just “hanging out”. (Though not always, of course) Thus was the situation I walked into this morning while going into the center to purchase plane tickets.

As I stepped out onto the main street the silence was deafening. My first thought was that it was another holiday (one of the MANY), but the lack of flags posted and closed shops told me otherwise. Then I saw them, a group of about 100 people loitering in the middle of one the busiest intersection in town.

Now any gathering of people gives me pause and makes me consider changing direction and walking another way. This group, though, standing with umbrellas shading them from the scorching 10am sun, reminded me of the type of crowd that gathers awaiting a small town parade, just minus the excited anticipation. Walking past the crowd, with the ever-present policemen standing on each corner, I went to a nearby store to ask what it was.

“Oh, it’s a strike,” amused the shopkeeper, “they’re pazar workers unhappy about new rules or something.”

Walking on to the next intersection I saw that the police were diverting traffic, the streets surrounding the strike closed off in deference to it. Occasionally one car or another would try to make a run for it but the policeman would blow his whistle and step right in front of them, tsk tsking his finger. [Once when this happened it was one of the city busses that the police officer stepped in front of—the huge red bus bowing under the slammed brakes. Man, how did that cops legs not become jelly!?]

Exactly at 11am I was standing again at that same intersection having finished my errands in the center and now looking for a taxi to take me to the field office. It was exactly then that traffic was again allowed down this most heavily traveled street in the city, the strike over and everything back to normal. Such is the typical strike here, with a start and a stop time. Point made.

Just one of the many experiences living in another country where things are so different and at times quite strange, yet are becoming a regular part of daily living.

How 'bout some worms to start?

Wendy and I went out to lunch at a local restaurant where they have great Shopska salads and fresh warm garlic bread. Mmmm. What I didn't know was that they offered worms as an appetizer! Well, at least that's what the menu said.

You know what's even funnier about this, though, was that Wendy pointed it out to me and I still didn't get it. My brain must have been automatically compensating because as she pointed to it I replied something like, "Yes, Warm Starters. They're pretty good too." Seriously, took me a minute or two to get it!

The thing is, Wendy was looking at things with fresh eyes (she's only been in country less than a month). My eyes failed to notice maybe because after being here almost 5 years I've perhaps gotten used to things and/or automatically compensate. So that's why she saw "worm" and I thought "warm."

Looking with fresh eyes is a good thing, especially when you pick out details you'd not seen before. It's also preferable to not become so comfortable that your eyes pass things over, simply accept or compensate for what's missing or wrong.

Well, we didn't end up getting any "worm starters" but the Shopska and garlic bread were fantastic as usual. Several people have asked me what a Skopska is, so I took a picture.

Shopskas are a staple of the diet here and one of my personal favorites. It's made from tomatoes, cucumbers (English) and feta cheese. Sometimes onions and/or green peppers will be added as well. I've tried making them in the US, but the feta just isn't the same (too salty) and, well, Balkan atmosphere must add some of the charm as well.

Well, in the end we had great conversation, great lunch... and no worms. :)

For other great English translation related things, check out Engrish.com.

One "Ragamuffin" Reflecting

Oh to have a life that is "an untarnished success story," and "an unbroken upward spiral towards holiness." This week has been one of those weeks where I'm painfully aware of just how not true that is, and how far I've yet to grow.

Today's devotion out of "Reflections for Ragamuffins" by Brennen Manning (p.165) was quite well-timed and encouraging to me personally, so I thought I'd share. Here's what Mr. Manning had to say...

"There is a myth flourishing in the church today that has caused incalculable harm--once converted, fully converted. In other words, once I accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, an irreversible, sinless future beckons. Discipleship will be an untarnished success story; life will be an unbroken upward spiral toward holiness. Tell that to poor Peter who, after three times professing his love for Jesus on the beach, and after receiving the fullness of the Spirit at Pentecost, was still jealous of Paul's apostolic success.

"Often I have been asked, "Brennan, how is it possible that you became an alcoholic after you got saved?" It is possible because I got battered and bruised by loneliness and failure, because I got discouraged, uncertain, and guilt ridden and took my eyes off Jesus. Because the Christ encounter did not transfigure me into an angel. Because justification by grace through faith means I have been set in right relationship with God, not made the equivalent of a patient etherized on a table."

He concludes with Romans 12:3 "For by the grace given to me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgement, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you."

It's really distasteful coming up against ones own character flaws, weaknesses, sin, or "tarnish" and to see just how much one still has to grow. Yet, I'm just so much more grateful for Jesus, my Savior, and desire just that much more to submit to His tranforming work in my life. To be more like Him.

Heb 12:2-32 Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. NIV

Just 15 Minutes

OK. I have just till the big hand gets to the 12....

How do people do this? I look at my colleagues blogs and they're great, funny, insightful, informative, challenging, and so many other appropriate descriptors that fail me at the moment. I enjoy blogging and sharing some of these same types of things, but I can never seem to find the time.

Yes, things happen in life and I think, "Oh, I should blog on that." But alas, my schedule gets away from me and I never seem to get long enough to sit down and actually write it out. Here's just a few that I've let slip by:

"Storms of Life" about the awesome storms in Skopje
"The Light in the Darkness" about a period where every light in my apartment went out and it was literally beyond my reach to fix them
"The Strays" about the poor stray dogs in my neighborhood who've become so familar to me
"Beyond my grasp" about the Trinity and grasping it being akin to taking a picture of lightening
"I Resented God" about an recent insight that came as a result of studying about Mary and Martha
"Anything and Everything About Bean-Counting" this title is fascitious because it represents every random thing about being a Balkan bean counter that I've thought to say -- let alone funny experiences, challenges with exchange rates, the reality of the falling dollar, and my perpencity for anal retentiveness
"Blogs about my team" with prayer requests, events, etc.
"Driving in Skopje - An Extreme Sport" about, well, you get the idea

There are many many more, more interesting, ideas that I've had, but the moment has passed. Do I still write them? I'd like to. I enjoy writing and processing things, and if people want to read my ramblings, well, that's fine too.

Though actually writing them out is a whole other thing. I was known in college to spend 8+ hours on a simple one-page pensee for my business classes (my Prof. said it was a good lesson for me in learning to be concise). I won't begin to tell you what a nightmare my thesis on the "heresy that Paul referred to in Colossians" for my Christological Epistles class was. Or what about my final paper for my Theology class entitled "My Fresh Look at the Edge of God" processing the idea of coming to the edge of my faith and finding that it stands, because it stands on Jesus. Oh how I struggled through these topics, analysing every thought, word, structure, idea and expression. [On a side note, though, completely unrelated to my ultimate point here.... even though that process of birthing those writings was so difficult and challenging, the satisfaction with the end result is, well, immense.]

Does the word "perfectionist" come to mind yet? That's perhaps the main reason I procrastinate so much and don't actually blog (or write newsletters back home) as much as I'd like (or should -- in the case of communicating with people in the US). I'm such a perfectionist that the mere thought of writing a newsletter or blog or even "thank you" letters is daunting to me and so I procrastinate. Oh, how I need to learn to be concise!

So, that brings me to this moment. Well, actually, this 15 minutes that I've allowed myself to take a break and rant about my weakness of perfectionism and procrastination. Perhaps I will slowly take 15 minutes here and there and actually write up some of those ideas mentioned earlier. I need to "just do it" (thanks, Nike) and not worry about that there may be spelling errors, or imperfect thoughts, or (gasp) conciseness. Perhaps the more I practice this, the easier it will be. 15 minutes is so much less daunting than.... oops, my time is up and I must leave that thought hanging...