A Recap Since Last Time

So, I was rereading a bit of my last update, and saw that it was MUCH too long for your email inbox. This time, I'll keep the story short for those of you who, um, work for a living

It's been five days now since I last wrote, but it seems like I've been to a few new worlds since then. Firstly, as I was getting ready to leave my friend's place in the capital, we were having a conversation about the kind of work he's doing here and how I might also be involved in it or in something similar. Lots of theory and stories from practical experience. Still, I felt a certain unease. Though I'd been with friends for the week preceding, I was about to venture out alone. Sure, I had a couple of numbers for a few friends-of-friends if I got in a real jam, but it was pretty much time to get myself together. And, I fetl very insubstantial and rootless. I had only the sketchiest of plans - a couple days here, a couple days there - a couple extra pairs of socks and underwear, and a Lonely Planet guide.

My friend put his hand on my shoulder. "Look, you've put a lot of planning and effort into coming here, and look how far you've come. I know God honors that. The Lord is with you." Words of great encouragement, but I didn't yet know how true they were...

Currently, I'm at a place called the Village of Hope in the middle of the main mountain range in this country. I've been volunteering for a couple of days just to help out the work here any way I can, and getting a very nice place to sleep in the deal. I'm also on another volunteer's laptop, so I won't spend all night writing.

Essentially, I spent a couple of nights here, a couple nights there, and now I have a plan for my time until I get back. Of course, the day to day reality was mostly that of travel. Backpack slung, walking what seems like forever, wandering around a local medina, or one interminable taxi - or bus, or train - ride after another, packed in like sardines with somebody sitting almost on top of you. And sleeping through much of it, just to get some relief.

Of course, it hasn't all been wearisome. There has been a lot of time alone with the Lord to pray, a lot of struggling with the temptation to get depressed, give in to old habits and ways of thought, and generally break fellowship with God - in short, a mixed bag. Though, I guess this is the essence of spiritual struggle, at least on the singular level, so to be expected, right?

The brightest part in all this, though must have been my time in the country's acknowledged spiritual and religious capital. The enormous, mazelike medina showcases the city's Medieval charm, even with the DVD vendors, and the serpentine nature of the streets can be quite maddening. But, quite by accident, I found a man who wanted to invite me to dinner, which rather shocked me. I agreed, then went back to my hotel to change when I struck up a conversation with the night clerk that eventually turned into a session of sharing the good news in a combination of his broken English and my broken Arabic! WOW!! When I told the man I had to go to dinner because I had promised, he asked me how I could be so fortunate as to run into somebody in such a foreign place and be treated that way. I could only point him to the one I'd been pointing him toward.

And, I've also been here at the VOH for two days, mostly painting some newly built guest rooms. The ride out here was a lot more of the bus and taxi dog and pony show, but the location is just goreous, and almost eerily quiet after days of nothing but traffic noise and diesel exhaust in my room window. Apparently I arrived here just in time for this bit of work because the volunteer group I was with last week just left here - I didn't eve know - and another big group which needs the rooms will be showing up the day after tomorrow, so I'm fitting into a neat little slot. Nice. I love the Lord's timing.

I'm planning to go back to the maze-like city tomorrow, though not without having made some new friends here, as well. After work today, I hitched a ride into the local village for food, and ran into a couple other staff members. One is Brazilian, the other Berber, and they are speaking in their shared language of Spanish. I was able to jump in and soon enough I also had a ride back. The crazy confluence of cultures and tongues in this place means that I have been having conversations here in at least three languages a day, sometimes more if I have to tell people I don't speak French!

So, for now, I must bid you all a fond farewell, adios, adieu, b'salaama - or even tsai jien for those of you who get that.

- James

Taxi Rides and Circus Acts

It's now Sunday morning. I started this posting last night, but needed more time to flesh it out. I actually slept in the capital city, last night. I'm visiting with my U.S. friend who's been living here for most of the last few years. His apartment overlooks the Atlantic and the sea breeze is fantastic after the Red City's stifling atmosphere. Right near the gorgeously landscaped downtown, we gathered  for services this morning and the message was about boldness and expecting growth in the near future. Quite stunning, really, despite the speaker's low-key delivery. But, who knows what kinds of movements we might see in the future. In large part that's why I'm here: to ponder in my soul, to study on the word, and wait for guidance about that very subject. I've also been talking a lot with friends here about it, and those discussions are starting to have some fruit, but it's still too early to say.

On a lighter note, today we go skeet shooting as a last hurrah for my buddy here before he returns to the states to get hitched. Apparently it's going to be an afternoon of clay pigeons and cigars, two activities I've yet to have the pleasure of, and I'm looking forward to it, though the blasting more than the smoking. After that, I'm moving on to a the country's Third City to visit with that same group of new friends from Windy City who are playing a concert at the local Terrace Cafe, and then perhaps a few more days there and in the Religious Capital, but the itinerary isn't set in stone.

......

7:00 PM GMT, 6/10/06

Hello all! I woke up this morning in the Red City, and for the first time on this trip, I really didn't feel like getting up and going anywhere. Even the threat of missing my train and being stuck overnight didn't move me... for a while. Just drank too much mint tea last night and didn't sleep until around two in the morning... trying to accept the local hospitality. So, to fill in the details...

Since last writing, I spent a bit more time in Windy City, mostly just letting the atmosphere sink in, or whatever it is that visiting is supposed to evoke in all those creative people. I actually just wandered around the city, sometimes on my own, seeing the sights, smelling the smells. Little "bab"s (Arab-style arched doorways) in old sandstone medina walls that necessitate some crouching to get through, tiny alleys - with their own street names - tiled in large, textured ceramic pavers, and ancient ramparts overlooking the beach, cannons waiting. The tang of the sea is present everywhere, but nowhere more than on those ramparts. It's a sleepy little town that really comes to life once a year for the Gnawa music festival that, unfortunately, I'll be missing by just a few days this trip. But, in my time there, I spent much of the time just thinking about ways that the Word could come to make its home there, as apparently it isn't yet.

From there it was on to the Red City, by "Le Grand Taxi" rather than train this time. I tell ya, travel with friends is infinitely better than travel by oneself. You can almost always get a few minutes alone, but when you need that time with others, it's so good to get it. In this case, it was some of my friend's friends, four of us crammed together in the back seat of an aging sky-blue and white Mercedes sedan, skimming along at up to 100 km/h on the desert highway. It was a lot like a run up the I-5, but with Arab pop music on the crackling speakers. For his part, the driver was a very amiable guy, giving us little tidbits of information every few miles or so. Through interpretation, I found out that there's a spot not far from our destination in the Red City, the "Hollywood of the Maghreb", where a number of film sets still sit in the desert, including pieces from Orson Welles's production of "Othello" and Ridley Scott's "Gladiator". And, our driver had pictures of himself in front of all of them. Everybody likes pictures of themselves in Hollywood.

On the way, the driver asked if we had any CD's to play on the stereo - which was amazing because it even played CD's - and one of the gals with us had a mix CD of American worship music. So, we're cruizing along to "Send Us Out" at top volume, the driver clapping along - both hands off the wheel - and all of us having a great time. "I love American music", he said, though I don't really think he understood the lyrics. It was still fun, and a big reminder of what we were all there for.

Red City, though, was a very different experience. It had cooled some since my last day there, so it was only sweltering. I reviewed some of the video I took, and the scene was almost peaceful, but video doesn't convey heat or smell. Cars here pollute, and combined with 90+ degree heat, it can be pretty overwhelming. Of course, that was part of why I was sad to move back to LA after so long in the Bay Area, but that's a story to save for another time.

In a pattern I've started to get used to, I found a taxi, quoted a location in my broken French/Arabic, and tried to understand the price quoted to me. Followed some instructions (my friend's or the Lonely Planet's) used some more broken French/Arabic, put down my stuff, and collapsed in a heap. The heat, the noise, the smell. I know it's supposed to be "exotic" but... I guess it's the attitude. The mix of greed and contempt toward toursits seems to be distilled in this city as it is nowhere else in the country, much like the other national attributes, including the good ones. I've been told that the folks here generally treat outsiders here with tolerance at best and, though it's a big tourist destination, the repeat visitorship is quite low because we're seen merely as a way to make a buck, not as people. But I suppose, having been themselves treated that way by wave upon wave of foreigners stretching back thousands of years, as far back as the pre-Hellenic Phoenicians, a certain wariness must be bred into the culture, if not into the genes.

I found this attitude scattered all around the teeming main square, the Ringling Brothers carnival of sights and sounds that passes as a public space. Daylight hours just have the carts of vendors selling fresh-squeezed orange juice and snake-charmers, with an odd costumed water seller or two, but the evening brings the restaurant carts, identical row upon row, competing for the business of selling their own versions of the local cuisine. They all have the seam selection, so the only way they can differentiate themselves is by making a personal impression on the customers. One fellow ran up to me and made a comment about having good service, something not commonly valued here, so I actually decided to give in. But, moments later, as some female tourists walked by, the only tactic he and his fellow proprietors could think of to get attention was to call out "Merci! Merci!" and, that failing to get them a look, "Oh la la! Oh la la!" I wanted to tell them that they could do better if they found something polite to say, but by then I'd gotten past the point of wanting to interact.

The afternoon had been an adventure in the local "souq", or covered marketplace. One tiny, shady alley/street after another packed to the rafters, literally, with goods for sale. What surprised me was less the volume and immersivenss of it all, and the way it all came at me, and more the fact that most of the folks there were other Arabs, many locals. THIS was where they went to shop, to talk, to live. I could hardly imagine thrusting myself into such a maddening flurry activity for more than an hour or two on a good day, but here it's a way of life. Of course, try taking one of these folks to your local Costco on a busy Saturday!

Still, it wasn't all brooding resentment and hostility. Frankly, much of it may have been my own touches of culture shock coloring the day, which is something the weary traveler has to watch out for. Even in the everyday hustle and bustle back home, it's easy to cast a jaundiced eye on your fellowman if you've allowed the well of living water in your soul to slow to a trickle. And, truly, the main square is like a wilder, crazier version of Disneyland. The smoke from over a hundred cooking fires wafts over the plaza with each gust of wind, and crowds of local arabs throng the open spaces as they surround story-tellers, actors, musicians, sooth-sayers, and impromptu boxing matches - all lit from below by the squat, ubiquitous kerosene lanterns. Like Disneyland, there are themed sections - cuisine land, orange juice land, dried fruit land, crazy performer land - and like Disneyland, they have individual characters running around. Except they're street children begging for a coin or a crust or bread. That part's not so cute, and almost nobody gives a second glance. With children and other beggars running up to you every other minute, it makes Christ's admonition to "give to whoever asks" a truly monumental thing, but denying a child that could easily be the face on one of those late-night ads for Christian Children International (or whatever ministry)...

A note on the cuisine. Cuisine here is truly unique, with dishes that are simply not found elsewhere. Though limited in scope and number, each dish if well done is an experience to remember. Shish-kebab "brochettes", sweet-and-savory stews called "Tagine", sweetened cinnamon-flavored chicken-and-egg concoctions wrapped in paper-thin "warqa" dough called "b'stillah", and the world-famous semolina dish, couscous. All of this and the local version of salad, usually a plate of diced onions, tomato, seasoned potato, and beetroot. Sadly, the stand I went to had a chicken tajine that was so underseasoned and undersalted I regretted very much having to pay for it. It was food, and I was grateful for that, but it didn't compare very well even with Tajines I'd made back in the states with my friend Austin. Austin, here's a shout out to you.

Yours is really that good.

.....

More soon,

- James

Travel Ease ... Linguistic Frustration

So, it is just about 5:30 in the afternoon here, which would make it almost half past noon for all of you guys.

I want to start off with a huge THANK YOU for your prayers!!!!!!! I have landed safely and gotten to all my destinations with barely a hiccup. The only difficulties so far have been lingusitc, and that includes the keyboard I am zorking on at the moment. For instance, there does not seem to be a way to properly type an apostrophe, so ther will be many "I am"s and "I will"s. Also, several of the letters are in different positions, so please excuse any bizzare spelling errors. I am actually in an internet Caf? not far from my hotel in "Windy City". Very convenient.

So far, I have managed to get around with a rather pathetic m?lange of French, Arabic, and grunts, mostly sounding like English. However, a few occassions have arisen when my high school spanish has come in invaluable. Just yesterday, there was a very nice man at the "Gare de Oasis" station in Casablanca who spoke enough Spanish for us to have a conversation. Not only did he save me from an embarrassing death by looking after my bags while I was in "el bano", but he was friendly enough to help straighten out a significant ticket error on my part so I could get from there to here without going by foot! After talking with my friend who lives in the country, he called this a "real miracle". I sure thought so!

Nonetheless, being unable to get past the very basics is infuriating, especially for a chatterbox like me. It has been a real eye opener to see how hard it might be just to get along on my own for a month... a year...

Other first impressions: motorcars, mopeds, and mules, oh my! Traffic here is a many splendored thing. Smelly, dirty, and crazy. I was in NY for a layover and spent a few hours in Manhattan, but it does not compare for smell... or rudeness. This is a huge generalization, of course, but drivers here seem to be in a hurry. Though, i might be frustrated too if I had to daily share the road with a ragtag assortment of vehicles, including donkey carts of every conceivable shape and size. Donkey Power! The overwhelming prevalence of donkeys in the countryside and in some parts of the cities surprised me a lot, even though I had seen so many pictures ahead of time. For some reason, I thought they were all just kitschy memorabilia for tourists, not a depiction of reality.

I met up zith my friend yesterday afternoon, and a small team of "workers" including his fianc?e. We hqd dinner qnd then went to worship on the beach. A couple of guys came by during our time, curious, though I still have not heard about the results of that. Today was a mini "church" at the hotel with the team and then a camel ride in the afternoon. Apparently they filmed part of "Alexander" here and one of the team members got to ride Angelina Jolies camel. Even here, you can not get away from all that showbiz stuff.

And now, free time. Computer time is pretty cheap, just over a dollar an hour, but I have more to do before I am done, so this is "bsalamh" for now.

James

Going to North Africa... post dated

Ok, so I am already here, but this is the outgoing message. The follow up is coming in the next post.

First off, sorry to anybody who may be receiving a duplicate of this  
letter. Feel free to throw one, or both, away

Although this letter is going out truly at the last minute, I hope it  
finds all of you well. For those of you who have known me for some  
time, I have been in some stage of preparing to go on mission  
overseas for several years, hoping eventually to reach my destination  
in North Africa. And, for those who are newer friends, this trip has  
been on my heart for quite some time and can only apologize if I  
haven't had the chance to yet share with you about all of this in  
person.

I'm setting off for just over two weeks in a foreign land, getting  
back on the 20th. Tonight, at 11:30 Pacific Time, I set off from LA  
International Airport for roughly 48 hours of solo travel to North  
Africa, with layovers in New York and Brussels and two, large bags to  
tote from terminal to terminal. Will I make my connections? Will I  
find my way? Will I find friendly, helpful people who speak English?  
Well, I'm sure the Lord will work these things together, but what  
surprises me is, at this point, after all that has happened in the  
last several years of preparation, and especially in the last very  
trying year, I no longer have any real expectations of the Lord for  
this trip except that He will do something awesome. That's it. I've  
tried to plan, imagine, pray, anticipate, prognosticate, control, and  
manage this trip in so many ways, but in the end, it's had very  
little to do with me, except for being faithful to take the necessary  
steps to reach the starting line.

Instead of nervous anticipation, peace has settled on me. Especially  
for those of you who know me well, this is a miracle. Even yesterday,  
I was actually depressed in thinking over all the changes that have  
been made to my plans leaving my future wide open and looking at the  
missteps that have been part of my journey. It was bad enough that my  
mother was even concerned for me. "James, you seem to have this  
inability to ever really enjoy anything." Hard words to take, and  
very little response to give. Only this, "I know I'm forgiven, but  
right now my emotions are still messed up, but it will get better."

Not ten minutes later, as I cried out to the Lord, I looked upon the  
cross in my mind's eye, weeping to think of Jesus in the place I  
belonged, and it was then that his arms wrapped around me. Like the  
paralytic lowered through a roof to Jesus, I was forgiven, and to  
prove to the world that the Christ has been given this power, I was  
made able to walk again. It felt as if I'd rejoined the land of the  
living after a walk through the valley of death's shadow. Of course I  
had to tell my mother who was, naturally, nonplussed. "Jesus came to  
forgive me, and I'm better now," I said, sounding as if I was three  
years old. "Well, I guess you can tell him I agree." She still  
doesn't know him, but I keep praying.

And so, untidy and broken, I carry the love of Christ in my heart,  
burning brightly again. I don't know how the Lord will use me, but  
I'm convinced anew that His power is enough to do all things, in all  
things, for the glory of the Father, by the Son, through the power of  
the Spirit. No song will contain it, no words hold it, nor any tongue  
approach it or hand uphold it, but His will shall be done and we are  
all privileged to be a part.

Just remember to pray. That night, I was about to sink into my  
sorrow, and today I saw this. The night Jesus was to be betrayed, he  
was in the garden after the Passover supper. "When he rose from  
prayer and went back to the disciples, he found them asleep,  
exhausted from sorrow. 'Why are you sleeping?' he asked them. 'Get up  
and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.' (Luke 22:45-46)"  
And I've learned this, now, to pray through sorrow, rather than give  
in. I don't know what may be going on for some of you right now, but  
do not give in to sorrow, or the enemy will truly have won. Instead  
be alert.

I do covet your prayers for me and for my co-worker who has been  
living in North Africa for just around three years, but pray  
especially for the brothers and sisters in that land who must still  
live out their faith in secret in order to survive. Pray that those  
who are unemployed would find good work. Pray that those who are  
single would find godly mates. Pray that couples would have children  
who are fruitful in the Lord. Pray that their very lives will be  
testimonies to the greatness of Christ and the Gospel of Freedom in  
his blood.

- James

Another Day, Another Po$t