One night we were in refugee camp in Palestine. The soft patter of a rain mixed with the relaxed Arabic floating around the small town square. Gathered tightly against the buildings, under the eaves were clusters of young men chatting or playing cards.

I ambled across the square to a group of guys clustered around a square card table, lit by a single light bulb protruding from the wall beside them. Their conversation grew quiet for a moment as I drew closer. One of them jumped to offer me a chair. Another asked the question I’d heard all over the West Bank during my time there, “Obama or McCain? Which you like? You like Obama, eh?” I chucked and tried to explain to them that I saw good in both of them, but I didn’t vote. A few moments passed. Wnable to communicate well, both sides were apparently content with silence. The stillness was broken only by the rain and the chatter floating around the game.

Abruptly, a spectator in a gray hoodie asked me, “Do you like tea?” I hesitated, wondering what the best response would be, torn between guilt at receiving a gift from such poor people, and my acute desire for a nice cup of warm tea to ease the chill of the evening.

I nodded and smiled, “Yes, that would be very nice.”

“With mint?”

I nodded again. The tea they served was good, but it was perfect with some mint leaves thrown in. He shouted his order across the cobblestones to a tall, broad-shouldered, guy carrying a few extra pounds on his frame. Soon the big guy arrived with small plastic cup brimming with steaming, golden tea. I reached for my pocket, but my friend in the hoodie jumped up and offered the vendor a coin to pay for the brew. With a quick shake of his head, the man with broad shoulders turned and walked away, claiming me as his guest by providing the tea for free.

Soon the taxi came and we had to leave. As we bounced through the wet darkness, I stared out the window with a wistful grin on my face. “Wouldn’t it be great,” I mused, “to be learn Arabic and come back and get to know those guys?”

It took me a while to title this story. Why bittersweet? That night I experienced the sweetness of their personalities and openness of their hearts toward me. Reality brought a bitterness to the story. They don’t know my Jesus.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think.

It’s better with sound

I met Marion yesterday when I was weed-eating our ditch. He was out walking. Who knows why. I would have been driving; but if I would have been driving, I would have never met the young man who was out weed-eating. Our conversation didn’t last long. It was cordial. It was comfortable. It was laid-pack. He complemented my work. I was friendly with him. Our exchange left me feel a little more like I belonged, like we were beginning to fit into the town.

Ten hours later or so, I took this.

I finally got cable release here. If you should with the 40D series you should seriously consider getting one. Or if you shoot with the 450D series get yours here. They work great and are super cheap.

Returning travelers know that conversations regarding their travels often include the question, “What was the highlight?” or some form of this question. I will try to tell you a story that stands out as the highlight. Not in an absolute way, because there is no good way to nail down the most pleasant experience in a scientific manner. However, there is no doubt that this story I am about to tell you is the event that stands out as the most pleasant sensual experience. Not sensual in the way of sinful indulgence, but in the more purely etymological sense.

It was an evening in France. We were staying in an old monastery in the mountains above the Alsace-Lorraine region, near the border of Germany. We sat down to dinner, tired from a day of traveling. I managed to be fortunate enough to share a table with Dan, a full-time counselor of more than ten years. We had a wonderful discussion on our table about “border personality disorders”.

In my humble opinion, the meal that evening was the best of the whole trip. First of all, we were served a thinnish soup that slid down nicely. It was followed by a wonderful dish of pasta. However, it was the generous cut of beef that made this experience memorable. It was a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of tastes and spices, blending together in a harmony that made me feel like closing my eyes and ascend into a permanent state of transcendence. The meat was juicy and tender to the center and was uninhibited by over-seasoning. The best piece of meat I’ve ever had. It was followed by a piece of custard pie with a half of a pear embedded in the center. Not bland, not too rich. Perfect. The French can cook. No doubt about it.

I pushed back from the table and sighed. We were in a large hall with high ceilings and elegant plaster work. The group sang for ten minutes or so. I’m not a musician by any stretch of the imagination, but there is something about good acoustics that brings confidence and cohesiveness out of mediocre singers. It was the best singing on tour. The halls rang. Free from the uncertainty that often plagues me when singing, I was able to sing without inhibition and focus on worship.

I strolled out the porch just outside the dining hall, and caught my breath.

Literally.

I don’t do that much.

As the soft breeze caressed my face, I soaked in the panorama in front of me. I could describe it in words but I have picture and it it’s worth a thousand adjectives.

A beautiful couple from Sweden was enjoying the view as well. I am continually amazing by the kindness and genuine interest I’ve received from strangers as I travel. I have enjoyed countless conversations from people, throughout this trip,some are natives and some are fellow travelers.

After a pleasant walk with a large group of friends, a smaller, less sleepy group of us recongregated on the wrap-around platform. This time facing the town of Strasbourg. The lights glittered golden in contrast to the blue twilight engulfing us.

There is something captivating about people and their stories. So we shared as the blue light faded to black.

Dreams, shattered dreams, pain, our journey, God’s light on our journey, challenges.

How does one react to such an overwhelming evening of beauty of sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch? Beyond that, the relationships, the wonderful people that God has sent into my life? Why does God shower so much on one evening? More importantly why so much on one person? The most ludicrous explanation is that I deserve it in any way.

I have no reasons. There is no apparent reason that why the world is offered to me, and the child born with HIV in Tanzania is given hell on earth.

“Two things pierce the human heart, pain and beauty.” – John Eldridge

My heart has been pierced by beauty.

Truly blessed.

Soft Grass