Tonight I'm walking. Tonight it's Mill Avenue - and the gentle rain has smeared together all the colors and lights and made downtown Tempe one bright, bleeding, exciting, chaotic mess. Surprisingly unlike the sky you've dressed up for the evening... one bright milky eye and her ebony neck adorned with lustrous pearl. Leaning against one particularly carved and beat-up tree and pulling my faded jacket closer to keep out the chill, I fit in nicely with my surroundings. A few dreds later and I could be jamming on an old threadbare guitar with the hobo fellas down the way. Focus, Hannah, focus.
I constitute the prayer team this evening, and am on the Avenue for a reason.... the Gospel. Stationing myself just out of range of suspicion, I plant my two feet firmly into the pavement and do my best to listen in on the girls' conversation with an unlikely couple on the street corner.
15 minutes later were done, and I glance back for a moment at two people who have just heard the news of their lives. There's surprisingly little jumping going on - and it makes me wonder about you sometimes. Why make me free? I'm of no merit and relatively little use to you. Why me?
The girls' eyes are bright, their steps brisk as they pace past me. The reverie breaks and I jog to catch up and catch the moment's conversation.
'He seemed pretty receptive at first, right?'
'I thought so, but she was listening pretty intently...'
'I know, and I loved that verse you quoted... where was that?!'
My personal favorites are next - the hobo slash hippie slash really fun homeless people. Jack is noodling some pensive tune to our left; to the right some slicked-back preppy student is unwisely picking a fight with another particularly feisty one of them. Somehow my ingenious mother remembered a kind and mysterious gift of several Starbucks gift cards someone had left on our doorstep... pretty soon I'm flying back across the street with eager orders from the posse for hot chocolates and straight black coffees, leaving a couple brave girls to befriend them in the meantime.
Twenty long minutes later we're back, bearing gifts... and Meredith is busy listening to some elaborate and highly amusing shpeel that somehow connected Jesus, reincarnation, and the supernatural workings of certain healing "herbs". Finally...
'Thanks,' drawled our verbose preacher friend - 'not many people care to sit and listen to what we have to say. Keep blessing people.' Meredith's confused countenance suddenly brightens. We hug them goodbye.
'Just remember,' Jack calls after us, 'Jesus was a vagabond, too.'
Days like these make me love the world I live in. It's a desperate thing, and wants loving. Its own unloveliness, though, is its own ally... for all who weren't serious about doing so retract their outreach quickly upon contact. Loving something just the way it is; that's no small thing. It takes some time to see things through.
Reminds me of him and reminds me of you.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing - say Pimlico (a resort in London formerly celebrated for its many pubs, ale, cakes, etc.) It is not enough for a man to disapprove of imlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Not, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico, for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. ...
The man will improve the place who loves it without a reason.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's always good strong night before these moments come. The ancients said that the moon lured the loons outside... when the sun in all its revealing splendor had set and the "common" man - historic regulator of the "normal" - to his safe, normal little abode and safe, normal little bed (simply another form of lunacy)... forth they would flock, dancing upon the well-walked stones that held no place for them in the day, bathing in the dark light of Hanwell. Tonight I carry on the tradition and watch the gibbous moon, drunken and reeling across her canvas of night. She smiles rather understandingly back at me, and sends a few extra rays by way of lightyear to play tricks in my head and across the lawn.
The busy tempo of swing music wafts out from the dance hall just across the patio; from my picnic table bench a few strains greet me, mixing with the little breezes, tugging on wisps of hair and scarf and adding to the general otherworldliness of the moment. Distracting from the tone are the pair of couples situated in the grass - both intent on showing the other up in a playful competition of aerial dance moves. Oh! She's in his arms, now she's down.. did he really just throw her? Down again, her feet planted - the next routine begins. Any other day I'd be in the thick of it - laughing and jumping, allowing one or two gentlemen to inadvertently drop me on occasion, and adding to the racket.
In my head now I'm everywhere else. (I shouldn't make a habit of prolonging my stay there.) Running. Running. I can't get the picture out of my head... head to the sky, legs coursing, arms flailing, gloriously breathless. I know something's waiting at the finish line, 'cause there's a knowing smile across my face and fire in my veins.
Tonight my reason drives me mad. The heavens and their intricacies refuse to bend themselves into my head, or organize themselves in the lines I have drawn for them... and what's more, my actual, practical, for-real life isn't either. More irritating still.
'Every man must choose his world.' How can I when I am so uncomfortably suspended between the two given me?
I stand forever between the dreaming and the coming true.
Someone grabs my hand and pulls me up off my bench and towards the dance floor. My eyes stray back to the rays of moonshine behind me. She laughs at me the age-old laugh. My old Spanish professor would say 'Mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.' (The devil knows more for being old than for being the devil.) She knows I'll never quite make sense of it, and grins quite knowledgeably at the "troubles" of youth. Perhaps that is the magical and frustrating glory of living.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed and then cried:
"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land that I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till know. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!"
He shook his mane and sprang forward into a great gallop - a Unicorn's gallop, which in our world, would have carried him out of sight in a few moments. But now a most strange thing happened. Everyone else began to run, and they found, to their astonishment that they could keep up with him: not only the Dogs and the humans but even fat little Puzzle and Poggin the dwarf. The air flew in their faces as if they were driving fast in a car without a wind screen. The country flew past as if they were seeing it from the windows of an express train. Faster and faster they raced, but no one got hot or tired or out of breath.
If one could run without getting tired, I don't think one would often want to do anything else.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
A Fresh Arrow to a Comfortable Soul
'We are so utterly ordinary, so commonplace, while we profess to know a Power the Twenty- (FIRST) century does not reckon with. But we are 'harmless', and therefore unharmed. We are spiritual pacifists, non-militants, conscientious objectors in this battle-to-the-death with principalities and powers in high places. Meekness must be had for contact with men, but brass, outspoken boldness is required to take part in the comradeship of the Cross. We are 'sideliners' - coaching and criticizing the real wrestlers while content to sit by and leave the enemies of God unchallenged. The world cannot hate us; we are too much like its own. Oh, that God would make us DANGEROUS!'
~ Jim Elliot
~ Jim Elliot
Monday, December 03, 2007
Notes From the Thick of Battle
You said the straight and narrow
But this road's crooked; broad.
Whispers I heard of peace...
All this naught but untrue and odd.
I must say how mortally tired I am
Of trying to find You here
Where once I did see remnants
I wade in poisoned pools of fear.
Earthly lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true
And all I hope: to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of you.
I once was so verbose
And now I have no tongue.
Songs and rhymes -
Now hardened times -
Undefined and still unsung.
You used to give me words -
Ah! How we used to play
'Cross meadows of song and consciousness
From falling night till day.
My rhymes are now gone.
And that train! That train!
That ghastly, that condemned train!
Condemned to be running through my head
To be green grass and sinking lead -
The ghost of futures yet untold
(And damn my fickle heart: it's sold)
To whistle tunes that I can't play -
Can't seem to keep these wolves at bay -
Are they his? Or are they Thine?
Or are they all invention mine?
The barriers you once put up he's now torn down.
Or was it me?
(He and I look an awful lot alike these days.)
Potential's all that's left of me.
Hellish lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true.
And all I hope; to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of You.
Found and founded:
The things I miss most.
Oh for when peace was somehow my boast.
But this road's crooked; broad.
Whispers I heard of peace...
All this naught but untrue and odd.
I must say how mortally tired I am
Of trying to find You here
Where once I did see remnants
I wade in poisoned pools of fear.
Earthly lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true
And all I hope: to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of you.
I once was so verbose
And now I have no tongue.
Songs and rhymes -
Now hardened times -
Undefined and still unsung.
You used to give me words -
Ah! How we used to play
'Cross meadows of song and consciousness
From falling night till day.
My rhymes are now gone.
And that train! That train!
That ghastly, that condemned train!
Condemned to be running through my head
To be green grass and sinking lead -
The ghost of futures yet untold
(And damn my fickle heart: it's sold)
To whistle tunes that I can't play -
Can't seem to keep these wolves at bay -
Are they his? Or are they Thine?
Or are they all invention mine?
The barriers you once put up he's now torn down.
Or was it me?
(He and I look an awful lot alike these days.)
Potential's all that's left of me.
Hellish lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true.
And all I hope; to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of You.
Found and founded:
The things I miss most.
Oh for when peace was somehow my boast.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Blog Makeover
Hi friends! This is your official notice of a blog makeover.
First, I want to apologize for posting once every three months or so when I have something remarkable and world-changing to say. One of my very honest friends jokingly described each post as "a systematic description of the meaning of the world in 8 short pages"... or something to that extent.
I'm here to change all that.
I have no idea if anyone still reads this, but I'd like to get some interaction. Graduating from college / figuring the world and life out is not as easy as it might sound, so I like all the advice I can get. My posts will be shorter. I'll be asking questions. PLEASE COMMENT even if you merely want to say... "Hannah, you're pretty much an idiot," or something to that lovely effect. Honesty is a good thing. ;)
One of my friends described an ideal Christian faith not as 'reformed'... but 'reforming'. Constantly seeking out Scripture, constantly being willing to rework our understanding of God to fit the God of the Scripture. That's what I'm all about.
So let's do it. Talk to me. ;)
First, I want to apologize for posting once every three months or so when I have something remarkable and world-changing to say. One of my very honest friends jokingly described each post as "a systematic description of the meaning of the world in 8 short pages"... or something to that extent.
I'm here to change all that.
I have no idea if anyone still reads this, but I'd like to get some interaction. Graduating from college / figuring the world and life out is not as easy as it might sound, so I like all the advice I can get. My posts will be shorter. I'll be asking questions. PLEASE COMMENT even if you merely want to say... "Hannah, you're pretty much an idiot," or something to that lovely effect. Honesty is a good thing. ;)
One of my friends described an ideal Christian faith not as 'reformed'... but 'reforming'. Constantly seeking out Scripture, constantly being willing to rework our understanding of God to fit the God of the Scripture. That's what I'm all about.
So let's do it. Talk to me. ;)
Monday, November 26, 2007
Trekking Through Shadowlands
I lay in the back of the truck and wished that it would go on forever.
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… a day that you come away from shaking your head and wondering what just happened. One of those days when you search really hard for peace… but it seems to stay so out of reach. I was hurt and baffled and scared – very scared – afraid that that which I hold dear might be slowly slipping from me.
Uncertainty frightens me. Frenzy takes over. I try so hard to fix things in my mind but in the end I just create dragons… dragons of shadow and mystery and fancy. Sometimes my shadow dragons frighten me because their form seems so clear on the wall in front of me, all of their menacing features so real and tangible – even before they are seen. Sometimes they are just a nagging dread, sitting in the back of my mind, tormenting me with hints and whispers; smoke and echoing lies. Sometimes I wake up and realize that the dark form on the wall before me is really just my own shadow.
Sometimes I fight me.
I’m young and I love young people. I love seeing hope and ambition and potential in its first budding stage. I love nothing so well as a starry-eyed dreamer… one who not only watches the stars but reaches for them as well. Yet my heart aches when those that I love seem to wander, to founder, to fall. Sometimes our endless searching for a path becomes our very downfall… we’re always looking and never finding. Someone in a movie once said… “Young people always want to be traveling. Even if they find food and a warm fire and kindness, they wish to be gone.” Perhaps our over-worked imaginations tend to get the better of us… whatever we do not yet have becomes our object of worship. The unattainable is always bigger.
Better. Brighter.
Sometimes we forget what we have.
If you’ve followed my thought life through my posts at all throughout the past year, you may know that my topic of choice has been waiting. I feel like I’m always waiting. I wanted to see the world; to see what’s going to happen; to have the future now. Endless opportunities, possibilities seemed to present themselves… I felt like a kid in a candy shop, struggling so with the idea of having to pick only one that I picked none at all. Trust was key; my heart was frail; just when I thought I had faith the Lord would throw something else into my life and I would fall to the ground with a thud. Pictures come to mind of wings being trimmed; plants being pruned; a brave, new little tree kept from erring by a sturdy post in the ground. Its great shows of bravery have only proved how young and green and inexperienced it is in this fine art of growing. And though that bright yellow tape may feel like a hindrance, a roadblock, a ball and chain… in the end it keeps the tree from falling right over in its overexuberant zeal to get somewhere.
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… and I climbed into the back of that old truck for a moment alone. I stopped for a moment to breathe. No proper words came to mind… but I just started talking. Talking to One who hears. I talked and talked and talked – all about life, about my fears, about the future, about my desire to find it… to know how I should live, personally, in light of this great salvation. I talked until there were no words left and then I stopped for a moment to wait. I know THE way… but what is my way? We are each given gifts, abilities, lives very different from those next to us in order that we might bring glory to God in a manner entirely our own.
Where to, God? Where to?
Oh Captain. Oh Captain. Guide me. What direction? Hear now my declaration of dependence.
The stars seemed brighter tonight than usual. Almost closer. In the distance a train sounded. In the air tension; something hung in the balance. My mind, frenzied, kept reevaluating, rethinking – still searching. Then, suddenly, a few short, quiet words…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say... My mind stopped running and one memory pierced my mind with sharp force.
A dark night. Stars as well. Open sky. Caborca. Another life-changing question. The same words, the same melody playing softly, slowly, clearly in my head. Be more quiet now.
Nights like this make my soul forget fear.
I lay in the back of the truck and wished that it would go on forever.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ecclesiastes 8:5-6
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… a day that you come away from shaking your head and wondering what just happened. One of those days when you search really hard for peace… but it seems to stay so out of reach. I was hurt and baffled and scared – very scared – afraid that that which I hold dear might be slowly slipping from me.
Uncertainty frightens me. Frenzy takes over. I try so hard to fix things in my mind but in the end I just create dragons… dragons of shadow and mystery and fancy. Sometimes my shadow dragons frighten me because their form seems so clear on the wall in front of me, all of their menacing features so real and tangible – even before they are seen. Sometimes they are just a nagging dread, sitting in the back of my mind, tormenting me with hints and whispers; smoke and echoing lies. Sometimes I wake up and realize that the dark form on the wall before me is really just my own shadow.
Sometimes I fight me.
I’m young and I love young people. I love seeing hope and ambition and potential in its first budding stage. I love nothing so well as a starry-eyed dreamer… one who not only watches the stars but reaches for them as well. Yet my heart aches when those that I love seem to wander, to founder, to fall. Sometimes our endless searching for a path becomes our very downfall… we’re always looking and never finding. Someone in a movie once said… “Young people always want to be traveling. Even if they find food and a warm fire and kindness, they wish to be gone.” Perhaps our over-worked imaginations tend to get the better of us… whatever we do not yet have becomes our object of worship. The unattainable is always bigger.
Better. Brighter.
Sometimes we forget what we have.
If you’ve followed my thought life through my posts at all throughout the past year, you may know that my topic of choice has been waiting. I feel like I’m always waiting. I wanted to see the world; to see what’s going to happen; to have the future now. Endless opportunities, possibilities seemed to present themselves… I felt like a kid in a candy shop, struggling so with the idea of having to pick only one that I picked none at all. Trust was key; my heart was frail; just when I thought I had faith the Lord would throw something else into my life and I would fall to the ground with a thud. Pictures come to mind of wings being trimmed; plants being pruned; a brave, new little tree kept from erring by a sturdy post in the ground. Its great shows of bravery have only proved how young and green and inexperienced it is in this fine art of growing. And though that bright yellow tape may feel like a hindrance, a roadblock, a ball and chain… in the end it keeps the tree from falling right over in its overexuberant zeal to get somewhere.
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… and I climbed into the back of that old truck for a moment alone. I stopped for a moment to breathe. No proper words came to mind… but I just started talking. Talking to One who hears. I talked and talked and talked – all about life, about my fears, about the future, about my desire to find it… to know how I should live, personally, in light of this great salvation. I talked until there were no words left and then I stopped for a moment to wait. I know THE way… but what is my way? We are each given gifts, abilities, lives very different from those next to us in order that we might bring glory to God in a manner entirely our own.
Where to, God? Where to?
Oh Captain. Oh Captain. Guide me. What direction? Hear now my declaration of dependence.
The stars seemed brighter tonight than usual. Almost closer. In the distance a train sounded. In the air tension; something hung in the balance. My mind, frenzied, kept reevaluating, rethinking – still searching. Then, suddenly, a few short, quiet words…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say... My mind stopped running and one memory pierced my mind with sharp force.
A dark night. Stars as well. Open sky. Caborca. Another life-changing question. The same words, the same melody playing softly, slowly, clearly in my head. Be more quiet now.
Nights like this make my soul forget fear.
I lay in the back of the truck and wished that it would go on forever.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ecclesiastes 8:5-6
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Game
Come and play a while with me, my friend –
Games are free; I’m yours on lend.
We could try things out and see –
Let’s see just how you look on me –
Then, just like that, we’ll turn away
A true love lasted just one day.
You’d think a day would be alright
A few short hours, sunrise to night
But no! Eternity within in our hearts
Gets weary soon of these false starts
Summer tears can last through fall…
Deep roots of pain outlast it all.
Sorry, friend, I tried to play along
To match your voice in this stupid song
But the lock and latch imbedded deep
Now I’m convinced you’re all I need
Until another comes along
To try on me another song.
The music starts; now soft and low
You beckon me to come below
It takes all of me to turn away
(Torture greets me in your face!)
Arousing prematurely is something we do well…
I should have looked into your eyes before the darkness fell.
Come and play a while with me, my friend
Can we forget in our world of pretend?
We could try things out and see…
We could try things out and see…
Painted smile is all that’s left of me.
Games are free; I’m yours on lend.
We could try things out and see –
Let’s see just how you look on me –
Then, just like that, we’ll turn away
A true love lasted just one day.
You’d think a day would be alright
A few short hours, sunrise to night
But no! Eternity within in our hearts
Gets weary soon of these false starts
Summer tears can last through fall…
Deep roots of pain outlast it all.
Sorry, friend, I tried to play along
To match your voice in this stupid song
But the lock and latch imbedded deep
Now I’m convinced you’re all I need
Until another comes along
To try on me another song.
The music starts; now soft and low
You beckon me to come below
It takes all of me to turn away
(Torture greets me in your face!)
Arousing prematurely is something we do well…
I should have looked into your eyes before the darkness fell.
Come and play a while with me, my friend
Can we forget in our world of pretend?
We could try things out and see…
We could try things out and see…
Painted smile is all that’s left of me.
Friday, August 17, 2007
I Repent
Trepidation is about the best word to describe the full extent of my attitude towards my latest adventure. As its approach drew near, I realized I was anything but ready, and the task was no small one. I was one of ten in a small evangelistic team headed for North Africa… and, although I do happen to be a former MK (missionary kid), the Muslim culture is one that I had not experienced until now. I have so much to say… and the trip was so long that it’s divided itself into different sections in my mind. So, without further ado (and from the very start)… the adventure begins.
Day 1: A non-starter
This particular day – July 3rd – a bomb scare closed down London / Heathrow airport, and 108 flights in and out of the place were cancelled. Meaning… ours as well. Right from the start we realized that this was not a trip on our own strength, and if God was going to make things happen, He was going to make sure that we knew – for sure and for certain – that WE weren’t the ones responsible. J So, with our living room a chaos of suitcases and various and sundry different packages – the four occupants of the Paasch household were very still: simply waiting. Living life on hold.
This moment of not-knowing is quite an analogy of my life right now.
If you were to walk into my bedroom right now, you wouldn’t see much. We sold my desk and packed away all its contents months ago now. Ok, 1 ½ months is all it’s been, but for me… it feels like a short eternity. You see, about 6 months ago my parents were seized with this awesome and radical idea to sell everything, box up what little was left, and move down to Tempe, next to the university campus, in order to live life and share the Gospel with students. It was a radical, exciting, very Paasch-esque thing to do, and we were all stoked. We found a place right across from campus, boxed up only the necessaries, sold all the rest, and put our house on the market. Unfortunately, no one bit on our house. So, I’m left with a chest of drawers, some clothing in the closet, a lone loft bed, and a lot of questions.
Life on hold.
~*~
Since writing the last paragraph, I’ve been told that someone – presumably from our party – has re-booked us to fly out of LA tomorrow, then to Paris, and then to Málaga, Spain. The bizarre part is – none of our 10 team members are at the airport or could have possibly made this reservation. At this point my only choice is to sit back and watch God make this thing happen. And, of course, record noteworthy things here and there… in order that I might remember.
Day 2: Independence Day
The 4th of July is always one of the weirdest days of the year. One I spent in Matamoros, Mexico, watching fireworks from across the border next to a drug lord’s house and headquarters. One I spent sitting in a corn field in Iowa. This year… not sure. I’ll let you know how it ends.
So far everything has gone swimmingly. I was severely searched and patted down to within an inch of my life – and considerably embarrassed by the thoroughness of one security officer who pulled out all my crap in search of objectionable items. I really must have looked quite menacing. Other than that… everything has gone quite according to plan (which, of course, is nice for a change). I’m beginning to get the exciting adventure feeling – the kind of feeling that makes sitting in the lobby of Gate B22 looking at the blinking red and orange letters that say “PHX – Los Angeles” for an hour and a half suddenly seem like a secret mission. It’s not 90 minutes “just killing time”… it’s really only 90 minutes till something inexplicably exciting begins.
What can I say? I’m wide awake. Standing on the edge of something large. What’s going to happen? No idea. But that’s the adventure, right?
Hmmm. I guess we’ll just have to see.
~*~
It's 10 p.m. and I'm watching the whole metropolis of LA exploding into flame. As we fly out, fireworks go off on every block... explosions of red and green and blue across the sky.
Day 3: Landing
I’m lying in a hotel room in Málaga, Spain. Will wonders never cease?
It did takes some maneuvering to get here, though… and that’s putting things lightly. Upon recovering our luggage, we came to find out that all the trains for the day had gone, and our only hope was the one last bus that would hit the airport any minute. Somehow we made it, and the bus driver chick dropped us off in the general vicinity she believed our hotel was. And there we were – stranded with 18 40 pound bags in the middle of downtown Málaga at 1 in the morning. We must have been a sight. From there we walked – in no direction in particular – in hopes of perhaps finding the elusive Hotel Silken. Typical moment in the life of a Paasch. Thankfully, by what seemed pure chance (and was really pure providence), we suddenly came upon the blessed Hotel Silken. Debbie and Amy and I were ridiculous all night and fell asleep at 2 a.m. – or 9 p.m., our time.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living inside one of those culture-shock comedies – you know, the kind where the dumb American turns globetrotter… and yet, in spite of it all, I’m beginning to really have a view for the nations. The problem is – I’m by no means an evangelist. Hence my qualms with the idea of “missionary life”. And yet, every time I tell myself that the mission field is not for me, I get this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if I’d just said something dastardly heretical. (I’m not quite sure that “dastardly” fits there – but it had the right sound effect.) Still, I feel like God has shown me too much for me to be content with my little American air-conditioned life.
Day 4: It begins.
A long walk, a bus, another long walk, and a ferry ride later, we arrived in C____. The worker living there (who I’ve heard of for ages and am now finally getting to meet!) met us coming off the ferry, and gallantly rescued us poor females from a few of our extra burdens. With him we had a bit of a pre-trip pep talk, and his advice and well-put direction put my heart a tad more at ease. Just be yourselves, he said. Love people, and it will show. And I’m clinging to his words. If life is war and souls the target, we 10 of us are headed into hand-to-hand combat. Five times a day in a Muslim culture there is a call to prayer, broadcasted from the rooftops of mosques everywhere. After hearing the call to prayer here, I was struck with a very odd, rather eerie feeling – as though I could feel the foothold of the Enemy more clearly than before. My deepest desire is to – for a few short days – bring a candle into a dark place, a place that has gathered shadows and darkness for centuries now… and I want to do it by just tangibly loving people. I have no idea really what that would like in this context, and I desperately need wisdom.
Day 5: First day inside.
We are now in Africa. Our worker friend dropped us off and we were left to the mercies of our new friend, Nuri… our tour guide. We busted out of that hotel and almost immediately found ourselves in the heart of the city’s marketplace. Vendors were all around us, shouting sales calls for their individual wares: fruits, vegetables, fish straight from the water in all varying degrees of freshness… sides of beef and goat and freshly gutted chickens. Immediate sensory overload. Exotic spices – and stenches! – filled the air. Labyrinthine pathways of white-washed walls and centuries-old doorways stretched out in every direction. It was an exhilarating experience, but simultaneously a bit frightening, as dark eyes all around me stared straight into mine – some friendly, some less, some with a sort of brooding hostility. Oh that light would shine in this place again.
From the marketplace we were led (quite unawares), into the local tannery, where we experienced up close and personal the leather-making process. Suffice it to say that, should curiosity into the arts of tanning ever overtake me again, I will gladly content myself with pictures and the the Dummy’s How-To Book at my local Border’s. Some things are better left unsmelled.
Authentic food, hidden courtyards, passionate colors… words cannot do justice to the ancient and intricately carved doors, the mosaic tiling, the incredible craftsmanship we saw everywhere. I wish I had words to describe all I have experienced, just today. There is only one word that begins to give an idea: life-changing. Mind-changing.
Later that night we wandered the streets of the city, looking for opportunities to share, and finding fewer than we expected. No one spoke Spanish, and although we had tried to assimilate our dress to the culture, one could really begin to feel the oppressiveness of the culture as it weights a naïve newcomer down. I began to realize my real inability to make any semblance of a conversation happen, and, circumstances being what they were, we took the chance to walk up and down the streets, just praying. Praying hard. I feel like I’m on a reconnaissance mission of sorts – just learning is all I can do. It’s a humble place to be.
I must remember: love is a universal language.
Day 6
The effects of Islam in the lives and hearts of people are becoming shockingly clear. It hit me just today how little space there is for love in a culture like this… honor and shame are all that matter. Save face. Follow tradition. Appease God. I so desperately want to show them love… but HOW? Does there ever come a point when language and culture barriers are finally too great to overcome?
Tonight – I think – I got my answer.
I realized just how high the stakes were when the time drew near to visit the White Fellowship this evening. We had two taxis drop us off on a beach, and, at a pre-determined spot a brother came and picked us up, leading us through a little doorway (exceedingly well fastened and bolted) to the fellow brothers and sisters awaiting us there.
Once inside, I was surprise at what I found. Instead of the 7 or 8 I expected (the size of the White Fellowship a year ago), 16 or 17 were there to greet us… all with different stories or backgrounds… and yet all of us had somehow been led by the Lord to that very place this very night. 3 American college students were there from all over the U.S., recruited by a very brave young couple working here, and their two precious and very tiny children. Each of the national brothers and sisters were all incredible examples of what God can do in a Muslim heart. Such joy was written across each face… so heavily contrasted with the oppressive somberness that seemed to weight the eyes and hearts of those walking the streets of our city. I had seen the leader of them in a video taken by another worker, entreating all of those fellow believers listening to pray for His people here. And there he was, all smiles, praising with such gladness and abandon that I could not but marvel at God’s faithfulness to His promise… He does indeed have his people from among every nation, tribe, people, and tongue. The Arabic language – so often labeled as a language of hate – was used to bring praises to a beautiful Savior in a remarkable turn of the tide.
I witnessed a miracle tonight.
A few things on my mind:
1. We are NOT safe. One of the Fellowship’s members, in all seriousness, eagerly prayed that we would sleep in our hotel tonight. The last city we’ll reach is one known for terrorism towards evangelists. It makes one think … what am I willing to risk? Would I be ready to give ALL? And yet these brothers really live that, every day.
2. Love is unconditional. I cannot rebel… I have no choice. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Through the love that Christ has poured out on me, so undeservedly – undying, untiring, all-sacrificing love – I therefore CAN love others.
3. Can I be comfortable, now, going home to a comfortable home and comfortable life? It’s not luxurious, perhaps… but it is comfortable. Is this life I have lived merely some coincidence? I have seen too much to be normal now.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Someone once said that the actual trip is only the first part of a journey. Coming back to life and putting into action all the things you've learned and seen is quite another thing. I'll tell more about Europe and life getting back later. This is only the beginning.
Day 1: A non-starter
This particular day – July 3rd – a bomb scare closed down London / Heathrow airport, and 108 flights in and out of the place were cancelled. Meaning… ours as well. Right from the start we realized that this was not a trip on our own strength, and if God was going to make things happen, He was going to make sure that we knew – for sure and for certain – that WE weren’t the ones responsible. J So, with our living room a chaos of suitcases and various and sundry different packages – the four occupants of the Paasch household were very still: simply waiting. Living life on hold.
This moment of not-knowing is quite an analogy of my life right now.
If you were to walk into my bedroom right now, you wouldn’t see much. We sold my desk and packed away all its contents months ago now. Ok, 1 ½ months is all it’s been, but for me… it feels like a short eternity. You see, about 6 months ago my parents were seized with this awesome and radical idea to sell everything, box up what little was left, and move down to Tempe, next to the university campus, in order to live life and share the Gospel with students. It was a radical, exciting, very Paasch-esque thing to do, and we were all stoked. We found a place right across from campus, boxed up only the necessaries, sold all the rest, and put our house on the market. Unfortunately, no one bit on our house. So, I’m left with a chest of drawers, some clothing in the closet, a lone loft bed, and a lot of questions.
Life on hold.
~*~
Since writing the last paragraph, I’ve been told that someone – presumably from our party – has re-booked us to fly out of LA tomorrow, then to Paris, and then to Málaga, Spain. The bizarre part is – none of our 10 team members are at the airport or could have possibly made this reservation. At this point my only choice is to sit back and watch God make this thing happen. And, of course, record noteworthy things here and there… in order that I might remember.
Day 2: Independence Day
The 4th of July is always one of the weirdest days of the year. One I spent in Matamoros, Mexico, watching fireworks from across the border next to a drug lord’s house and headquarters. One I spent sitting in a corn field in Iowa. This year… not sure. I’ll let you know how it ends.
So far everything has gone swimmingly. I was severely searched and patted down to within an inch of my life – and considerably embarrassed by the thoroughness of one security officer who pulled out all my crap in search of objectionable items. I really must have looked quite menacing. Other than that… everything has gone quite according to plan (which, of course, is nice for a change). I’m beginning to get the exciting adventure feeling – the kind of feeling that makes sitting in the lobby of Gate B22 looking at the blinking red and orange letters that say “PHX – Los Angeles” for an hour and a half suddenly seem like a secret mission. It’s not 90 minutes “just killing time”… it’s really only 90 minutes till something inexplicably exciting begins.
What can I say? I’m wide awake. Standing on the edge of something large. What’s going to happen? No idea. But that’s the adventure, right?
Hmmm. I guess we’ll just have to see.
~*~
It's 10 p.m. and I'm watching the whole metropolis of LA exploding into flame. As we fly out, fireworks go off on every block... explosions of red and green and blue across the sky.
Day 3: Landing
I’m lying in a hotel room in Málaga, Spain. Will wonders never cease?
It did takes some maneuvering to get here, though… and that’s putting things lightly. Upon recovering our luggage, we came to find out that all the trains for the day had gone, and our only hope was the one last bus that would hit the airport any minute. Somehow we made it, and the bus driver chick dropped us off in the general vicinity she believed our hotel was. And there we were – stranded with 18 40 pound bags in the middle of downtown Málaga at 1 in the morning. We must have been a sight. From there we walked – in no direction in particular – in hopes of perhaps finding the elusive Hotel Silken. Typical moment in the life of a Paasch. Thankfully, by what seemed pure chance (and was really pure providence), we suddenly came upon the blessed Hotel Silken. Debbie and Amy and I were ridiculous all night and fell asleep at 2 a.m. – or 9 p.m., our time.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living inside one of those culture-shock comedies – you know, the kind where the dumb American turns globetrotter… and yet, in spite of it all, I’m beginning to really have a view for the nations. The problem is – I’m by no means an evangelist. Hence my qualms with the idea of “missionary life”. And yet, every time I tell myself that the mission field is not for me, I get this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if I’d just said something dastardly heretical. (I’m not quite sure that “dastardly” fits there – but it had the right sound effect.) Still, I feel like God has shown me too much for me to be content with my little American air-conditioned life.
Day 4: It begins.
A long walk, a bus, another long walk, and a ferry ride later, we arrived in C____. The worker living there (who I’ve heard of for ages and am now finally getting to meet!) met us coming off the ferry, and gallantly rescued us poor females from a few of our extra burdens. With him we had a bit of a pre-trip pep talk, and his advice and well-put direction put my heart a tad more at ease. Just be yourselves, he said. Love people, and it will show. And I’m clinging to his words. If life is war and souls the target, we 10 of us are headed into hand-to-hand combat. Five times a day in a Muslim culture there is a call to prayer, broadcasted from the rooftops of mosques everywhere. After hearing the call to prayer here, I was struck with a very odd, rather eerie feeling – as though I could feel the foothold of the Enemy more clearly than before. My deepest desire is to – for a few short days – bring a candle into a dark place, a place that has gathered shadows and darkness for centuries now… and I want to do it by just tangibly loving people. I have no idea really what that would like in this context, and I desperately need wisdom.
Day 5: First day inside.
We are now in Africa. Our worker friend dropped us off and we were left to the mercies of our new friend, Nuri… our tour guide. We busted out of that hotel and almost immediately found ourselves in the heart of the city’s marketplace. Vendors were all around us, shouting sales calls for their individual wares: fruits, vegetables, fish straight from the water in all varying degrees of freshness… sides of beef and goat and freshly gutted chickens. Immediate sensory overload. Exotic spices – and stenches! – filled the air. Labyrinthine pathways of white-washed walls and centuries-old doorways stretched out in every direction. It was an exhilarating experience, but simultaneously a bit frightening, as dark eyes all around me stared straight into mine – some friendly, some less, some with a sort of brooding hostility. Oh that light would shine in this place again.
From the marketplace we were led (quite unawares), into the local tannery, where we experienced up close and personal the leather-making process. Suffice it to say that, should curiosity into the arts of tanning ever overtake me again, I will gladly content myself with pictures and the the Dummy’s How-To Book at my local Border’s. Some things are better left unsmelled.
Authentic food, hidden courtyards, passionate colors… words cannot do justice to the ancient and intricately carved doors, the mosaic tiling, the incredible craftsmanship we saw everywhere. I wish I had words to describe all I have experienced, just today. There is only one word that begins to give an idea: life-changing. Mind-changing.
Later that night we wandered the streets of the city, looking for opportunities to share, and finding fewer than we expected. No one spoke Spanish, and although we had tried to assimilate our dress to the culture, one could really begin to feel the oppressiveness of the culture as it weights a naïve newcomer down. I began to realize my real inability to make any semblance of a conversation happen, and, circumstances being what they were, we took the chance to walk up and down the streets, just praying. Praying hard. I feel like I’m on a reconnaissance mission of sorts – just learning is all I can do. It’s a humble place to be.
I must remember: love is a universal language.
Day 6
The effects of Islam in the lives and hearts of people are becoming shockingly clear. It hit me just today how little space there is for love in a culture like this… honor and shame are all that matter. Save face. Follow tradition. Appease God. I so desperately want to show them love… but HOW? Does there ever come a point when language and culture barriers are finally too great to overcome?
Tonight – I think – I got my answer.
I realized just how high the stakes were when the time drew near to visit the White Fellowship this evening. We had two taxis drop us off on a beach, and, at a pre-determined spot a brother came and picked us up, leading us through a little doorway (exceedingly well fastened and bolted) to the fellow brothers and sisters awaiting us there.
Once inside, I was surprise at what I found. Instead of the 7 or 8 I expected (the size of the White Fellowship a year ago), 16 or 17 were there to greet us… all with different stories or backgrounds… and yet all of us had somehow been led by the Lord to that very place this very night. 3 American college students were there from all over the U.S., recruited by a very brave young couple working here, and their two precious and very tiny children. Each of the national brothers and sisters were all incredible examples of what God can do in a Muslim heart. Such joy was written across each face… so heavily contrasted with the oppressive somberness that seemed to weight the eyes and hearts of those walking the streets of our city. I had seen the leader of them in a video taken by another worker, entreating all of those fellow believers listening to pray for His people here. And there he was, all smiles, praising with such gladness and abandon that I could not but marvel at God’s faithfulness to His promise… He does indeed have his people from among every nation, tribe, people, and tongue. The Arabic language – so often labeled as a language of hate – was used to bring praises to a beautiful Savior in a remarkable turn of the tide.
I witnessed a miracle tonight.
A few things on my mind:
1. We are NOT safe. One of the Fellowship’s members, in all seriousness, eagerly prayed that we would sleep in our hotel tonight. The last city we’ll reach is one known for terrorism towards evangelists. It makes one think … what am I willing to risk? Would I be ready to give ALL? And yet these brothers really live that, every day.
2. Love is unconditional. I cannot rebel… I have no choice. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Through the love that Christ has poured out on me, so undeservedly – undying, untiring, all-sacrificing love – I therefore CAN love others.
3. Can I be comfortable, now, going home to a comfortable home and comfortable life? It’s not luxurious, perhaps… but it is comfortable. Is this life I have lived merely some coincidence? I have seen too much to be normal now.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Someone once said that the actual trip is only the first part of a journey. Coming back to life and putting into action all the things you've learned and seen is quite another thing. I'll tell more about Europe and life getting back later. This is only the beginning.
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