Pakistan Journal: Seeing what I wasn't looking for

We quickly discovered, on our walk from headquarters to the Bazaar (the downtown area filled with thousands of little shops where you can buy anything you could ever imagine except for size 13 sandals--I'll explain this later) that Pakistan is not a tourist country. I'm sure that for them to see four tall Americans walking down their streets was like something out of a movie.

Let me tell you what I saw.

I wasn't looking for them at first, but I found myself drawn into their eyes. Where I am from, people are in a hurry scuttling from point A to point B and are to "busy" to look up and see the people that they are walking through. When I am in the big city here, I notice that people keep their eyes down so that they won't be noticed nor will they have to notice anything around them. I am sure that people that I walk next to walk from point A to point B without looking up once (there is a significant spiritual implication to that).

I was startled by how many eyes that I saw. This may sound strange--who takes note of such a peculiar phenomenon? It wasn't just their eyes that I was drawn to, though--it was stories that their eyes told.

Curiosity, Anxiety, Trust, Distrust, Appreciation, Indifference, Innocence, Relief, Pain, Friendship....

We were looking for chai and a gas stove and found the people of Pakistan to be nothing like what we were prepared for them to be like. I was expecting to help people, not to become drawn into their story. I think that there is a big difference between the two. It is easy to show up in a different country and be unimpacted by what you see and experience. It is easy to live in Pakistan for two weeks with an American perspective, on an American timeline, eating American food, hanging solely with American people. Where is the fullness in that? What a mistake it would been to brush past the people that we saw in those streets just like we brush past the people in our country that we walk through day after day after day. Their eyes yelled stories to me--stories that rang of pain, desperation, appreciation, and kindness. Stories that they couldn't nor wouldn't share with me but that I was able to experience in those few short moments.

As I look back on those initial encounters in Manserah, I am overwhelmed with what I really learned. I discovered what these people were going through, how they viewed me, and what it was going to mean for me to make a difference in my time there. The difference made was going to have little to do with building shelters and much to do with building relationships.

I'll never forget their eyes. From that moment on, I trained myself to intentionally look into eyes to "hear" their stories. Hardly could I understand their language, yet much could I understand their story.

Imagine if we lived that way every day in this country....

Pakistan Journal: Manserah

Once loaded (much like mustard sardines are packed into tins that are much too small for them) we were soon to be on our way. Unforunately, as we made our first official count, we weren't sure exactly what our number was supposed to be. Sometimes the count came out at 39 and other times at 40. We decided that it sounded close enough and departed. While the counting was happening, Jeff, being a bit of a busy body (he could never sit in one place while others wasted his time) decided that he was going to buy our first taste of Pakistani naan. Naan is a delicious, doughy flatbread meant to be used to scoop up other more liquidy foods. The people of Paksitan do not use silverware, they just always have naan, chipatti, or brata available. This naan was especially tastey (and oily) and was the last real memory I had before arriving in Manserah (a 2.5 hour drive from Islamabad).

I really wanted to see Pakistan, but try as I might, I simply could not keep my eyes open. Luckily, I was sitting next to one of my newer friends from South Carolina (Chris) who happened to have shoulders the size of throw pillows. In some sub-level I must have decided that his shoulder looked really comfortable, at least more comfortable than the metal bar in front of my face.

I will speak in depth later about what road transportation in Pakistan is like. For now, let's just say that there are no discernable laws and if you do not have a horn, you might as well not drive...because you will die! I will also elude to the sensation of traveling by vehicle. Your insides move from side to side so suddenly that you're afraid to throw up becuase you might lose a dislodged intestine, kidney, or lung. I don't know if my guts have ever moved from side to side inside of my body like they did in Pakistan. Passing is a full contact sport and requires much courage and seemingly a lack of common sense. All I remember from our drive is three feelings: Feeling number 1: the aforementioned feeling; Feeling number 2: my legs falling asleep but not being able to do a darn thing about it; Feeling number 3: my face bouncing off Chris's shoulder and into the metal bar. These were all equally uncomfortable but there wasn't a darn thing I could do about them so I slept.

At last we pulled into Manserah where the headquarters of our NGO (non-government organization) were located. For the sake of confidentiality I will never mention the American organization nor the International organization that we were working with on my blog.

Those of you who referenced my last post were introduced to the mindset of our team. Compound all of that with a short night sleep and finally arriving at a destination where people knew something. Here we were--40 American men in northern Pakistan ready to make a difference with visions of helicopter rides to the top of some remote mountain. (In reality, the mindset was certainly that of serving the people of Pakistan. It wasn't like we were all there trying to prove ourselves or be especially impatient. We wanted to be a part of making a difference/saving lives/serving these people/building shelters that might help these people through the winter. We realized that we were there for a short time and that it was getting colder and colder in Pakistan.)

Before I continue, I feel the need to bring you up to speed on how so many men heard about this opportunity and ended up in Pakistan. This will help you understand why our first moments in Manserah were difficult moments.

Shortly after the earthquake destroyed much of northern Pakistan, an individual who acted as a representative for one of the organizations that we worked with sent out an email that was entitled, "Come Before Winter". This was an emotional appeal sent because the need was so great in Pakistan and so few people even knew about it. Later, we found out that this email was sent enmasse to churches all over America without the organizations that we were working with being in the know about it's existance. Thus, no one was prepared for an overwhelming response. On the bright side, the email worked and got 40 of us to Pakistan in the first of three waves. On the not so bright side--no one in Pakistan was ready for us!

Back to the story:
A representative met us at the gate of our headquarters with the following words, "Men, thanks for coming. You have two hours to get settled here...orientation will begin promptly at 1:00pm. Oh, and get comfortable because most likely you won't be leaving for a day or two."

We all understood the first sentence but none of us knew how to process the second. We had all read the "Come before Winter" and knew that we were in a race against the clock for people's lives. What we couldn't understand (because we didn't know the above information) was why they weren't ready for us. It seemed like a perfectly good way to waste time and potential for all of us to stay put for "a day or two".

I think that God wanted all of us to know that we were their because of Him and that we were on His timeline and not ours or any other American timeline.

Luckily, Jeff, Justin, Ben and I were all the type that adapted quickly to information like this and decided to spend our next couple of hours becoming assimilated to the culture of Manserah. We all figured that if this was going to be our home for the next day or two, we might as well figure out where everything was.

We quickly stowed our gear and left the compound in search for a propane stove and a cup of chai--not necessarily in that order. Did I mention that none of us spoke a lick of Urdu or Kohistani?

My wife of 4 years

My wife and I just celebrated our fourth anniversary. I feel way to young to have already experienced four years of marriage--especially with a woman such as her. As she is the most outstanding individual that I have ever met, I am convinced that if I became more like her, I would be a far better person. In honor of this woman, I would like to share with you my four favorite things about her:

04. She pushes me to follow Jesus as He would have me to and not as she would.

03. She always pays attention to my details--even the really small ones.

02. She would rather spend a quiet evening with me than anything else in the world. I don't know anyone else that would do that.

01. The way that she serves and encourages other people enhances my life and perspective on how God must love.

I love you!

Pakistan Journal: Islamabad

Landing at Islamabad Int'l Airport was like landing in a different world. There were no fancy walkways from the plane to the terminal. There weren't dozens of planes lined up to be boarded and get on their way. There were two other planes (small ones), buses waiting to drive us from the runway to the terminal, and several airport security personnel fully loaded with machine guns. Welcome to a country that isn't big on, nor used to foreigners!

We cleared customs, exchanged our American dollars for ruppies (60 ruppie to $1.00) and were standing outside of the airport looking to secure a couple of buses to get us from there to a hotel somewhere. It was already 1:00am.

As we walked out of the airport, the first thing that I noticed (other than the fact that it was really cold) was that all of the televisions were broadcasting American All-Star Wrestling. I'm not a big fan of All-Star Wrestling so I have no idea who was wrestling or what organization it was, but a couple hundered men were wrapped in blankets watching what appeared to be their favorite American wrestlers competing. Seemingly, watching wrestling isn't a passive experience for the men of Pakistan, rather it was quite an active one as men would shout, punch each other and cheer on their favorite wrestler. I got more of a kick out of watching the men than what was on the television.

Here was the mindset of the men that I was traveling with. Ah--before the mindset, first the type of man that was on this trip. The majority of men that were on this team of 40 were type-A, All-American business men that were used to being the leader. Now picture that scenario, only add 39 hours of non-stop traveling in uncomfortable quaters and you can probably imagine the mindset of the majority of the team. We were tired, stiff, in a new world that none of us knew anything about, and ready to get to work. This scenario made securing our bus from the airport to the hotel quite an adventure. Hopefully my friend Corey from South Carolina can chime in on that adventure as he was attempting to point lead the entire experience.

To make a long story short, we secured our buses, had to figure out payments and how to pay the five guys who volunteered (we thought) to load our luggage, and were on our way to the hotel. We arrived around 1:30am, got into our rooms and most were asleep by 2:00am. We were set to wake up that morning at 5:30am so that we could get back on the buses that would take us up to Manserah.

I slept hard for those 3.5 hours, woke up, washed up as best I could, and took the advice of my wife who knew what traveling by vehicle in a country like Pakistan would be like. Her number one advice to me before I left was, "If you know that you are going to be taking a vehicle, take Dramamine!"

I did...good thing!

Pakistan Journal: The American Narrative

From this point, I will begin to quote my journal from the trip. When I quote my journal, it will be in italics, giving me the ability to elaborate beyond my writings (in normal script).

December 1, 1:28am

An interesting thing happend to me on the flight from Bangkok to Pakistan. After an hour of the flight, I met a guy on the plane named Hassan. I was the minority on this flight and everyone noticed! I had pulled out my immigration form for Pakistan to begin filling it out. Hassan noticed and asked if he could see the document that I was working on. He noticed that I was American and wondered if it was my first time to Pakistan. I told him that it was and we proceeded to have a 2-hour conversation about life, faith, politics, and family. It was amazing! We ended by exchanging email addresses. Here's the funny part--as soon as we landed in his country, he pretended that we hadn't even spoken to one another. It was as though he didn't even know me. Nonetheless, I plan on emailing him when I get home to see if we can build on the friendship that we began on that flight.

Hassan said something to me that I'll never forget and that I would hear again and again as I was in Pakistan. He said, "On this plane, it makes no difference what your faith is and what mine is. We can be friends anyway."

It was then that I made the most valuable discovery of the trip: I am polluted with the American Narrative.

With 9/11, the War in Iraq, the war on terrorism, the hunt for Osama bin Laden, the price of gasoline, the Al Queda playing cards, the political cartoons, movies depicting Arabs as angry and anti-American etc. etc. etc. (the list goes on and on) the narrative of America has become, "Muslims are the enemy."

Now I didn't think that I had ever bought into that reality. I follow Christ right? I have no enemies. How deceived I was and we all are in this country.

Let me ask you a question and I want you to answer honestly to yourself. When you are sitting on an airplane and you see an Arab man get on, do you take special notice?

I would make the bold statement that you are lying if you say, "no".

I never considered Muslims my enemey, however the American narrative (I began to understand to my horror) had woven its way into the way that I thought about these people. My conversation with Hassan proved the opposite to be true. Whatever the reasons that he responded the way that he did when we landed, I'll never know. What I do know is that I had a deeper, more meaningful conversation with him than I had had with anyone on a plane in the longest time (if ever).

One thing that you need to understand about me is that I am not into the 4 Spiritual laws (at all) or forcing a spiritual conversation on an airplane. Many "Christians" salivate when they think about airplane conversations (conversions). As if for some reason they think that the person sitting next to them trying to read is dying to get into a "religious" conversation with them. I also don't want to discount many important moments that some people have experienced on airplanes. Some reading this might have come to say yes to Jesus in just such a moment. All I am saying is that this is not my style. Airplane time for me is highly introverted. It is 2-4 uninterrupted hours that I have in silence to read, write, or think (unless a "Christian" tries to convert me--believe me, this has happened before!).

All this to say, I don't get on an airplane to prey on whoever is next to me. If God opens a door to get to know the person, great! If not--great!

That is why my conversation with Hassan was such an eye-opener. Not only did we get to know each other, I learned about the worldview of Muslims and discovered that they are kind, tender, hospitable people--perhaps more so than most Americans. Did I mention that he had volunteered to help us secure taxis and a hotel if we needed help in the terminal?

Maybe some of the misconceptions that he had about Christians and Americans were altered in those two hours as well. Who knows--God does I guess.

By the way, if you are reading this blog and don't consider yourself a "Christian" that is okay. You might even want to read my post, "The difference between church people and followers of Jesus" October 2005. Know that in Pakistan and any other Muslim nation, you are considered "Christian" simply because you are from the west.

Pakistan Journal: The Royal Bangkok Academy

When I was a little kid (6 or 7 years old) I was in a musical called the King and I. My brother and I played twins in a cast with several other little children who represented the children of a Buddhist King. All that I can remember from the musical was that we wore red outfits, crowns made from tuna cans spray-painted gold with wheel macarioni and sequins, and that we sang a song in which was the line, "The royal Bangkok Academy".

I never thought that one day I would end up in Bangkok.

(Pictured is the Thai flag with one of the largest Buddhist Temples that we came across behind it. This particular temple had golden statues telling the story of the life of the Buddha.)

Obviously Thailand wasn't our final destination, but since we had an eight hour layover, several of us decided to stretch our legs and see the city. You need to understand that the guys who decided to go on this adventure were not the type of men who wanted to jump in a car to see the downtown. No--we were the 10 adventurous ones that wanted to see the city for what it really is. Most specifically, we wanted to jump in the boats that you see on National Geographic and ride to the back canals of the city. I wanted to see where people of Bangkok actually lived and not where the tourists would be able to buy chinsey gifts to prove that they had been there.

Jeff and I took the lead to find a tour guide that could take care of us and get us to where we wanted to go. Before long, we had secured guides and had given up our passports for a couple of minutes (this made all of us a little nervous). We never let the guy with the passports out of our sight! They took great care of us and before we knew it, we were outside in the blazing heat of Bangkok.

I was excited to learn from our tour guide about the city, Buddhism, the canal system, food, etc. Little did I know that the tour guide that we got--we called him Mr. T by his desire--couldn't really speak a lick of English. The guy had to be 80 years old and spoke whatever language that he spoke very loud and slowly, hoping that we would understand. After about 10 minutes, we all gave up trying and proceeded to do a lot of smiling and nodding.

The tour was quite interesting. We saw where the King of Thailand lived and several Buddhist temples. On the back canals we did get to see river life and saw several little canoes filled with fruits and vegetables--kind of like a farmer's market in a boat. If you stayed in one place long enough, you could eat your fill of vegetables, fruits, breads, and assorted meats.

At one point, our guide pulled us up to a doc where he wanted all of us to pay $20 (I think) for a loaf of bread to throw into the water. As soon as bread hit the surface, thousands of catfish would surface and fight for it. Catfish aren't the most attractive fish and they were pretty aggressive. The tour guide got the biggest kick out of the deal but all of us were wierded out by the whole situation. It must have been some sort of offering because it was right in front of a huge Temple. I guess monks take every shape and form--they were usually wearing orange though.

For more on our canal tour, read my post "Greetings from Thailand".

By the time we got back to the airport, we had been traveling for more hours than any of us cared to think about and were ready to get to Pakistan. In a couple short hours we would board our final flight which would put us into Islamabad at 12:00am.

This was it--the last leg--next stop: Pakistan. Little did we know what was in store for us when we got there!

Pakistan Journal: The longest flight ever

As the plane left the runway, I sent up a silent prayer and brief cheer! At last the adventure had begun, but first we had to land in LA.

We had checked out luggage through LA so we had to pick it up and head to customs. We were met in baggage claim by two young women from the organziation that sent us. They were there with smiles and luggage carts to help us get from one place to another. The infamous pipe-bending machines were already in LA so luckily we didn't have to cart them all over the airport. Our first stop was the Cathay Pacific desk where I found out that I would be sitting in the middle for our 15-hour flight to Hong Kong. I'm 6'1'' and middle seats are made for 10 year-old little girls! Oh well, a little discomfort will be worth it right? In LA we wheeled and dealed until they accepted our 10 (100lbs.) pipe-bending machines on to the airplane. God knew that we needed them and had paved the way for them to get checked all of the way through to Hong Kong. Our next roadblock would be getting Hong Kong to check them through to Islamabad.

After we checked in, the girls (Jennifer and Jessica) told us that they had a feast prepared for us. Later we found out that we were headed to In-N-Out. For non-West Coast people, this is quite possibly the greatest fast-food burger joint ever. I'm not much for fast food, but I figured, "What better to end my American time with than an All-American meal of a double cheeseburger and chocolate shake?" I indulged as we sat outside and watched planes land for the next 45 minutes.

I was dreading what had to come next...my final phone call to Jaci. I had been alright up until this point because I knew that I was still in phone range. I called as we were leaving the In-N-Out and was able to talk for 30 minutes. I finally felt at peace with leaving Jaci in California. I knew that she was going to be okay, especially because my buddies and our community here were going to take great care of her (which they did--now she's really used to the royal treatment!).

Next stop--customs. Made it through with no problems and prepared to board our longest flight of the trip: a 15-hour non-stop flight to Hong Kong. I love to fly so I was thinking that this 15-hour flight was going to be a great adventure and that I would be totally fine. What I wasn't taking in account was the fact that I had injured my back a month prior and it was still pretty sore. Within 30 minutes of the flight, I was uncomfortable with no where to go. The tiny woman sitting in the aisle seat (who should have volunteered her spacious spot to the tall American sitting next to her) spoke no English so I decided to ignore any discomfort and enjoy my personal T.V. screen that worked sometimes.

After an hour in the air, the captain came on and told us that we would be landing in Seoul, Korea for 45 minutes to refuel due to a strong head-wind. 300 people groaned but I was excited because one of my closest friends was adopted from Seoul. He had never been there (since he could remember) so I was excited to fly over and tell him that I had seen Seoul. 45 minutes turned into 1.5 hours, making our total travel time 17.5 hours from LA to Hong Kong. Luckily I ws able to sleep several hours so by the time we reached Hong Kong I was doing pretty good in the jet-lag department.

The Hong Kong Airport is pretty "westernized" so our cutlural assimilation didn't need to begin quite yet. Our next stop was Bangkok though. Cultural assimilation would need to happen quickly!

Pakistan Journal: Orientation

I will start at the beginning.

Saying goodbye to someone you love and stepping into the unknown is a unique experience. I have been dropped off at the airport several times by my wife, but never have I felt the way that I did on November 27th. I remember watching for her until I couldn't anymore, wondering when the next time that I would see her would be....

I flew to Phoenix that day to connect with the rest of the team and to get orientated. Up until then, my focus was securing my Visa and getting everything packed. I had friends and friends of friends helping me with supplies that I didn't even know that I would need. Thanks to them, I was more prepared for back-country, high-alpine life than anyone else. Other than flying to Pakistan and heading towards the ravaged areas of the north, I really didn't have much of an idea of what it was that we would be doing while we were there.

I was expecting to end up in a room with 15 or so other guys so I was suprised when I walked into a room filled with 40 Americans ready to head overseas. The demographic was mostly caucasian and highly intergenerational.

Our orientation began with a, "Thanks for answering the call" type of a speech followed by a presentation by a gentleman that had gone over to Pakistan to walk the paths that many of us would walk so that we would know what to expect. It was helpful and not helpful at the same time. It was helpful because it prepared us for traveling and some of the cultural things we would encounter. It was not helpful because his most common phrase was, "...I don't know."

Our next job was to get into teams of four--this I mentioned in my previous post. My team ended up being Ben, a young guy named Justin, Jeff, and myself. Once in our teams of four, we had to determine who was going to play what role. Jeff, being older and more experienced than any of us took the overall leadership position. I was given the responsibility of being the voice of our team. That is, I would make all travel arrangements, food arrangements, and would be the liason between the Pakistani military, police, and locals. Justin would become the expert of shelter building and Ben would take all monetary and budgeting responsibilities.

The night ended with a picture and rides to a hotel where we would spend our last night in America for two weeks (and take our last hot shower). Ben and I decided to room together, had breakfast and went shopping for more food the next day and prepared to disembark. At this point, we weren't sure if we were going to be fending for ourselves for food or not. I love backpacking food (freeze-dried) but I couldn't find a place in our area to grab any. We decided to stock up in Clif Bars and packaged fruit which was heavy but I decided that I'd rather be safe than sorry.

We left for the Phoenix Airport and, once checked in, met a group of three guys from South Carolina. Rodney, Chris, and Corey are three fun-loving, rugby-playing, laid back bros that are my age. We connected instantly at the airport which put my heart at ease knowing that I had a couple more fellas that were like-minded and hearted. All three of them teach at a private school in Carolina (the same school!). Chris found out about the opportunity to go to Pakistan and talked to the principle (his dad) about it. He got the green light, talked to Rodney and Corey about it and before they knew it they all had subsititute teachers, the financial support to go, and were on their way to Phoenix.

It was amazing to hear how God had paved the way for 40 men to go to Pakistan. I remember looking around the room in Phoenix and thinking to myself, "None of these guys knew that they were heading to Pakistan three weeks ago." That's what happens when God calls and people obey.

We stepped on to our first of many airplanes (Phoenix to LA). The journey had offically begun.

Pakistan Journal: I'm Home!

Has it only been two weeks? It feels more like a lifetime--

After two weeks and hours of flight time, we arrived in LA on Sunday at around 12:00pm. From there we continued on to Phoenix for a debrief the next day (Monday). I finally got back to Califronia at 5:25 yesterday (Monday) and got to see my wife! I thought that I was going to be fine with the jet-lag, but found out differently last night as I tossed and turned until 3 or 4am, fell asleep, and woke up today (Tuesday) around 1:30pm.

Truth be told, I have no idea how to function right now. I see Walnut Creek in different colors and dimensions and find that I am frightened by the question, "How was Pakistan?"

I wrote a book while I was there because I wanted to remember every single word, conversation, sight, friendship, etc. I took 330 pictures which is a lot of pictures for me--I only wish that they could tell the story better.

Here is what I am going to do...
To help myself process what happened and to tell you the story of a tribal area that is filled with the most outstanding people I have ever met, I will attempt to post a story a day with a picture (hopefully) until I run out of stories to tell. My friends and teammates (see below) will be commenting in to share their insights into the stories. Therefore, when you read my posts, check the comments as well to get a well-rounded perpsective on the story.

To start, I want to introduce you to the team of 4 other Americans that I had the incredible honor to serve alongside. (See Picture).

From Left to Right:

Meet Josh (Yeshua)--Josh is a 29-year-old contractor from Indiana. He has a wife (Erin) and three beautiful children. Josh was at a point where he knew that there had to be something more to life than what he was experiencing in the midwest. He told me that he was ready for God to do something big in his world--and then God called him to Pakistan. Our friends in Pakistan called him "Silent Man" because they thought he was a soft-spoken bro. He loosened up quickly and became dearly loved by the local people and our team. Josh wasn't on our original team but joined us at the helipad that day we left for the mountain.

Meet Ben (Ikbal, Benji)--We were sitting in our orientation in Phoenix before we left for Pakistan. We all went around the room to introduce ourselves, where we were from, etc. I was sitting near the front of the room when I introduced myself. Five or six intro's later, I hear (from behind me) a voice that I recognize introduce himself as Ben Selness. Ben and I went to college together at Northwestern and we were both shocked that we had ended up in the same room on the same team. Ben is 25, an accountant, and is very interested in international business. We were on the same team from the beginning, were roommates the entire trip, and went from vaguely familiar with each other to dear friends. He is a Canadian with a fierce mid-western accent, an interesting relationship with his roommate Tony :) and a man with a huge, compassionate heart. When he initially heard about Pakistan, he knew that he needed to go but ran into roadblocks. It didn't stop him though! He kept pursuing the call until he discovered the organization that we went with. Ben was like a steel-trap when it came to remembering local's names and the Urdu language. He was practically speaking fluently by the time we left!

Meet Sean (Refukit, Seanee)--Sean is 22-years-old, single, and works at Starbucks. He had the opportunity to experience Pakistan with his dad Rod--an opportunity of a lifetime! Sean wasn't on my original team but also joined us at the helipad the day we were deployed. He is a young Dallas Willard type that loves to talk theologically but has a youthful vigor to him that caused an instant chemistry between him and the rest of us. Sean's greatest contribution to our team was his ability to communicate with Irfan (our translator). He was also able to develop meaningful relationships with village leaders and had the uncanny ability to drink several liters of chai every day. He didn't speak Urdu, but somehow managed to get into several long-winded conversations with locals.

Meet Jeff (Baba Jeff, Uncle Jeff)--God knew what He was doing when he sat Jeff next to Ben and I in Phoenix. We needed to get into groups of 3 or 4 and determine who the leader would be. Ben and I instantly looked to Jeff (older and more experienced than us!) to lead our team. Jeff is one of the most gentle, young-hearted men that I have ever met. In Jabba, Baba Jeff had elder emeritus status as locals and the military hung on every word that he said. He had the unique ability to communicate love and respect through body langauge and his huge smile. He is a veteran of the Vietnam War, giving him instant crediblity with the Pakistani Army. Jeff is happily married to Linda (whom we were lucky to meet in LA), is the father of two, and the grandfather of four, including two beautiful little girls that we got to meet with Linda in LA. His favorite past times are running in the hills of LA and eating chunky peanut butter and honey sandwiches with ice-cold milk while watching cartoons with his grandaughters. (Baba is a respectful way of saying "old man" in Urdu--know that we enjoyed calling Jeff "Baba" every chance we got.)

I am a story teller and the best way that I can steward this trip is to the tell the story. I can't tell you to enjoy the stories as some of them will be difficult for me to write and for you to read. My prayer is that as you read these stories, that your heart will break for the people of Pakistan who grow more and more desperate as each day grows colder and colder.

Greetings from Thailand

I have been traveling for more hours than I care to think about--and I'm doing great! I was reminded today how much I love to experience new cultures as I landed in Seoul, Hong Kong, and Bangkok.

I am acutally sitting in the Bangkok airport right now getting ready to jump on my final leg of the journey to Pakistan--a five-hour flight to Islamabad, Pakistan's capital city. I am playing a psychological game with myself by telling my mind that it was just last night that I jumped on a plane versus a couple of days ago. It seems to be working because I feel like my biological clock is ticking in the right region of the world. In other words, by the time I land in Islamabad tonight, I will be ready for bed.

We have been laid over in Bangkok now for eight hours. A group of guys from my team and I decided that we wanted to grab a quick tour of the city. Instead of opting for a regular bus tour with a guide, we chose to jump on a boat in the river and experience it from that perspective. It was amazing to drift through little canals and see how people here actually experience life. I felt like I was in a Nat'l Geographic film as I watched men and women paddle out to meet our boat in their little boats to sell us bananas and chicken kabobs. I was tempted to taste, but decided not to.

God has already answered a huge prayer. My team is tasked with hauling over ten 100 lb. pipe bending machines to aid in the building of the structure that we will be building. We weren't sure that customs and then the airplane co. themselves were going to let us to it. We have been praying for a long time (I'd try to put a number to the hours or days, but I'm so confused right now that I'd get it wrong anyway) and just found out an hour ago that they have been cleared all of the way to Islamabad.

God has big things in store for the next two weeks. Keep praying, though, because it just started to snow in the Himalays where we'll be and several people (nationals) have been hospitalized due to hypothermia.

I'm not sure if I'll get to write again before I return.

2-week Prayer Challenge

As I am going into a Muslim nation, I want to ask you to join me in an unusual prayer experience. In the Muslim faith, it is their custom to bow and pray five times a day. Would you consider doing this for me, my team, and the people that we get the opportunity to love?

Prayer time 1: For physical strength. My body isn't at 100% and we will be working hard long hours and sleeping on the cold, hard ground.

Prayer time 2: For the people of Pakistan that we will see. Pray for the love of Christ to reach deep into their souls as we serve them. Pray especially for those who won't see love.

Prayer time 3: For emotional strength. We will be seen as the only hope by many.

Prayer time 4: For safety. Pakistan isn't the safest place to be right now. Pray for protection and genuine relationships to develop between us and the Pakistanis that we will be working with and near.

Prayer time 5: For spiritual strength. I want to see the people of Pakistan like God sees them.

I can't wait to hear your stories of what this experience was like. Please write your prayers on the comment column so that I can read them if I ever get internet acess.

Until I return,
I remain Unconventional

Alex's Perspective of the World

I met a homeless guy named Alex today in the Tenderloin.

He and I ate breakfast together and spent some time talking about why the Colts were going to win the superbowl this year.

We then spent some time cleaning the shelter we were in. I had a bottle of Formula 409 and he had a rag. What a time we had scrubbing the steps of a stage, the top of a ping-pong table, the edges of a pool table, the top of a piano--anything that we could find to scrub--we scrubbed!

When we were done, someone asked us if we could scrub the walls with bleach and a new rag. While we were waiting for the bleach we were looking at a floor rug that looked like the earth that was hanging on the wall. It was a bit of an abstract image of the earth, but you could make out specific continents.

Soon we had the bleach in hand. Alex had the bottle and I was scrubbing by now. When we got to where the earth-rug was I said, "Be careful that you don't get any bleach on the world."

He said, "That's what the world needs--a good bleaching."
I agreed.

Light Meat or Dark?

I was just in the Tenderloin District of San Francisco over the Thanksgiving Holiday with a couple of high school students and about 40 people from a church that is actually concerned with the "least of these." Our desire was to prepare a home-cooked meal to bring to the homeless instead of preparing it in some church building somewhere and inviting them "in" to ours.

Here are some snapshots...

I saw a little boy (2 years old) of an affluent family playing tackle football with a homeless little boy (2 years old). Unlike I had ever experienced before, I watched as two people couldn't care less that one was affluent and the other wasn't. I watched two little boys love each other and speak the love language of physical touch (along with uninteligable grunts and giggles). I watched a mom with tears in her eyes and a proud dad get it.

I saw families serving together. For these families, no longer is spiritual formation being outsourced to the church. Instead, they are taking the responsiblity of spiritual formation back into their homes. Is there anything more powerful than kids watching their parents follow Jesus?

I heard the inhabitants of Hippie Hill become inspired by a rag-tag group of Jesus-followers.

I watched tears form in homeless people's eyes as they were asked, "Light meat or dark?" and actually got to choose.

I'm Going to Pakistan

I leave on November 27th for Arizona. They'll train us for a day and then we fly to Isalmabad by way of Hong Kong.

I'll be there until the 11th of December. If I have the chance to get to a computer while I'm there, I will update my blog instead of trying to email the stories to everyone. If I do not have computer access, I will upload the stories after I get home.

During the interview between this service organization and myself, they asked me the following question:
What are you doing to prepare emotionally, physically, and spiriutally for this trip?

I answered:
Emotionally--How do you prepare emotionally for seeing the devastation of a 7.6 earthquake that leaves 3 million people homeless in the mountains? I guess I'm sharing the story with my communities and asking them to help me prepare.

Physically--I run, cycle, and swim a lot. I'll keep doing that. I'm also pretty comfortable in high alpine situations.

Spiritually--God has been preparing me for this for 25 years. If I just started to prepare now, I'd be in big trouble!

Conisder this: What will it be like to offer a hand of friendship, brotherhood, and compassion to those that the American media would identify as our enemy?

Let this story be told!

Decision Time

Read my post entitled "Cylcing through a Chaotic World" for the beginning of this journey. That will frame the conversation for today.

What do you do when you find you heart continually breaking because of something that is happening in our world?

How do you handle hopelessness--the sense that there is nothing that can be done?

Can love really speak an international, multi-"religious" language?

I am faced with an opportunity to go to Pakistan in the next couple of weeks. The project would be to hike to the mountain villages, find people who are trapped and build shelters for them. They might survive the winter.

Pakistan is a closed country to foreigners, yet they are throwing open their boarders because they can't not. Is it possible that Jesus-followers could go into the heart of the Muslim world--in the neighborhood of where Sept. 11, 2oo1 was likely planned--and love people?

Pray for me--it's decision time.

Give Me Your Thoughts...

God is mysterious.

I was riding the other day and came to a stop light that prohibited me from going anywhere. This cracks me. You're in a rhythm, you're clicked-in, you don't want to have to stop (sometimes you don't).

I stopped.

There was another cycler there, waiting patiently to proceed when I pulled up. He looked at me (more specifically my cycle because it is a lot more attractive than I) and said, "Don't I know you?"
I said, "I'm not sure."
He said, "Yeah, I think I recognize your Giant" (the brand of my cycle).

The English language is an interesting thing isn't it? He asked if he "knew" me but what he was acutally asking was, "Haven't I seen you riding on this path before? I recognize your bike."

It makes me wonder how many people we actually "know" or that "know" us. I'll save that for another day.

We begin to cycle together. Usually conversation goes from how incredible the day is to how long we've been cycling. Sometimes it goes beyond small talk and you begin to learn about the person that you're cycling with. That's what happened with Chris....

Our conversation started with the small talk but quickly went to a place that suprised me. We started to talk about when we take our weekly long ride. He took his on Sunday and wanted to know if I wanted to join him this week.

How cool is that? We had just met and already he invited me to share an experience with him that he was passionate about.

I told him that Sunday's are usually busy days for me.

Here's the tension: I have found that because I happen to work in a church, it often disqualifies me from relationships with people. Thus, I have found ways to be in their lives for an extended period of time before they know. If they can get to know me and experience Jesus loving and serving them through me before they find out I'm a pastor, I have earned the right to continue as a friend in their life. On the flip side, if they find out I work in a church first, the relationship doesn't have a chance.

Why is that?

He asked me why. Here it comes---"I'm a pastor," I say.

"Oh, I don't believe in organized religion," says he, "But I do believe in God."

"Huh," I say, "That is what you and I have in common."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I hate religion. I think God hates religion. I don't think that Jesus came to bring a new religion, but instead, he came to bring a new Way of life."

"You know, I agree!" says Chris. "Why is it then that the church is about religion?"

Isn't it crazy that in our post-Christian/post-congregation world, people are interested in God and Jesus, but not church. If it hasn't already, this should make us think long and hard about the reality of North America's church!

The conversation ended by Chris giving me his number and asking about what kind of church it is that I am a pastor of. He said that he and his family would be interested in a church that followed Jesus and made a difference in the world.

Reflect with me:
Would you have the courage to have that kind of conversation with Chris or are you more interested in "converting" him on the spot?
What if the church Chris and his family are looking for looks nothing like what you go to on Sundays?
What if the church that the new world needs looks nothing like what you go to on Sundays?
What would that church look like?

Learning How to Live

One of my best friends is 66 years-young. He lives in an unconventional reality--one that has been breathed into him through life...and death.

He desires to honor his World War II buddies even though he didn't go to war. He has.
He has a vision to celebrate his friends on his birthday. He does.
He wanted to have live Jazz music at his wife's funeral and celebrate her life. They did.
He bought me golf clubs because he thought it would be a great way for me to get in the lives of other guys. It has.
The name of his very successful company is PTLA (Praise the Lord Always). They do.
He heard an African American Jazz singer at a club one night and decided that he was going to help make this man's musical dreams come true. They are.

Jesus becomes real to people because of him. He doesn't invite them into an institution or a religion. He invites them into a Way of life that is better.

I get the privilege of watching this man live--I follow Jesus better because of him.

Can One (American) Man Defeat Poverty in Africa?

Below is the response of a friend of mine named Tim who is the director of a mission organization that equips and empowers Latin Americans to love and serve Muslims into the Kingdom. The response was provoked from Christianity Today's picture of (possibly digitally enhanced) Rick and Kay Warren amongst a sea of Rhwandan children. The caption of the picture says the following: "Rick Warren has a sweeping plan to defeat poverty."

Tim writes...

A picture is worth a thousand words. The thousand words inside (CT Oct 2005) about Rick Warren's PEACE plan proclaimed a "tsunami-like paradigm change" in missions.

But the paradigm behind the "thousand word picture" outside the magazine doesn't seem very different from the one that guided 19th Century European missionaries. They thought they had what it would take to design and deliver a "Christian solution" to Africa's problems (it turned out to be more "Western" than "Christian").

With the light on the cover focused on a white man and his wife, we are offered hope that 21st Century American Christians now have what it takes. We are asked to believe that we can use our leadership to fix Africa's poverty by being rich enough, influential enough and by sharing our technology.

Whether the paradigm will work the second time around, I don't know. A truly changed paradigm might propose that true Christian hope for the West, indeed, for the world, depends more on the obedient initiatives of African Christians living at the margins of world influence than on globalizing our unique brand of California Christianity (I include myself, 4th generation Californian).

Medieval Northern Europe was shaped more by God's work among the poor and "pagan" Irish living at the margins of political and ecclesiastical power than by the theological and political influence of wealthy Roman Christianity.

In Africa, God is already shaping and forming a new church, teaching His people there to love the unlovely, raising up the next generation of our world's Christian leaders while making Himself known to millions in the midst of war, tribalism, suffering and poverty.
Let us pray the fruit of God's work there won't be drowned in a Tsunami of our own making!

Timothy Halls
thalls@pmi-usa.org
www.pminternacional.org

A Hero Passes

Rosa Parks died yesterday. Racism broke her heart so God used her to do something about it. What breaks your heart?

Cycling Through a Chaotic World

I went on a long ride yesterday. I found myself cycling through the Lafayette hills towards Moraga (I live in California by the way). I came upon St. Mary's University and instantly wondered why I chose to go to college in frigid Minnesota when there is this oasis of higher education tucked back in the fog covered hills of the East Bay.

As I continued on my ride, I found myself in the "golden" hills surrounded by splendor and in solitude. It was the most relaxed I had been in six weeks.

And then I got to my coffee shop...read the newspaper...and panic set in.

800,000 people are without homes in the Himalayas and winter is three weeks away!

God---have mercy

The Lafayette Tragedy

I just read that the killer of Pamela Vitale is a 16-year-old high school student/turned college student from my neighboring city. I had been keeping up with this case in the news, often asking myself, "What would I do if I came home one day to find my wife dead--murdered--in our house?" I shudder to think what that must have been like for Daniel Horowitz. What's tougher, I can imagine, is not knowing who did it or why it happened.

And then the headlines rolled in this afternoon, speaking of a sixteen-year-old slayer who brutally murded this woman using crown-molding to beat her over thirty times. He then cut a "gothic symbol" into her back, drank a glass of water, took a shower in her home, and left.

Why? The report said that it was because he had been using her credit card number and mailing address to get supplies for a marijuana growing project he was working on. He went up to her home to see if the supplies had come, had some kind of run-in with her, and killed her in her home.

I saw the sequence of pictures of this young bro from when he was an 8th grader, a ninth grader, and a tenth grader. The first two look completely normal--the last one is the scariest picture of a human being I think I've ever seen. It broke my heart.

What happened to this kid, living in the affluent Bay Area, that left him so angry? Why didn't someone catch on to the change in dress, attitude, and lifestyle? When he turned gothic, did everyone turn their backs on him, thinking he was a total freak? Obviously--

I spent last night processing this tragedy with students from his high school. Confused, stunned, concerned are just some of the terms that I would use to describe the reactions of his fellow class-mates. Unfortunately, this murder came after three recent suicides in the same school. "How are we supposed to live?" asked one student. "We've become decensitized to death--we just move on." quoted another.

I don't want people to just move on. I want these students to be the first to love the and the first to serve. What would the world look like if students lived the unconventional way. That is, when they see the transformation of a student like Scott Dyleski, they don't rule him out as a freak, but instead line up for a chance to love him.

The death of Pamela Vitale is certainly tragic. But maybe the worse Lafayette Tragedy is that someone forgot to love Scott....

The difference between followers of Jesus and church people

I am confused by the church. The older I get the less I understand what it is and the more I long for it to be what it was created to be. When did the church become so consumed with getting people inside her walls that she forgot that part of her purpose was to love and serve the community that she is surrounded by? When did the church become so preocuppied with the bottom line that she desperately searches for the next best "growth" campaign with the objective of raising more money? How did we get here?

I have heard of a pastor who claims that the local church is the hope of the world. I used to understand that statement. It used to make all kinds of sense to me--make church really fun and entertaining and programmatically well done and people will come and enjoy it. In other words--borrowing from a popular baseball movie--"If we build it, they will come." And for a while, they did! They came in droves attracted to what we could do inside of the church walls. They were fascinated by our ability to use videos and set designs to communicate in a sensitive way. We entertained them with the message of the Gospel, sugar-coating it until it looked and tasted like a lolli-pop.

And then something subtle began to happen. "Christians" were acting more like members of an exclusive spiritual club than following the Way Jesus. The consumerism of 20th and 21st Century American "Christians" began to drive the church and she became more consumed with maintaining the quality of what was happening inside her walls than embracing her community, being the first to serve and the best at loving.

The Church was God's idea. When we pear it down to our idea or our ability--something supernatural is lost and it becomes a fake, feel-good, people driven enterprise. Isn't it confusing that what should be the number-one world changing force in the world has become castrated to insignificance? What is it going to take for the Church to take a progressive step back to what it was supposed to be?

People want to be a part of a movement--they alwasy have and they always will. In today's world, the movement that people want to be a part of is a movement that is making a difference--a movement that is changing the world. That is simply going to call for followers of Jesus to begin living in an unconventional way.

What does unconventional way mean?
It means that instead of focusing on how to be a better church person in all comfort, you focus on what it means to follow Jesus. It means that when people are hungry--you feed them; when people are thristy, you give them something to drink; when they're drowning in the scum waters of the Bayou--you help them to dry land; when their basements are flooded--you be the first to help them get it out. The opportunities go on and on.

There is a big difference between church people and followers of Jesus. People who say that the church is the hope of the world may be in danger of producing church people. People who say that the love and grace and freedom through Jesus are the hopes of the world might be following the real-deal Jesus. They might be the ones seeing fireworks in their community as they love and serve it instead of being "too busy" trying to figure out how to pull fireworks within their church walls.