Imagine if you will an old grill. It's been a good grill. It's metal green dome-shaped top has held in the smoke of many a polish sausage. These sausages have brought joy to the heart and stomach of many a young man and woman in Poland.
This grill has seen better times. It is rusting in some spot, dented in others. The wheels shake, the legs quiver and all in all it would be considered past its prime if it were in use in any of my friend's houses in the States.
The other day, on the way down to the basement gym I had to pass closely by the grill which is being held in a kind of catch-all storage area. My oversized army pants pockets reached out from leg to apparently shake-hands, polish style, with the grill as I passed. Unfortunately, it seems the grill has caught a kind of leprosy.
The big wooden knob that is supposed to be a kind of handle by which you can grasp the rod which adjusts the height of the grilling surface fell off - into my pocket! I didn't notice it. So, later on I reached into my pocket to get my car keys (car hasn't worked for four days now, but that's a different story) and loe and behold - a wooden knob!
The knob is splitting down the middle. And here's my way of thinking at this moment: "Well, guess that does it - time to get a new grill!" My mind begins to wander as I dream of the kind of grill I'd buy if I were still working and living in the states. I don't dream about the kind of purchases missionaries usually make since we usually do everything to squeeze a nickel till the buffalo dies. But I allow myself to dream not of a coal grill that's 2x2.....but of a gas powered, 8x8 mobile grilling pit. Four separate burners. Two separate grilling surfaces. Two bottles of propane to power its meat grilling fuel.....automatic transmission for easy transport between grilling occasions!
And then The Fixer of Things arrives. He's my coworker and friend Piotr. Piotr has been a polish missionary to Poland for many years - he and his wife Gosia together have served the Lord here for over 10 years. They've learned to take nothing and make it something and to live off that something! He fixes everything.
He asked me to please give him the knob. I wondered what for. He looked and said "A little wood glue and I think I can make this as good as new. I wanted to fix the grill up anyways - put in new screws, tighten the nuts down, lube up the wheels."
And once again, after even 12 years of being a missionary, the cultures clash! I didn't disagree with him or tell him not to, of course. He loves fixing things. But I thought to myself - Why not just get a new one? That one is old. We could get a BETTER one....a BIGGER one.....
But somehow I know in my heart I need more of being a fixer of things, and not just a replacer of things. What about you all?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Small pleasures
Strawberries are in season here. In my home they're eaten daily, two kilo a day. We love em. And you can get a kilo here for five zloty, which at the moment isn't a whole two dollars.
This country is full of simple pleasures that would be considered luxury in the states. Cheese made at home in big blocks that tastes as smooth and as full as you could want. Strawberries as big as dollar pancakes and sweet as sugar.
Bakeries with fresh-baked breads, sweets, rolls, and more are common place here - more than one in each strip mall. I have two within 5 minutes of my home...kind of horrible now that I'm not eating carbs as much anymore. I used to love to get buttermilk rolls, hot from the bakery here, for about 20 cents a piece...and wolf em down before I got home.
Everyone here has a garden of their own. I don't, but that's more by choice than by chance. Just don't have the time to do all the work needed to keep it up. Maybe one day I'll be able to work a garden into a ministry plan - like give some guys something to do with their hands instead of drinking.
Since everyone has gardens, it means everyone has various kinds of fresh fruit - and even better - JAM. Just now I was at the church and met with a guy who turns 21 next week. He's helped us out around the soccer tournaments before. I told him I was going to buy some strawberries on the way home and he told me he didn't buy em since he grows them. Of course, I asked about jam. SOOO, he's bringing me a jar tomorrow to the soccer tournament! WOOT
I'd write more - but my wife and son are behind me in the kitchen burning through those strawberries at record pace - so I need to get some before they're gone!
Share with me your simple pleasures in the comments area!
Blessings!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Knowing the enemy
Never let anyone tell you that the devil plays fair. He doesn't. He starts when we're still young, and doesn't give up on his primary objectives till we're beyond his reach. He wants to steal, kill and destroy.
It dawned on me a while back as I was thinking over my youth, that from the start the devil had big plans to mess me up and make me all the less likely to search for a good God. Let me tell you a story that some of you will be familiar with and others will be hearing for the first time.
I was somewhere in that hazy journey between sixth and eighth grade, attending Silver Lakes Middle School. It was a normal middle school, right across the two-lane road from North Lauderdale Elementary where I had entered at third grade, having moved north from Fort Lauderdale, and just a 15 minute walk from home.
I was a 'band geek' following in the footsteps of my older brother and dad. I was not athletic, and had convinced myself that sports were one big ripoff the day a small dark haired kid ran straight up my chest and danced the chacha on my face in the goal during a team soccer match. I told the umpire what I thought of it and my coach told me what he thought of me. I quit that day. I was never an achiever of any kind in the Presidential Physical Fitness Day and was angry about it. I should probably have been forced back to the field so that I would have learned the value of sticking to it, but my mom and dad didn't like seeing their youngest son trampled on anymore than I enjoyed being trampled. And truthfully, I had to choose where they would put their limited resources - band or soccer...I chose the one where I was less likely to be run over.
I was kind of pudgy and had the kind of friendly face that is a blessing as a missionary now but to my way of thinking back then it was a curse cause none of the bad kids were scared of me and none of the pretty girls were interested. I wasn't a fighter or a lover. I was that guy in the corner with a comic book wishing he had laser beam vision so he could melt the teachers he didn't like and save the damsel in distress, wherever she might be.
One beautiful day I walked myself home from school. Just about when I got to the place where the sidewalk crossed the creek behind my subdivision I was stopped in my tracks. From the other direction I hadn't noticed a rather large black guy pedaling along with a smallish black guy with no shirt, on his handle bars. Just as they reached me, the little guy jumped off the handlebars and started punching me in the face like a MMA fighter doing a ground and pound, only I was still standing. I remember not really feeling pain when he hit me, just complete and total surprise.
He must have hit me three or four times when his taller friend, I thought he had to be a high schooler since he was so big, got off the bike and did what I believe the older generations call a 'haymaker'. Just wound back his big right and let her fly, and I didn't even try to duck. That hit hurt. I was on my butt and looking up at a star-filled sky in the middle of the day.
I remember to this day the girl who walked up and started collecting my stuff for me that had scattered all around the scene. She just kept asking me "Why didn't you fight? Why didn't you hit them? How come you didn't defend yourself?"
I didn't know why. I had never been in a fight before. I wasn't one of those kids who grew up in the midwest with five older brothers and a boxing ring in the barn. I wish I had been, but I wasn't. I was shell-shocked. I got myself up and headed home, listening to the guys laugh as they road off and to the other kids laughing, too.
Of course, I was a sight when I got home. I won't go into the rest of the story but I think one of the guys had to go to juvi and I don't remember what happened to the other.
But why am I telling you all about this? Let's go back to the title of the this entry "Knowing the Enemy."
You see, alot of people would say that the incident was just a random act of racially motivated violence. I was a little chubby white kid and they were older violent black guys looking to do harm. Others would say that it was a good example of the kind of racially-charged violence that was caused by years of mistreatment of the black population by whites - hens coming home to roost or something like that.
But I have come to understand the situation in a different way. I know the devil was trying to shape my life...trying to sew an early seed of hate, distrust and bitterness while the soil was still young. I know that for one reason or another, God let the devil do it. Let me share with you the immediate results of this event in my life.
Distrust.
I distrusted black guys from that moment on. Didn't matter if they were more intellectual, clean-cut intelligent black guys or shirtless, tatooed, too much gold wearing black guys. Didn't matter if I knew the guy personally or just saw him in passing at the mall where we hung out. I didn't trust any black guy younger than 40. As far as I was concerned, they were dangerous, mean and looking for a fight - every last one of them! I'd go to the store and pick the register where the white or latino person was working - or the black girl - never the black guy.
Anger.
I was mad. I was angry and didn't know how to express it. I got upset with my parents more often. I got upset with God and wanted an explanation. I for sure was imagining how I could get back at those black guys or just at all black guys in general. I thought up elaborate schemes how I could pay them back...scary stuff...mean stuff...not the kind of thing a young kid should be daydreaming about.
Ruined self-esteem.
I had already felt bad about the way I looked cause my few ventures into romance had been crash and burns before they got off the ground. The girls who had been the objects of my young heart's desire had always turned me down to be with 'jocks'. My few attempts at a sport of any kind had ended miserably. Now, I couldn't even defend myself...and I was alone. Let me make this picture pristinely clear for you all - whenever I went to the beach, I wore a shirt into the water. Seriously, I was messed up.
I hated the way I looked and I was upset with God for years for making me that way. I was jealous of the guys in good shape and wished I could do something to change the way I was - but instead of changing I would just watch movies...and tv...lots and lots of movies and tv. I would suffer with self-esteem issues for most of my life.
Now tell me, does this guy sound like an ideal candidate to be a conduit of God's love and acceptance to all? Hardly.
And that's just it. That's what the devil was after...he sought to take me out of the game before I even got warmed-up. Trust me, if I had let bitterness, resentment and hatred towards young black men remain in my heart and mind, it would have crippled me in any ministry and in my own relationship with God.
Thankfully, God had other plans.
You see, God had given me to believing parents. He had secured a faithful couple of youth leaders and youth group members around me. He had given me a couple believing friends (shout out to deb!!) who looked out for me in middle school. All the while, He was there.
Sometime near the end of high school and just after, God made these problems clear to me. I began to understand that I needed to confront my attitude towards black men. I had to get to the place where I could love them with the love of God and not let the devil hold me back.
If I were to ignore these wrong ways of thinking, how could I ever understand forgiveness, acceptance and unconditional love? And the devil knew these things would be necessary for me in the future...and was already working in the fifth grade to keep them from me!
Can you imagine that? You need to. If you're a parent you should make it a matter of daily prayer. God has promised to be our secure tower, our fortress, our defender. But as little children, our kids often do not think about things in that way. We need to help them know who they are as soon as possible. We need to put the weapon of proclaiming God's Word in their hands as soon as we can.
My son is only 18 months old. My second is on his way and will be here in two months. I'm already thinking about them and what will happen in their lives. I'm not able to be with them 24/7, but His word can be. His Spirit will be. My prayer is that God will show me what's happening in their lives spiritually as they encounter difficulties. I want to know when the devil is trying to sew seeds to reap a harvest of death in their lives...and get good seeds in there first.
Today, I am not aware of any hatred or bitterness in my heart for anyone. I asked God to forgive me for holding it in a long time ago. I asked God to give me some measure of His love for anyone I would meet in life - old, young, rich, poor, beautiful or ugly.
I'm 32 now. I can honestly say I'm often radical in the love I share with others, and go out of my way to express it. This is the fruit of His labor in my life. The devil still tries to get an inroad from time to time, but I'm convinced that He is keeping this field, and will continue to keep it till it's out of the devil's reach.
Blessings to you all!
corey
It dawned on me a while back as I was thinking over my youth, that from the start the devil had big plans to mess me up and make me all the less likely to search for a good God. Let me tell you a story that some of you will be familiar with and others will be hearing for the first time.
I was somewhere in that hazy journey between sixth and eighth grade, attending Silver Lakes Middle School. It was a normal middle school, right across the two-lane road from North Lauderdale Elementary where I had entered at third grade, having moved north from Fort Lauderdale, and just a 15 minute walk from home.
I was a 'band geek' following in the footsteps of my older brother and dad. I was not athletic, and had convinced myself that sports were one big ripoff the day a small dark haired kid ran straight up my chest and danced the chacha on my face in the goal during a team soccer match. I told the umpire what I thought of it and my coach told me what he thought of me. I quit that day. I was never an achiever of any kind in the Presidential Physical Fitness Day and was angry about it. I should probably have been forced back to the field so that I would have learned the value of sticking to it, but my mom and dad didn't like seeing their youngest son trampled on anymore than I enjoyed being trampled. And truthfully, I had to choose where they would put their limited resources - band or soccer...I chose the one where I was less likely to be run over.
I was kind of pudgy and had the kind of friendly face that is a blessing as a missionary now but to my way of thinking back then it was a curse cause none of the bad kids were scared of me and none of the pretty girls were interested. I wasn't a fighter or a lover. I was that guy in the corner with a comic book wishing he had laser beam vision so he could melt the teachers he didn't like and save the damsel in distress, wherever she might be.
One beautiful day I walked myself home from school. Just about when I got to the place where the sidewalk crossed the creek behind my subdivision I was stopped in my tracks. From the other direction I hadn't noticed a rather large black guy pedaling along with a smallish black guy with no shirt, on his handle bars. Just as they reached me, the little guy jumped off the handlebars and started punching me in the face like a MMA fighter doing a ground and pound, only I was still standing. I remember not really feeling pain when he hit me, just complete and total surprise.
He must have hit me three or four times when his taller friend, I thought he had to be a high schooler since he was so big, got off the bike and did what I believe the older generations call a 'haymaker'. Just wound back his big right and let her fly, and I didn't even try to duck. That hit hurt. I was on my butt and looking up at a star-filled sky in the middle of the day.
I remember to this day the girl who walked up and started collecting my stuff for me that had scattered all around the scene. She just kept asking me "Why didn't you fight? Why didn't you hit them? How come you didn't defend yourself?"
I didn't know why. I had never been in a fight before. I wasn't one of those kids who grew up in the midwest with five older brothers and a boxing ring in the barn. I wish I had been, but I wasn't. I was shell-shocked. I got myself up and headed home, listening to the guys laugh as they road off and to the other kids laughing, too.
Of course, I was a sight when I got home. I won't go into the rest of the story but I think one of the guys had to go to juvi and I don't remember what happened to the other.
But why am I telling you all about this? Let's go back to the title of the this entry "Knowing the Enemy."
You see, alot of people would say that the incident was just a random act of racially motivated violence. I was a little chubby white kid and they were older violent black guys looking to do harm. Others would say that it was a good example of the kind of racially-charged violence that was caused by years of mistreatment of the black population by whites - hens coming home to roost or something like that.
But I have come to understand the situation in a different way. I know the devil was trying to shape my life...trying to sew an early seed of hate, distrust and bitterness while the soil was still young. I know that for one reason or another, God let the devil do it. Let me share with you the immediate results of this event in my life.
Distrust.
I distrusted black guys from that moment on. Didn't matter if they were more intellectual, clean-cut intelligent black guys or shirtless, tatooed, too much gold wearing black guys. Didn't matter if I knew the guy personally or just saw him in passing at the mall where we hung out. I didn't trust any black guy younger than 40. As far as I was concerned, they were dangerous, mean and looking for a fight - every last one of them! I'd go to the store and pick the register where the white or latino person was working - or the black girl - never the black guy.
Anger.
I was mad. I was angry and didn't know how to express it. I got upset with my parents more often. I got upset with God and wanted an explanation. I for sure was imagining how I could get back at those black guys or just at all black guys in general. I thought up elaborate schemes how I could pay them back...scary stuff...mean stuff...not the kind of thing a young kid should be daydreaming about.
Ruined self-esteem.
I had already felt bad about the way I looked cause my few ventures into romance had been crash and burns before they got off the ground. The girls who had been the objects of my young heart's desire had always turned me down to be with 'jocks'. My few attempts at a sport of any kind had ended miserably. Now, I couldn't even defend myself...and I was alone. Let me make this picture pristinely clear for you all - whenever I went to the beach, I wore a shirt into the water. Seriously, I was messed up.
I hated the way I looked and I was upset with God for years for making me that way. I was jealous of the guys in good shape and wished I could do something to change the way I was - but instead of changing I would just watch movies...and tv...lots and lots of movies and tv. I would suffer with self-esteem issues for most of my life.
Now tell me, does this guy sound like an ideal candidate to be a conduit of God's love and acceptance to all? Hardly.
And that's just it. That's what the devil was after...he sought to take me out of the game before I even got warmed-up. Trust me, if I had let bitterness, resentment and hatred towards young black men remain in my heart and mind, it would have crippled me in any ministry and in my own relationship with God.
Thankfully, God had other plans.
You see, God had given me to believing parents. He had secured a faithful couple of youth leaders and youth group members around me. He had given me a couple believing friends (shout out to deb!!) who looked out for me in middle school. All the while, He was there.
Sometime near the end of high school and just after, God made these problems clear to me. I began to understand that I needed to confront my attitude towards black men. I had to get to the place where I could love them with the love of God and not let the devil hold me back.
If I were to ignore these wrong ways of thinking, how could I ever understand forgiveness, acceptance and unconditional love? And the devil knew these things would be necessary for me in the future...and was already working in the fifth grade to keep them from me!
Can you imagine that? You need to. If you're a parent you should make it a matter of daily prayer. God has promised to be our secure tower, our fortress, our defender. But as little children, our kids often do not think about things in that way. We need to help them know who they are as soon as possible. We need to put the weapon of proclaiming God's Word in their hands as soon as we can.
My son is only 18 months old. My second is on his way and will be here in two months. I'm already thinking about them and what will happen in their lives. I'm not able to be with them 24/7, but His word can be. His Spirit will be. My prayer is that God will show me what's happening in their lives spiritually as they encounter difficulties. I want to know when the devil is trying to sew seeds to reap a harvest of death in their lives...and get good seeds in there first.
Today, I am not aware of any hatred or bitterness in my heart for anyone. I asked God to forgive me for holding it in a long time ago. I asked God to give me some measure of His love for anyone I would meet in life - old, young, rich, poor, beautiful or ugly.
I'm 32 now. I can honestly say I'm often radical in the love I share with others, and go out of my way to express it. This is the fruit of His labor in my life. The devil still tries to get an inroad from time to time, but I'm convinced that He is keeping this field, and will continue to keep it till it's out of the devil's reach.
Blessings to you all!
corey
Monday, February 2, 2009
Life as a Roast Chicken
So, I have a problem with my back. Seems that years of moving furniture, lifting weights and then weight gain have caused some discs in my back to get messed up. I say 'messed up' cause I honestly am not sure what has really happened to them. All I know is they're not quite right, and that it hurts when I sneeze or cough. But this post isn't supposed to be about the problem, but the solution.
The doc wants to make sure the problem isn't something simple like a muscle spasm or something...I guess. So, he's put me on a anti-inflammatory pill and 10 visits at "rehab". I'm guessing rehab is supposed to be translated physical therapy, but I honestly think the idea that I'm in rehab seems somehow ironic, seeing as though part of my work is encouraging alcoholics to go to that very place.
I digress.
So, I walk into the clinic and sign up privately to get rehab. Turns out private is the way to go, cause if I were to go on the public health care system I'd get in in two months. It'd be way cheaper, but I'd have to live with the idea that I'm not getting better all that time.
The ladies in the clinic are very cordial and helpful - good sign! However, the equipment all looks EXACTLY like something out of a 1970's NASA training film. Grey boxes with simple large dials, diodes, over sized red and black buttons and each sporting one red light labeled "Alarm". Yeah.
The chiropractor didn't really have the time to explain to me the things he was signing me up for, so I was just along for the ride (so to speak). The nice lady told me to go down to stall number 5. The stalls were separated from each other by hanging sheets. In stall 5 was a chair, a table and something that looked like a tube space-heater. Turns out this would be the 'baker' as I have come to call it. The lady turned it on and it baked my upper back - she said if it got too hot to just move away from it.
How to explain what I was thinking that first day? I guess you could say I figured it's important to be tan when one is having back pain. After all, if you can't feel good, you most certainly can look good.
After about 15 minutes (or medium-well as they say in the medical field), I was 'done'. The nice lady told me to move up to stall 1.
Stall 1 is the home of the 'microwave', or at least to me it is. Apparently, when one has a disc problem, one must be certain that the back is not allowed to monopolize the pain allocated to the body at large for a given period of time. So, in order to avoid this, they smeared me up with gel, put something over the gel - sand bag on that - and turned on one of those amazing NASA devices.
The nice lady said (and this is a reliable translation) "You should feel something like ants crawling on you." I could feel them. I told her I felt them. She said "Let's turn it up." I no longer felt ants on me, but rather a legion of soccer playing centipedes in ice spike cleats playing an all out championship soccer match on my back. In other words, it hurt.
The nice lady could tell by the expression on my face that I was in pain, and with a whimsical 'I can finally make up for all the trouble the males of the world have caused me' smile, she said - and I quote "That's a good setting."
About 15 minutes later....or maybe it was 2 hours, an alarm sounded. I'm guessing that's how they know when you're no longer pink in the middle. She wiped the gel off and told me I could now go to the LASER.
I couldn't wait for the LASER. After all, a LASER is new technology! A LASER changes things! A LASER can take down huge enemy planes in midflight! Apparently, lasers also existed in the early 60's. Here's my meeting with the laser:
beep
beep
beep
beep
Ok, that's all for today sir - thank you for coming!
I have gone to the chicken farm 4 times so far, and according to the doctor have to go ten times before he'll see me for another exam. He said that if these things don't help, we'd do something more "serious" later.... I can't wait. I'm hoping it'll not include the sensation of elephants walking on my skin.
Hope you all have enjoyed this- leave feedback if you so desire - it always makes me smile.
corey
The doc wants to make sure the problem isn't something simple like a muscle spasm or something...I guess. So, he's put me on a anti-inflammatory pill and 10 visits at "rehab". I'm guessing rehab is supposed to be translated physical therapy, but I honestly think the idea that I'm in rehab seems somehow ironic, seeing as though part of my work is encouraging alcoholics to go to that very place.
I digress.
So, I walk into the clinic and sign up privately to get rehab. Turns out private is the way to go, cause if I were to go on the public health care system I'd get in in two months. It'd be way cheaper, but I'd have to live with the idea that I'm not getting better all that time.
The ladies in the clinic are very cordial and helpful - good sign! However, the equipment all looks EXACTLY like something out of a 1970's NASA training film. Grey boxes with simple large dials, diodes, over sized red and black buttons and each sporting one red light labeled "Alarm". Yeah.
The chiropractor didn't really have the time to explain to me the things he was signing me up for, so I was just along for the ride (so to speak). The nice lady told me to go down to stall number 5. The stalls were separated from each other by hanging sheets. In stall 5 was a chair, a table and something that looked like a tube space-heater. Turns out this would be the 'baker' as I have come to call it. The lady turned it on and it baked my upper back - she said if it got too hot to just move away from it.
How to explain what I was thinking that first day? I guess you could say I figured it's important to be tan when one is having back pain. After all, if you can't feel good, you most certainly can look good.
After about 15 minutes (or medium-well as they say in the medical field), I was 'done'. The nice lady told me to move up to stall 1.
Stall 1 is the home of the 'microwave', or at least to me it is. Apparently, when one has a disc problem, one must be certain that the back is not allowed to monopolize the pain allocated to the body at large for a given period of time. So, in order to avoid this, they smeared me up with gel, put something over the gel - sand bag on that - and turned on one of those amazing NASA devices.
The nice lady said (and this is a reliable translation) "You should feel something like ants crawling on you." I could feel them. I told her I felt them. She said "Let's turn it up." I no longer felt ants on me, but rather a legion of soccer playing centipedes in ice spike cleats playing an all out championship soccer match on my back. In other words, it hurt.
The nice lady could tell by the expression on my face that I was in pain, and with a whimsical 'I can finally make up for all the trouble the males of the world have caused me' smile, she said - and I quote "That's a good setting."
About 15 minutes later....or maybe it was 2 hours, an alarm sounded. I'm guessing that's how they know when you're no longer pink in the middle. She wiped the gel off and told me I could now go to the LASER.
I couldn't wait for the LASER. After all, a LASER is new technology! A LASER changes things! A LASER can take down huge enemy planes in midflight! Apparently, lasers also existed in the early 60's. Here's my meeting with the laser:
beep
beep
beep
beep
Ok, that's all for today sir - thank you for coming!
I have gone to the chicken farm 4 times so far, and according to the doctor have to go ten times before he'll see me for another exam. He said that if these things don't help, we'd do something more "serious" later.... I can't wait. I'm hoping it'll not include the sensation of elephants walking on my skin.
Hope you all have enjoyed this- leave feedback if you so desire - it always makes me smile.
corey
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