>[:]-_-[:]<

A Connecticut Carol.

 O God, we beseech Thee:

 

"Melt the clouds of sin and sadness, 

drive the dark of doubt away."

 

Rod of Jesse, come;

 

"Free thine own from Satan's tyranny; 

From depths of hell they people save, 

And give them victory o'er the grave."

 

For

 

"With the woes of sin and strife

The world has suffered long;

Beneath the angel strain have rolled 

Two thousand years of wrong;

And man, at war with man, hears not

The love-song which they bring."

 

And indeed the world has suffered long, 

Yea, it suffers now; 

Yet you know this suffering more intimately than any. 

 

For you were a man of sorrows, 

And ours you have carried;

Acquainted with grief,

And ours you have borne. 

 

Carry them now.

 

Glory mildly lain by,

Born that man may no more die;

But many have died.

 

Born to raise the sons of earth,

Born to give us second birth;

And raise them you will. 

 

Your appearing gave worth to the souls in our weary world. 

Your appearing gives worth to the souls in our weary world. 

 

We humbly ask:

"No more let sins and sorrows grow,

nor thorns infest the ground;"

For we believe,

"He came to make his blessing flow, 

Far as the curse is found."

 

This is our comfort in affliction,

That your promise gives us life. 

 

Amen.

 

 "O hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing."

Io saró una luce.

A recent post of mine at creativelabeurope1.wordpress.com.

“Il mio nome é  _____, e questa é la mia storia.”

Besides maybe “cut!”, “speed!”, and “action!”, this is without a doubt the phrase I heard most during our trip to Italy in January. It’s a simple phrase really, translating in English to “My name is (Adam), and this is my story.” But there is nothing simple about a person’s story— not yours, not mine, not anyone’s.

We spent our 12 days in Italy filming with hardly a pause. The first four days were devoted to shooting the live action sections of five short films that will be shown in religious education classes across Italy. This involved just about everything I would imagine a ‘real’ feature film shoot would involve— talent, video recording, audio recording, set management and setup, script adjustments, countless re-takes, lots of equipment I didn’t know how to use or what to call, people being late, food, ill-timed potty breaks, frustrations, laughter, and more.

The last four days were dedicated to re-making OneHope’s famed part animation, part live action film, The Godman, into Italian. This meant finding dozens of voices to dub the animation section, as well as spending plenty of time shooting the live action bits with the narrator. Both our sound engineer and narrator were extremely talented, helping make both of these tasks at least look easy while also making them huge successes.

The middle days? One was spent roaming around Rome (forgive me.. I’ve never sunk so low before), the other three at a youth workers conference where the idea of the complexity of a story began to really develop in my mind. As the conference was happening, attendees would slip out of a session, usually in groups of two or three, and make their way up to our temporary studio (a hotel room we jury-rigged to fit our needs) where we would spend about thirty minutes each documenting their personal testimonies. We heard stories relating to some of the things we consider the baddest of the bad— drug and alcohol abuse, murder, sexual promiscuity, greed, vanity— yet there was a common thread woven through each and every one: they had found freedom from their addictions, tendencies and downfalls in the person of Jesus Christ. When these people met Jesus their lives began to change, and they haven’t stopped changing since. They haven’t and never will become perfect people, but thanks to Jesus they are living lives marked by grace; lives that reflect the mercy and kindness of God himself.

Since that time I have purposed myself to think through some relationships in my life and try to imagine just a little bit of what each person’s story involves. If we truly knew where people had come from, we would understand them in such a way that the only possible response would be one of Christlike compassion. It’s a big part of why God loves us the way he does— he knows every detail of our lives, and not only that, but he has lived a life just like ours and faced every temptation we face, yet without sin. Even more, the same Jesus who lived that sinless life and can perfectly relate to us in our struggles is at every moment interceding for us before his Father’s throne. This God—what shall separate us from his love?

My name is Adam, and this is my story. I will be a light. 

_____________________________________________________________________

A few pictures from Italy:

Ardit.

This family is one several thousand Roma families in Albania. The Roma people are gypsy foreigners who immigrated to Albania from Asia over 500 years ago. As a whole they are severely undereducated and unskilled, resulting in sky-high levels of unemployment and extrordinarily poor living conditions.  

This particular family has been without a father for seven years. One day their dad and husband left and never came home, and they haven't seen him since. Sadly this is not an uncommon occurence amongst the Roma—most of the adult men are alcoholics and provide no support whatsoever to their families. A typical father's daily routine consists of spending the morning walking their usual route past garbage dumpsters and disposals looking for scrap metal, taking what metal they find to be cashed in at some point during the afternoon, and using the few pennies they come away with to drink the evening away. 

But there is something unique about this family. In the midst of what is an extremely difficult situation, they exude joyful love. Surrounded by brokeness and pain, they have hope that cannot be shaken by anything this world would offer. They have the hope of Jesus Christ.

The son, Ardit, who by default has become the man of the family, has filled the role admirably; in fact, many would do well to learn from his example. Ardit, now 15, was just 7 when his father left. Every day for the last two years he has lived the same exhausting routine in order to make ends meet.

At midnight each day Ardit leaves home and walks two and a half hours to get to work. It's hardly that far of a distance, but the hills, condition of the roads, and the fact that he cannot afford a bicycle at least doubles the travel time. He works all night for wages that wouldn't feed a family pet in the western world, occasionaly being cheated out of his pay by an angry  employer with no one else to vent his frustration on. Often times this involves avoiding physical abuse from workers who see him as no more than a kid. But what can he do?

At 6 a.m. Ardit leaves work and heads straight to school, starting at 8, where he does his best to stay awake and alert— he wants to learn as much as possible to someday improve the situation of his family and those around them. His sister Merita, who is in his class, brings his books to school for him. After school it's another two hours back home, where he sleeps for a while, but not so long as to take time away from family relationships and home improvement projects. Somehwere along the way, homework squeezes itself in as well. When the clock strikes midnight, the routine begins again. 

Ardit is a hero. The Roma people, and the world itself, could use more men like him.

 He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark 

Peter.

On Setember 27th, 2012, the young boy in the middle of this picture, who we will call Peter, will celebrate his 11th birthday. Well, maybe celebrate isn't the right word. 

On his 11th birthday, Peter will wake up knowing that he will never again leave the doors of his house. He will know that he can never again go to school, play in the yard, or take out the trash. He will know that he is a hunted man, and that one wrong move could cost him his life. 

Peter's family is a part of the Albanian blood feud. For decades his family and another have traded honor killings, and now, just as he reaches the age where he is considered a worthy victim, it is the other family's turn to avenge the blood of their kinsman. One of Peter's relatives escaped the feud because he became blind and is thus unfit for an honor killing, another because he is too old to appease the demands of vengance. Peter, however, is completely healthy and will soon be of the appropriate age. On September 27th of next year, his life will change in such a way that radical forgiveness only the death of a relative will allow him to step outside his front door. 

Peter doesn't know of the life that awaits him. His family has intentionally kept him and his younger brothers in the dark in an attempt to give them eleven years of a 'normal' childhood. Yet something in his eyes gives the impression that he is already living in fear, and that his young life contains much more than ten calendar years. And as long as his coveted blood is flowing through his beating heart, Peter will do all he can to survive and to defend the honor of his family name. 

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark

Life.

What is life?

Christians fight passionately for life. We give our money, time and prayers to it's defense. We use thousands of words writing comments, notes and blog posts in our attempts to explain the value of life, encourage the upholding of life, and establish the beginning of life.

And we do well.

But what is life? What defines it? What is the intrinsic quality of life?

The answer, I believe, is a bit of a contradiction. While we typically equate death with the absence of a heart beat, I don't think we can conversely equate life with the presence of a heart beat. Doesn't Scripture say that the body apart from the spirit is dead? It would seem that before telling you to fetch a stethescope to check for life, Scripture would tell you to call the Ghost Busters and see if any spirits have recently vacated the area. Yes, I realize that one might simply say that the entering and leaving of the spirit from the body is concurrent with the starting and stopping of the heartbeat. And that person may very well be right. But that isn't the point.

The point is, as C.S. Lewis so eloquently said, "You do not have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." (soul = spirit, for simplicity's sake.) We are not who, or what, we think we are. Maybe in our opposition to abortion, our fight for life, or whatever else you choose to call it, we should take as our first line of defense the truth that we are immaterial beings.

Why?

Take as an example one of the most difficult cases for allowing abortion: pregnancy caused by rape. It is often (quite convincingly) argued that a woman in this situation should not have to be asked to deal with the difficulties of pregnancy and motherhood. The basis of the argument is that the pregnancy has been unwantingly forced upon her; that she didn't choose to bear and potentially raise a child; that in light of the incredible, unimaginable emotional and physical repercussions of rape, the victim should be given absolute freedom to eliminate the pregnancy. This line of reasoning is absolutely legitimate, and if it was the end of the line, I would likely agree.

But it is not the end of the line. No matter what has happened to cause pregnancy, we are giving a rapist far too much credit if we blame him for the creation of an immaterial soul. No, only the Creator God Elohim, architect of the universe, artisan of the heavens, composer of the symphony of life and former of the inward parts has the power to create true life. Only He saw your frame when it was being made in secret, your substance when it was yet unformed. And only He, being spirit, can give life upon life: "It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all."

The truth is, as much as our world would like to think that the pro-creation of human beings is a natural process, that is not the case. Hidden within the process second-most essential to the existence of our race is a miracle that cannot be understood by the human mind; a miracle science can neither explain or duplicate. Sex may create a human, but only God can create a being. 

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark

Absence.

Being far from home, I'm learning every day that the phrase "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" is very true. What they forget to tell you is that the absence can be quite miserable.

Not to say that I'm miserable; I'm actually surprisingly content when I think about my current state in light of the few times I have been especially homesick. Nevertheless, absence from home- truly, where the heart is- can be gut-wrenching, even if just for one brief moment. Your best friend loses someone closest to them, and you can't be there to mourn with and comfort them; the people you've lived life with for the last three years finish a stage of life, and you can't be there to finish with them; several of your closest friends get engaged or married, and you can't be there to celebrate with them; your youngest sister grows a year older, and you can't be there to watch it happen. 

Absence is not easy. But absence is a part of life, and life is not easy. As a Christian, I hope to grow such an affection for Christ that to be absent from him would mean doing all that is necessary to re-enter his presence. No price can be put on proximity to Jesus. 

"As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?" Psalm 42:1-2

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark

Adventure.

What is adventure?

I came to Europe because, amongst other things, I wanted to have an adventure. At the time my understanding of "adventure" had been formed primarily by outside influences like books and movies. In a word, the entertainment industry had indoctrinated me with the thinking that adventure must involve things like danger, heroism, romance, risk, victory and defeat, etc.

While there is some truth to that understanding, no combination of those elements necessarily equals an "adventure." I've come to realize that adventure is much more an abstract idea than a mathematical equation. It isn't "risk + victory, gave or take the romance"; it's simply "what will happen next?" (yet it cannot be defined solely as "uncertainty.") Some ingredients in the cauldron of adventure may be those mentioned before or a whole host of others; but none is more integral than the other, and it can be had at a moments notice-- although a journey across the world may improve the odds. 

My adventure currently consists of things like chance, sacrifice, risk and reward, and travel. But the inherent characteristic is the necessity of standing on my own two feet more than ever before. 

Life is an adventure. We need only to let it be. 

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark

Palánta.

There are incredible people doing incredible things all over the world. 

Our team spent this week in Budapest, Hungary, doing research for an upcoming project. We spent a large part of our time there with people from Palánta Mission, a Hungarian ministry dedicated to reaching the children and youth of the country with the Gospel (website here: http://palantamisszio.hu/ > 'English' tab). Their ministry reaches over 100,000 children every year through performing Bible-based puppet shows and teaching Bible classes in 1/3 of the elementary schools in the country, as well as pre-schools and high-schools. God is using their work to influence the next generation of Hungary. 

The family that started Palánta over 20 years ago still leads it today, and their faith astounds me. The father pastors a church and is the head of the entire ministry; the mother does everything; the children work in various capacities, including writing and procuding music for CD's that are given (along with booklets) for free to children who attend the puppet shows. A few of us we asked to sing background vocals for their new English translation of a song entitled "There's Still a Chance", based partly on Isaiah 43:1-2. It was an honor, and a lot of fun!

I also had the privelage of meeting and talking with the Palánta Grandma, who is the actual grandma of the family. This amazing woman writes letters back-and-forth to nearly 600 children who either have questions about the puppet shows or just need someone to talk to. 600!

In the midst of wildly inconsistent government funding (which includes each family member's minimal salary) and changes in laws regarding their ability to freely visit schools and distribute their material, this family and the other Palánta missionaries continue to trust that God will provide. For their needs, yes, but those are secondary. Their first desire is to see the 'Palánta' (definition: seedling) of the Word of God sown into the children of Hungary, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. 

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark

Mankind.

I just fought an epic battle with the foulest creature I have ever come across, and I am proud to that say I rose victorious from the ashes. The events are as follows*:

I enter my bedroom and set some things on my bed, after which I reach toward the windowsill for my Bible. As I reach, the winged beast (which can be seen here: http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/832/img0516mo.jpg/ [WARNING: not for the faint of heart]) emerges from the curtain, at which I stumble backwards like Frodo on Weathertop and begin shaking violently. 

 Here I must admit that, as many of you know, I like bugs/insects no more than the average female, especially spiders and anything that flies. That being said, I never let   this stop me from doing my duty as a man and disposing of the six-legged intruder(s).   But here, in the solitude of my room, I froze. With no God-ordained gender role to fulfill   (bug killing is mentioned right after jar opening and heavy lifting in Duderonomy), I had, for the first time ever, genuine fear struck into my heart by an insect. 

My flat-mate is in the next room, only feet away, with just a door separating us. In vain I attempt to scream for help/backup; despite the straining of my vocal chords, my fright allows me to produce no sound whatsoever. In my dumbstruck trepidation I then dive for my bed and take shelter under the covers, where I attempt to regain my composure and formulate a plan of attack. 

 By attack I do rather mean survival, even if it means complete and eternal abandonment of my bedroom and all my posessions.  

 As if reminded by God himself, the words of Bill Pullman, or more accurately President Thomas Whitmore, come to mind:

"Mankind." That word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today is the Eighth of September, and you will be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Eighth of September will be known as the day the world declared in one voice: 'We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!'"

With an explosion of red-badge-worthy courage I burst from my safe haven and reach for a folded cardboard sleeve which I remember stashing across the room after my last Amazon order. In one swift motion I take hold of the sleeve and swing for my opponent, hoping to either strike a critical blow or parry his counter-attack. I unsurprisingly miss and attempt several more times; I am unsuccessful. However, my foe retreats behind my wardrobe. At first I take this as a sign of fear, but I soon realize that this move has given my enemy the proverbial 'high ground' in our struggle. 

Indeed it was a wise tactical move. Not only did my enemy now have me, in a sense, cornered, and thinking only of my own dreadful state; he had reduced the conflict to a mere stakeout, in which he had the clear advantage.

I sit and begin to think on how I could draw out my adversary from his position. A shadowy gloom covers the room as I began to despair, realizing I have been outwitted. As I tremble in fear of the impending doom, a light shines in the darkness! Said light happens to shine directly on a can of Rentokil Ant Killer Spray, remaining from a previous and less intense confrontation with a bugga, and a glimmer of hope enters my crushed spirits. I cautiously approach the wardrobe fortress and begin spraying like a madman, hoping this ant poison will have an advantageous affect for my cause.

 I am right.

The constant buzzing I have heard behind the wardrobe begins to slowly fade, and I hesitate to think... has victory been acheived? Keeping a level head, I shift to the other side of the wardrobe, hoping to get a peek into the dragon's lair and confirm that the target has been destroyed.

NEGATIVE! THE TARGET REMAINS! I REPEAT, THE TARGET REMAINS!

More furious than ever (for he had only been teasing me until now), my challenger made a bee-line for my head, hoping to finish me off in one fell swoop. Having just enough wits remaining, I make a risky decision, as all leaders must do in battle. Encouraging myself to "Send this foul creature back to the abyss!", I begin blowing vigorously, hoping that my counter-attack will be the final blow. Just before death becomes certain my strategy works, and the nasty beast is sent slamming against the wall and down to the floor, almost entirely to his damnation. 

I say almost because upon crashing to the ground the fiend was only about 95% percent finished. A wall-dwelling spider, whom I now consider my strongest ally, was kind enough to eradicate any chance of resurrection. 

Well played, bug. Well played. 

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark

 

*The events recorded here have been recorded not long after the actual events took place, and thus may be very minimally inaccurate due to post-traumatic stress syndrome. It can be safely assumed that upwards of 70% of the details included are 80-100% factual.  

 

Amusing Musings.

Yesterday we spent the day at Alton Towers Amusement Park. I must first say that, although my opinion is heavily influenced by the fact that the no line took more than 30 minutes, Alton may well be a better overall park than Six Flags in Chicago. It seemed much more spacious, and the roller coasters weren't just there for the sake of having roller coasters. Each one had a distinction, such as Oblivion, which was the world's first vertical drop roller coaster when it was built. Rita, on the other hand, accelerates from 0-60 mph in 2.2 seconds. 

All that to say, we didn't wait in lines just to go fast through lots of turns, twists and loops. Each ride was an experience in itself. Well done, Alton Towers.

My experience at Alton Towers taught me something that apparently has evaded me during all of my past amusement park visits: amusement parks have the innate ability to reduce would-be men to mere schoolboys. 

As you well know if you've ever visited a major amusement park, you can't walk more than a few minutes without passing a vendor or game. Most of these 'games' should really be classified as legalized theft, as they prey on the aforementioned 'men' who are looking to impress their buddies or, better still, their female counterparts. A perfect archetype of these games are the always-present basketball games. While appearing quite simple, anyone brighter than a dead bulb knows that they are complete scams. In normal basketball, the rim is twice as wide as the ball. At carnivals and amusement parks, this is not the case: The rims are much smaller, not to mention usually higher than 10 feet, and sometimes they are even oval shaped. All this makes the game near impossible to win. 

Here is where the men-to-schoolboys part comes in. The innumerable pretentious halfwits moseying around the park cannot call their day a success without winning an oversized stuffed animal; sometimes this is for their bonnie lass, but often times they're not with a girl-- they're hoping that the fact they can win a prize will 'score' them one. They pay an absurd $5 for 3 shots at the rim; when they inevitably fail, they can't stop without playing at least twice more, noticing they haven't used the proper shooting form. After failing repeatedly and realizing they could have bought multiple stuffed animals by now, they give up, insisting (quite accurately) that the game is "whack" and they have been "jipped". Every so often there is a winner, and while maybe not quite as satisfying as multiple fails, the rest of us get to enjoy his wide-eyed, child-like joy as he hugs his mega-teddy and tells it he will never stop loving it, till death or adulthood do them part. 

He who has eyes, let him read.

-Bark