On the Road

Well, so here I am in Dubai, on a 2hr transit on towards Paris for conference. This will be an interesting trip - its been off to an exciting start already, with a very fruitful 1.5 days lay-over in singapore, meeting friends, but mostly unscheduled encounters... (9 in the first 8 hours, including random run-ins in the bus, and looking for food). I feel strangely warmed by such randomness.

Conference will be this monday to friday, during which also, I shall catch old pals hqy in paris. My conference presentation seems to be almost done, but with one or two rather iffy graphs i'm deliberating about showing, as its rather unexpected... =/ *twiddles twiddles*

Still waiting for LOI for tajikistan, as well as connecting flights for bishkek to dushanbe. Totally unknown, unfigured. Totally exciting. I've brought my gear!

I hope my body brain and spirit doesn't fail...

Ghosts of Christmas Past...

Does the weight of history haunt you? Interrupt your waking hours? As you wander the corridors of life, do the spectres of past actions invade your thoughts? It seems a burden, this bearing of history. The weight of responsibility that comes with knowledge, the reasons that lead to why things are. Some reasons more reasonable, others less, but, reasons, still, nonetheless. And what does it all mean?

Are memories more joy-filled or sad? Do they bring you grief, or exuberance. Perhaps a mix of both. What do we make of this?

Our lives are marked with landmarks of various importance. Weddings, births, deaths, migrations, confluences of friendships, allegiances to various bodies. A friend used to say that we are like bus-drivers, and people come on board at various stops. Some are there by choice, some not. Some stay for a bit, then leave, others stay longer. Some might even be around the whole trip. Still, others, might have gone to the upper deck, so we don't exactly see them, but they are still there, assuringly. And we all take this ride together, for a time. I've paid my ticket!

The halls of memory echo with my footsteps as I wander frequently through. The memories of dinners, and prayers, the scent of worship, great communion. Holy convocations, unctions of grace. Through the hot and the cold, wet and the dry. Seasons of spring and fall. Sickness and health. Simplicity of friendship, and the complexities of family. And vice-versa. We wander through ancient landscapes, great forests millenia old, where trees speak another language, and the light dances on forest floors that have not seen the sky in centuries. Evening hymn gatherings at the foot of the Ten-Mountains at spectacular summer-frozen glacial lakes (Heejee, Nom, Yamnee, Tonsa, Sapta, Shappee, Sagowa, Saknowa, Neptuak, and Wenkchemna). Forsaken loch lapping the ruins of a 10th century fortress, the sun sinking low in the sky and there are wild hares in the meadow. What does one do with memories like these? Pack them away neatly in a box, filed away?

Then there are memories of great ages past, memories that are historically informed. Memories of cultures nations and people long gone, speaking to us through their artefacts, their music, their language, longing to be known, be understood, somehow kindled to live. Where do these line up in the grand schema of time and humanity? When will the chapter close, and what do we make of these transients?

"Tell me, son of Man, can these bones live?"

"You alone, O Sovereign Lord, you know."

So insignificant are we, in light of history. Yet so pivotal. Just a word in obedience, the course of humanity alters. So can and shall we prophesy to these bones in obedience? Will the past come back to life, lives redeemed, nations healed? And then we can come home back to Your great House and feast eternally, O Lord.

the Wet, the Wind and the Wild

Is it June already? It is now the eve of Shavuot - the giving of the Word, the release of the Spirit. A lamp to my feet, a guide to my path. O, where will I be, this time, next year?

I've been here in Sydney a while now. Lovely sun, sand, sea, when one gets it. Beauty in the grey faceless neighbourhoods. Joy in the mundane.

The old adage is true: one thing is constant around here - change. People have come, lived, loved, and left. Its happening all over again, and it looks set to continue. Friends, lives, community. Fragile, robust, seasonal, resilient. Why is it we so easily warm up to some, and yet find others so hard to dance with. Yet the shadow of the divine dance continues, drawing us, absorbing us into a holy perichoresis.

But for now, we dream in feeble shells, drawing out our hearts, hopes and aim, dreams and visions. Strangely familiar sights, familial smells fill our senses.

Its been a few more months, a few more visitors, a few more great dinners, a few more friends, a few more dreams, a few more feathers in the cap, a few more miles. Great drops of mercy, dew drops of grace. Strength for the day, and peace for the moment. New every morning, new each day. Different paradigms, though. Different parameters. Dogged, lusty sights always on the goal. Ever arriving, ever reaching, ever nearing.

Yet soon, in a few weeks, I'll be running around up through the nations again, first on conference call and then perhaps on the Father's business, hoping somehow to awaken a call, a dream, a quest. If you read this please keep me prayed for plans, purposes, provisions, priorities and peace! SYD-SIN-DBX-CDG-DXB-ALA-FRU-DYU-ALA-DXB-SIN-SYD

What are our dreams made of? Its been most fascinating, vivid ones I've been having lately. Of scientists, carparks, exquisite veggies, rabbits on skateboards, church camps, old friends, five-dimensional time-space (ask me about that one!).

Wake me up when spring arrives!