Vlady Fresh

For a course I’m taking this semester, Problems in Global Health, I had to watch a video called Life and Debt. It was powerful in terms of putting a face to the issues surrounding IMF policies, trade agreements, international politics.

I highly recommend it whatever your views are regarding globalization.

Driving from Spokane to Seattle was only about 280 miles. Normally that would feel like quite a trek but, by this point in the trip it was a breeze.

Most of the scenerey was rather plain though there were a few gorgeous bodies of water which made Mike repeat again and again, “I just don’t understand. Why is there no one in the water? If this were Boston, there would be lot’s of people out there right now.”

When we finally reached the city, I dropped Mike off at the bus station downtown. As we said goodbye, we were both amazed at how quickly the trip went by and, more shockingly, that we talked the entire way without boring each other.

When Mike left, I headed off to sign a lease for a 2 bedroom apartment in Sand Point, about 3 miles northeast of campus. By late afternoon I had signed all the paperwork and received the keys. When I finally found myself alone in the empty apartment, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. When I left Cambodia I kept telling myself that I was returning home. The reality of having to create “home”, from scratch, yet again, feels overwhelming.

Today’s drive was gorgeous from start to finish.

The landscape in Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana was breathtaking. Mike kept talking about how the terrain made him want to watch Clint Eastwood westerns. I was continually in awe of the expansiveness of the sky. I still haven’t figured out why the sky looks bigger out here but I understand why they call Montana “Big Sky Country.”

Shockingly, Mike and I had non-stop conversations all from 9 am to 11 pm and still aren’t sick of each other. Just to avoid the awkwardness of running out of stuff to talk about out during the drive tomorrow, we’ve decided to listen to assorted lectures.

We’re spending the night in Billings, MT and will sleep in Spokane, WA tomorrow.

Today we drove from Indiana, through Illinois and Missouri, and stopped right over the border into Kansas, in Kansas City.

For a few years now I’ve had it in my head that I wanted to visit the Kansas City IHOP. No, I’m not talking about the pancake house but rather the International House of Prayer which has been leading a non-stop prayer meeting since September 19, 1999. When I say non-stop, I mean 24 hours a day, 365 days a year (366 on leap year). Simply the attempt to carry out such an potentially world transforming ministry is what first captivated my imagination. Thinking of IHOP always brings to mind Count Zinzendorf, an 18th century leader of the German Pietist movement (and one of my personal heroes).

Born into the European nobility, Zinzendorf feared, even a child, that his familial and social responsibilities would conflict with his desire to pursue ministry as the natural outgrowth of his “heart religion.” As a teenager at a prestigious academy, he formed the Order of the Grain of Mustard Seed. In essence it was a community of the privileged who covenanted to use their wealth and influence to further the gospel. He later granted refuge on his lands to Christians persecuted by European state churches. These refugees (often referred to as the Moravians) soon experienced a powerful revival which started a 100 year prayer meeting and launched the start of Protestant World Missions. So, getting back to IHOP … when I first heard about modern day 24-7 prayer, I began to dream and hope that God might use it in a powerful way too.

Visiting IHOP was exactly what I needed. I’d been feeling like a spiritual sluggard recently and was hoping God would give me a swift kick in the butt. It took me a while to connect with what was going on around me (probably because my heart was hard) but, once it clicked it was beautiful. I found myself singing songs that I never heard before that somehow harmonized with the corporate worship around me. Soon afterward, I felt God gently calling me back to him and and to a life of intercessory prayer. This was in sharp contrast to the harsh rebuke I was expecting and even wanting. All I could do in response was to sob laughter (I know that doesn’t make sense but I don’t know how else to describe it). After more prayer and meditation on some key scriptures I took a brief dinner break.

When I returned to the prayer room, the intercession session had ended and Worship with the Word had begun. By this time the room was packed. All 700 seats were taken and there probably a few hundred more (like myself) strewn about. After a few minutes it seemed that everyone was singing with all of their might. It was the most joyfully uninhibitted worship I’ve experienced in long time … possibly over a decade. In the midst of the music, clapping, and shouting I found myself strangely at peace and experiencing a communion with God in which words were unnecessary.

There is much more I could say about IHOP but it’s late and tomorrow we have another 600 mile trek. Next stop … Denver.

A little over four years Anita and I were homeless and wandering up and down the East Coast building support for our work in Cambodia. One day I exited a shopping mall, looked at the parking lot and had no clue where I was. I don’t mean that I couldn’t remember if I went out the West or East exit. I had absolutely no idea where I was … I didn’t know the name of the mall, the city, or even the state that I was in. Looking around me was of no help since nearly all of the malls between Northern Virginia and Boston have the same stores. Terrified I stood on the sidewalk desparately trying to recall anything that would connect me with my current surroundings.

Half of my brain was trying to figure out where I was while the other half was wondering what went wrong in my mind. Did I have a stroke? Was this the first sign of dementia?

Then, suddenly, the proper synapses fired and the picture made sense. I was at the South Shore Mall in Braintree, MA. It’s a place that I’d visited countless times and was less than 10 miles from where I had lived for years.

Relieved, but still deeply disturbed, I carefully reflected on this bizarre occurence. As best as I could figure things out, it happened because I had been travelling for months on end without a place I could call home. Then, travelling alone (Anita was in her 3rd trimester with Silas), finally pushed me over the edge. I diagnosed myself as having a critical lack of rootedness.

These memories have come back to me because recently, the past 3 nights in fact, I have had similar experiences. It always follows the same pattern. I jump in the shower and, when opening my eyes after rinsing out the shampoo, I stare at the tiled wall and think, “Where am I? Am I in Boston or Connecticut or Maryland? Am I in a hotel or in a home? Where am I?” A few moments later some clue will catch my eye and I’ll realize I’m in Maryland.

It’s interesting that I would have these experiences at another time when I am feeling profoundly unrooted and am physically separated from Anita (she’s been in Seattle for 5 days). Symbolic of my unrootedness is my visceral longing for an address in Seattle. I don’t have to see the apartment unit or even the building, I just want an address … a place that I know will be “home” for my family.

Thankfully I should begin my cross country move to Seattle in just over a week.