42 days, 5 hours, 10 min, 18 sec. That was how long ago I left CA. No please don't mistake my knowledge of this info as me counting the days every day. I know this merely because I know that I left at 2pm on a Sunday 7 weeks ago. But man, what a seven weeks it has been. Where do I even begin to write about the lessons that I have learned during these weeks. I have, in previous posts, written about many of the things that God has taught me. He has not stopped. Not even close. Rather, God is using this time in my life to force me to grow. I commented to my mom the other day that I feel like I have grown more and matured more in my faith in the last seven weeks then throughout my four years of college. As I thought more about this statement, I realized that though this is probably not the actual case, it does seem that way. At least I feel as though I have grown more in my walk with God in this short time then in any other point in time of this length.
One of the greatest lessons that God is teaching me is the need to bow to him every moment of every day. When I say this I don't mean merely submitting to his lordship and declaring that I will allow him to lead me each day. I mean something much more than this. Such declarations have been common in my life up until this point. Rather, I mean a total submission to God in every aspect of your life. I mean crying out to him to take control and to lead you because you simply cannot lead yourself. It is the recognition in every moment that it is God's hand that is working and that it is God's hand that brings you through. It is waking up in the morning and having the humility to say that you can't make it to work without him. It is making it to work and declaring in truth in your heart that you cannot make it to lunch without him. It is admitting your own weakness and realizing that it is in God alone that your strength exists. I would not venture to state that I have yet achieved my goal of dying to myself daily and living in Christ, but I can say that I know now how crucial doing so is, and that I know each morning the necessity of striving for such a thing. And striving for it I am. Dying to ourselves so that we may live in Christ is not just a statement that we make each morning. It is an action which we commit every moment of the day. I thank God that he is teaching me this.
I have remarked to people on several occasions lately how hard some of this transition has been. And it is true. It has been hell. But it has been good. I would not trade it. I would not trade it for anything. I feel (like my title indicates) a little like I am chillin in the lion's den. What do I mean? I mean that I have already been tossed in, terrified but trusting God, and God has been with me all the time. But I have not been pulled out of the den yet. I am still here, chillin with the lions, but protected and just waiting. God is always faithful. The end.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
It's been a while
Well it has been a while since last I posted on this here blog. There is no real good excuse for this beyond the fact that I have not felt like writing as of late. The title of this blog is Adventures Make Great Stories, and I have had few adventures over the past couple weeks. My life out here has been, well, mundane. I would be lying if I said that I did not mind this. In fact, I wish I had grand adventures to share with everyone. But seeing as this is not the case at the moment, I will share with you the few things that I have "done" as well as the lessons that I am learning (or being force fed).
Besides working out, reading, getting sick, buying snacks, watching Firefly, and picking up the mail, my weekdays consist of very little. I began to learn over the six months that I worked at Biola how little time one actually has during one's day when at the office from 8-5. By the time I get off work, go to the gym and eat dinner it is nearly 9pm. The weekends is the time for fun and the time for hanging out in earnest. I have been truly blessed since arriving here with people to hang out with on the weekends and having my time filled.
During the past two weekends I received a true indoctrination into Texan culture. First, I went to Club Ariba. There exists in Del Rio two "clubs," if they can be called that. The less sketchy of the two is Club Ariba. So how can I describe this place. The building looks from the outside like any typical grocery store (ie: it is located in a little strip mall). When you walk into the building several things smack you in the face. First, the entire place is a big cloud of smoke. Second, there are a lot of cowboy hats. Third, there are only three types of people present: 1) old slightly overweight Mexican men, 2) very overweight Mexican women, & 3) Airforce guys. Forth, there is a small dance floor. Finally, there are two bars, two or three pool tables, and a bunch of tables around the outside for people to sit at. Sufice to say, if you're into people watching and don't mind loud Mexican music (intermixed with R&B) and lots of smoke, this is the place to do it. Lets just say it is not a place to bring your kids, but it is definitely a "must see" down here.
The second indoctrination to Texas was my trip to Mexico the following day. Great food, dump of a town. Enough said. If you are looking for a tasty meal on a budget, this is the place to go. If you're looking for anything else, I advise a pass. On the other hand, the flea market that is on the American side of the border just before the border crossing is a must visit. It is here that you can buy anything your heart desires. You can buy tires of every kind, sadles, broken exercise bikes, tee-shirts, half colored in coloring books, a cup of coffee for 25 cents, or a one-eared stuffed dear head to spice up your living room wall. I will leave it that. My friends and I decided that the flea market was indeed more sketchy then the Mexian town across the border, which is saying something.
The final indoctrination I received was this past Friday night at Cowboys Dance Hall in San Antonio. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The Dance Hall was a giant warehouse turned western dance studio. The outside is decorated like the West. Inside there are 6-10 bars along the walls. THe middle of the building consists of a humongous dance floor (maybe 300ft by 150ft), and a large stage. The real kicker is in the back of the building. Anyone want to venture a guess? Bull riding. Every Friday, 8:30 and 10:30. Real bulls. Yes, that is correct. The back of the building consists of a rodeo ring/field (whatever its called), some bleachers, and a section for the bulls. Indoors. Where else in this great nation can you find such a place. The people watching alone is worth the $8 cover charge. Unlike Club Ariba, Cowboys has a wide range of fellows. They've got the nerdy cowboys, the want-to-be cowboys, the real "I rustle cows in my free time" cowboys, the Mexian cowboys who all stand in a line with their left hand in their pocket while throwing back a beer with their right, the guys who don't even try, the old people who actually know how to dance, and the young people who definitely don't. I guess it's true what they say. Everything is big in Texas.
Well I suppose that that is enough for your reading pleasure at the moment. I will be back tonight or tomorrow to share with all of you about the lessons that I am learning. It is these lessons that will matter in 20 years, and I hope to share them with all of you.
Besides working out, reading, getting sick, buying snacks, watching Firefly, and picking up the mail, my weekdays consist of very little. I began to learn over the six months that I worked at Biola how little time one actually has during one's day when at the office from 8-5. By the time I get off work, go to the gym and eat dinner it is nearly 9pm. The weekends is the time for fun and the time for hanging out in earnest. I have been truly blessed since arriving here with people to hang out with on the weekends and having my time filled.
During the past two weekends I received a true indoctrination into Texan culture. First, I went to Club Ariba. There exists in Del Rio two "clubs," if they can be called that. The less sketchy of the two is Club Ariba. So how can I describe this place. The building looks from the outside like any typical grocery store (ie: it is located in a little strip mall). When you walk into the building several things smack you in the face. First, the entire place is a big cloud of smoke. Second, there are a lot of cowboy hats. Third, there are only three types of people present: 1) old slightly overweight Mexican men, 2) very overweight Mexican women, & 3) Airforce guys. Forth, there is a small dance floor. Finally, there are two bars, two or three pool tables, and a bunch of tables around the outside for people to sit at. Sufice to say, if you're into people watching and don't mind loud Mexican music (intermixed with R&B) and lots of smoke, this is the place to do it. Lets just say it is not a place to bring your kids, but it is definitely a "must see" down here.
The second indoctrination to Texas was my trip to Mexico the following day. Great food, dump of a town. Enough said. If you are looking for a tasty meal on a budget, this is the place to go. If you're looking for anything else, I advise a pass. On the other hand, the flea market that is on the American side of the border just before the border crossing is a must visit. It is here that you can buy anything your heart desires. You can buy tires of every kind, sadles, broken exercise bikes, tee-shirts, half colored in coloring books, a cup of coffee for 25 cents, or a one-eared stuffed dear head to spice up your living room wall. I will leave it that. My friends and I decided that the flea market was indeed more sketchy then the Mexian town across the border, which is saying something.
The final indoctrination I received was this past Friday night at Cowboys Dance Hall in San Antonio. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The Dance Hall was a giant warehouse turned western dance studio. The outside is decorated like the West. Inside there are 6-10 bars along the walls. THe middle of the building consists of a humongous dance floor (maybe 300ft by 150ft), and a large stage. The real kicker is in the back of the building. Anyone want to venture a guess? Bull riding. Every Friday, 8:30 and 10:30. Real bulls. Yes, that is correct. The back of the building consists of a rodeo ring/field (whatever its called), some bleachers, and a section for the bulls. Indoors. Where else in this great nation can you find such a place. The people watching alone is worth the $8 cover charge. Unlike Club Ariba, Cowboys has a wide range of fellows. They've got the nerdy cowboys, the want-to-be cowboys, the real "I rustle cows in my free time" cowboys, the Mexian cowboys who all stand in a line with their left hand in their pocket while throwing back a beer with their right, the guys who don't even try, the old people who actually know how to dance, and the young people who definitely don't. I guess it's true what they say. Everything is big in Texas.
Well I suppose that that is enough for your reading pleasure at the moment. I will be back tonight or tomorrow to share with all of you about the lessons that I am learning. It is these lessons that will matter in 20 years, and I hope to share them with all of you.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
one month and counting
It is hard to believe that it has already been a month since I arrived here at Laughlin. The world spins and time moves forward whether we like it to or not. In this case, I could not be happier. As I continue in this time of purgatory (for that is what I have come to view it as) I have had many an epiphany. One of the greatest of these is the role of hope in our lives. Without hope even the smallest tasks are impossible. Getting out of bed, eating, sleeping, cleaning, and going to work take all the energy you can muster even though they are as simple as they come. Why is this? Why does a life without hope seem utterly meaningless? I believe the answer lies in the essense of what hope is. Hope is not the little light at the end of the tunnel, as it is so often depicted to be. No, it is something far greater. It is the hand that grabs us kicking and screaming and drags us towards the light at the end of the tunnel. Hope is not the light; it is how we get to the light. You can see the light at the end of the tunnel and still give up and quite. I know. As these weeks have passed I have not had any problems seeing the end of the tunnel. I know the exact date that this purgatory will be over. Sept. 8, 2009. But that is hardely enough. Seeing a light 9 months away does me little good.
Hope. I bear hug it every moment of every day. I refuse to let go of it. Where does that hope come from. I have realized that it comes ONLY from one place. That place is God. Only God can make things work out. Only God can bring things to fruition. Only God can ensure that I will make it to tomorrow, or the next day, or Sept. 8. Only God. If there is no hope to be found in Him then the world is damned and this life is hell.
Even as I find my time here getting better almost daily it is my hope in God and his goodness that gets me out of bed each day. It is my hope for the relationships he has for me. It is my hope for the work he has for me. It is the hope for the witness I hope to be. It is hope for the present and for the future. It is hope for that day when I call this podunk down home. It is hope for the day when I can wake up and feel confident in myself here. These hopes are the hand that guides me and forces me to take another step.
I pray for each of you reading this that God can teach you to find hope in him as I have learned to. It is a hard lesson, but one which I would not change for the world.
Hope. I bear hug it every moment of every day. I refuse to let go of it. Where does that hope come from. I have realized that it comes ONLY from one place. That place is God. Only God can make things work out. Only God can bring things to fruition. Only God can ensure that I will make it to tomorrow, or the next day, or Sept. 8. Only God. If there is no hope to be found in Him then the world is damned and this life is hell.
Even as I find my time here getting better almost daily it is my hope in God and his goodness that gets me out of bed each day. It is my hope for the relationships he has for me. It is my hope for the work he has for me. It is the hope for the witness I hope to be. It is hope for the present and for the future. It is hope for that day when I call this podunk down home. It is hope for the day when I can wake up and feel confident in myself here. These hopes are the hand that guides me and forces me to take another step.
I pray for each of you reading this that God can teach you to find hope in him as I have learned to. It is a hard lesson, but one which I would not change for the world.
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