Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/25/2009
I write this on Day 29. Most but not all, of Day 18, as recorded in my journal...
Had a funny feeling as soon as I woke up once in the middle of the night that Carolina had lost. (This would be in the ACC tournament semifinals). I can't explain it and it's certainly not full proof, but I just get these feelings about my team sometimes. It was confirmed when I quickly checked the internet before getting ready for church. After winning the last two conference tournament titles and remembering each of the last two national champion Carolina teams also did not win the ACC tournament, the news wasn't too terrible; especially considering our star point guard didn't even play, resting his injured big toe for the "Big Dance." But a loss is always a loss. Every year I start off with the hope that this may be the year we go undefeated. UNC hasn't accomplished the feat in fifty-two years since they did it in 1957 and no college team has finished the season without a loss in over thirty. But the dream continues. The bigger question here, though, is how I've been journaling for eighteen days and haven't talked about Carolina or specifically Carolina basketball hardly at all. Surely a testament in itself of God filling my days and that there's more to life than basketball - but an oversight that needs to be fixed nonetheless. And it will be shortely in the near future as we roll through March Madness. For now, however, there are so many other things about the day to talk about.
Starting with church this morning. Talk about a blessing from God. Yeah, so remember all the reasons I listed for being tired of the African church service way back on Day 5, I think? This service had none of those things. Of course, we'll keep remembering African services more and more fondly with time. But when we walked into an actual building, already feeling the air-conditioned difference from the heat outside, and were actually met by greeters giving us brochures and visitor welcome packets, we welcomed the change it was to the last three months. As we walked into a sanctuary filled with cushioned pews, a balcony, and an elevated stage where we could clearly see the choir or whoever was speaking, I think we all kind of relished the fact that we were not leading this service, but rather could enjoy it and learn from the message. Simply put, it was relaxing and reminded most of us a little of home.
The message was a familiar one, but touching and inspirational anyways. The story of the Good Samaritan. How many times has everyone heard this story, I wonder? Yet it always hits home - maybe because no matter how many times we hear it, we still never fully figure out what it means to truly be a "neighbor." The guest speaker for the day noted the five different roles in the story: the robbers, the victim, the Levite, the Samaritan, and the innkeeper. We are all Levites to some victims, but what struck a particular chord with me first was the specific emphasis put on the innkeeper and his rold. As the pastor pointed out, how many of us are willing to help if a victim is brought directly to us and we don't have to go out of our way? How many of us are willing to help if it doesn't cost us anything; if, in fact, we can somehow profit a little from it?
Now, how hard is it to always be the Samaritan? I've always imagined the road in this story to be completely abandoned apart from the participants mentioned, dust kicked into the air with every step, and the sun beating down hard. It's almost impossible not to be a Good Samaritan in these conditions. To leave someone stranded would be like murder itself almost. But what about a on a street in downtown Calcutta? Or New York City? Where every few feet there is someone lying on the sidewalk with nothing, begging for food, money, clothes, shelter, or anything you give them resembling hope? Toughest of all, perhaps is not the number of victims, but of Levites. Here these victims are surrounded by millions of others who could potentially help. And because of this, everyone who CAN help believes someone else who can help actually WILL.
Sure, this is the home of Mother Teresa, who dedicated her life to reaching out the poorest of the poor. And sure, there are more NGOs and religious or humanitarian groups here than one can seemingly count. But that still does nothing for the one who is overlooked. When we first got here, I felt God saying it was all about "the one," and not to forget about the "the one." I felt Him saying we don't have to go far, and I felt Him saying that "the 'ones' we overlook would become the masses we seek." I still feel like we overlook so many people every day. What's more, I feel helpless in the face of this knowing we will always overlook someone. I wonder if after the Good Samaritan left the victim at the inn if he passed another desperately needing help on the road and he passed by thinking, "I've helped one man already. That's more than most others would do, which makes me a pretty good guy. But now I really have to get going. My wife is waiting at home, I'm hungry and tired. Someone else will help this one."
To be a consistent Good Samaritan in this world seems almost impossible. And yet, that is God has called us to do. No, not what to do - who to BE. BE the Samaritan. The speaker spoke of how he had passed a victim being harrassed on the streets from the safety of his taxi years ago; how he didn't stop and has never forgotten it. This struck a chord inside me as just last night on the way home from Flury's our taxi saw a man very forcefully grab a woman's arm and pull her back after chasing her in a little circle. It seemed like a domestic dispute and was probably just an argument, I think, and far from the realms of truly injust abuse. But we turned and watched through the back window, nonetheless. I honestly don't think it was our job to get out and interfere in this situation - but was it? Sadly I will never know....
BE THE GOOD SAMARITAN TODAY. DON'T PASS BY THE VICTIM ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD!
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/24/2009
I became sick on day 12, though I still wrote a lot. Day 13 I barely wrote a paragraph and then days 14, 15, and 16 I didn't even write at all. So, currently on day 27, here is day 17 as recorded in my journal...
I do not plan to completely skip over my memories of days fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. But to recount them, I will have to come back at a later date instead of trying to catch up now. Essentially, they were not entirely different from the first full day of sickness as described in day thirteen, with little action involved. This thing - whatever is going on inside me - has lasted nearly a week already. And while the diarrhea and vomiting have ceased, an indescribable emptiness and oddness of the stomach - leaving me almost wishing I could throw up just once more - and complete fatigue of the body persist. Even today, which was probably my best day so far, I spent the vast majority of the daylight hours sleeping, lying uncomfortably in a balled position trying to sleep, or attempting to read in bed before resorting back to one of the first two options. A bowl of sliced apples at the cafe seemed to settle nicely in my confused belly - which has become increasingly hungry from days of less than normal consumption, and yet I can't seem to find the appetite to get much down.
The high note for the day was that it was Bekah's birthday. Happy 24th, sister! I wish I could have had the time, energy, or money to get her more than the wimpy little note I managed before becoming too tired to even write anything further. But anyways, she has been a great sister the past five and a half months and I hope she knows I love her. To celebrate, the team went out to dinner with plans for desert after. Apparently the girls had found the selected restaurant earlier in the day while exploring, and were told that it would be open until seven. There were two parts to the restaurant, a cafe with a pretty decent menu and affordable prices which they had chosen, and the more upscale fancy area one floor above where prices tripled. We arrived at the front desk by the elevator and were informed only the expensive one remained open this late hour of the night - six eighteen. Fortunately, we were able to order from the cheaper menu and twenty minutes later I was indulging my biggest meal in a week, chowing down on some kind of meet - not beef - between two burger buns. Although a little weird-tasting, it was nonetheless a pretty delicious meal, complemented by fries we were positive came from the McDonald's down the street and my chocolate milkshake I had ordered before realizing desert was going to be on the team after. Speaking of desert and with Mickey D's still on my mind, I mistakenly went the entire evening believing we were going to the popular chain for McFlurries as opposed to the local bakery we arrived at instead, named "Flurry's." A simple hearing mistake, yes, but one prolonged by the inability to speak - to interact.
As we waited around the counter for people to make their orders, a funny thing happened. From the beginning of this fast, I thought at least one possible reason for it, among others, was that I might become better able to understand and empathize and relate to people with similar handicaps who society can tend to overlook. A deaf, mute Indian man must have seen or sensed something in the way I was carrying myself from about fifteen feet away, approached and began trying to communicate through sign language to his new-found brother of an unspoken fraternity. At this point, several thoughts ran through my mind - first probably being, "Help! What do I do!?" But immediately after that passed, I also thought I wished I had picked up more sign language so far besides the alphabet and my own made-up charades gestures. (Side note: why in the world is sign language not universal? How silly is it to have different sets of signs for different continents?). The thought that recurred most after the fact was, I wonder how he could pick me out and just know like that from across the room? Is that a sense deaf people acquire - how to easily recognize their own? I might have understood if someone had been talking to me and I tried to communicate back. But we had basically just walked in, and I was just standing there as some went to the glass display cases to drool over the goodies behind them and other retained similar positions to my own.
Anyways, the most pressing thought was, "How do I communicate with this man?" Feeling helpless, I naturally turned to Braedon, who was right beside me, for translation. Of course, this was futile as he was in the same boat as me when it came to understanding sign language or reading lips. In the end, we shared a hand shake, a smile, and a true connection after being able to communicate only that I could not speak and what he hopefully understood to be, "God loves you," as denoted by pointing and looking up, covering my heart in embrace, and then pointing to him. Can't be sure, but I kind of feel like he got it. We parted ways and that was the end of that. I continue to question what my possible role within this handicap community may be, whether throughout the remainder of these forty days, or after from lessons learned during. Only time will tell....
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/23/2009
For whoever wants to keep count, I am currently on Day 26. Here is Day Eleven, as recorded in my journal...
The start of the second quarter begins. A fourth of the way complete. A chocolate banana pancake and cheese omelette filled me with the energy needed for our miles of walking and exploring after breakfast. While taking in the sights, smells, and noises of the streets was fascinating and enjoyable, there did not seem to be enough change in scenery from one block to the next to justify continuing on endlessly. So after a mile or so, we hooked a right and decided to take the long way back, circling around. And it must have been divine providence that we turne when we did because we eventually landed on the street where - without any maps or even specific destination in mind - we came right across the church and home of the late Mother Teresa.
En route, we first came across a game of cricket in a miniature little park - more like an empty lot between buildings - and got to learn a little more about this sport which is so popular here, but of which I have such little knowledge. It reminded me of a "Sandlot" type baseball game amongst kids in the Bronx or somewhere.
Anyways, the visit the Mother Teresa's place was by far the highlight of the day. First, we were allowed into the orphan's nursery where we saw rows of steel cribs lining one another and all the cute little Indian tottlers within them. Here is definitely something I can do which requires absolutely no words at all. Small children can be easily entertained with funny faces and gestures and they can feel the love expressed nonverbally to them. I don't think my calling in India is just to play with small orphans, despite my handicap, but it was very enjoyable for the short time to be with them and somehow communicate all the love that is bottled up inside me.
Then as we toured the place more, coming to her indoor raised tomb and reading all about the history of her life through museum-like signs, I could feel the spirit this holy woman created and left behind. Here is a woman who truly gave everything she had to serve God; to obediently answer the "call within a call" to specifically reach out the very poorest of the poor, leaving her mark on history. I loved reading one of her quotes discussing how it became her desire to never refuse Jesus anything again. Any follower of Jesus knows exactly how impossible this goal seems. Just when you have given what you feel is everything of yourself you have to offer, God will ask for more, constantly pushing you and stretching you, showing you just how far you still have to go to be like Christ and showing you just how much you're still holding onto rather than fully surrendering everything.
Another quote read, "I have no desire to be successful, only obedient to God." Can I really say this truthfully about myself? I like to think I can, but it's certainly something to continuously question. After all, I've never been one short on ambition, always dreaming of leaving my positive mark on this world, leaving it better than I found it. My soul has known since a very young age that, "The world as it is, is not the world as it was meant to be," to quote my president. And with that, I always dream of restoring it in whatever small or large ways I can for anyone and everyone I can reach. So is ambition a bad thing? Is wanting to use everything God has given you to change the world wrong? I think I'm too young and not wise enough to adequately answer these questions; and for all my stated pure intentions, it is only God who knows the heart. I just pray that He will always lead me down
His paths, not my own; taht I will completely fufill His highest calling for my life, not my own.
Lastly, the greatest source of encouragement from the visit to Mother Teresa's were the big boards leading into the "museum hall," for lack of a better description, discussing the many aspects of fasting. Noting the Lent season, the boards discussed all the reasons for fasting, as well as all the Biblical and historic examples. In short, it was a well-timed source or inspiration and confirmation in what I am doing. It quickly lifted my spirits and strengthened my resolve, as each passing day is a new battle and becomes more difficult - not more routine - to remain silent. Along with this, it reminded me of Kelly's message to the squad (from Day 8) the other night where she also discussed fasting. She felt that God was calling all of us to a period of fasting and that something was going to come of it that she didn't know yet; that someone else might get the answers and be called to lead the group by sharing at a later date. Is that supposed to be me? I have no idea. It certainly doesn't feel like it is right now, but this is a pretty intense fast and with twenty-nine days remaining, I wouldn't rule out the possibility of God putting something specific on my heart for the squad. Either way, the main point is simply the confirmations I keep getting in this course and the outside encouragement that continuously battles the doubts within. Also, as Kelly talked, I began feeling almost as if I were leading something special about to take place without saying a word. I have no idea if these thoughts are justified or not, but just sharing here the first feeling that popped into my head.
Rest of the evening was pretty relaxed. We had to ask directions a few times on the walk home. Dinner at our beloved Blue Sky Cafe was sandwiched between a little internet before and a team meeting afterward, recapping the day. I enjoyed drawing a few laughs by being the "Mr. Bean" interpreter for others as they spoke during the meeting; just want to be careful not to push being the funny guy too far. Finally, the night was capped off by a little reading on the breezy roof where I could cool off from the push-up competition I had with Neil, Kyla, Dennis, and Jessica before climbing into bed....
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/18/2009
Day Nine as recorded in my journal...
Time to officially say farewell to Africa. It's been a heck of a ride and seems as though we've been here much longer than the three months the calendar suggests. Hopefully, I'll see you again someday, Africa. I waited an hour for my two pieces of toast and chai tea breakfast. In the meantime, I loaded up my pack, having delayed as always my packing until the very last minute. Then surprisingly, right on time, the two buses arrived to carry the fifty of us to the airport. Leading up to travel day, I was anxious to see how security checkpoints and customs lines would play out against my fast. In Nairobi and everywhere else along the trail to Calcutta, I was blessed throughout the process with simple yes-no questions or no questions at all. I made it safely silent all the way to India.
This isn't to say the day was completely without drama. Nothing happened in the Nairobi airport, but as I tried to pass through security in Doha, my small camelback carry-on was flagged and the guard proceeded to completely empty the contents, sprawling them all across the silver table. Regrettably, my mind instantly went to thoughts of reverse racism, wondering if anti-American sentiment was being extended toward a young, white male. Neither he nor I would find anything even remotely close to a threat. Eventually I was cleared and made my way to the gate thinking little else of the exchange.
However, when I was stopped once again in Delhi attempting to pass through to board for Calcutta, I began questioning how coincidental it might be. It was only seconds later that I found the item of controversy. My Gerber pocket knife had reappeared! I must have unwittingly stuffed it in the outside pocket one day back in Enesampulai. My excitement in finding it, however, was quickly replaced by the idea that I had just smuggled a six-inch blade on to three major flights without being caught by the "stricter" airport security supposedly in force in a world filled with terrorism. (Seriously, they just gave up?! They clearly saw a huge knife on their x-ray machine and when they couldn't find it... even after repeatedly sending the bag back through the machine and seeing it every time... they just got tired of looking and quit. Seriously?!) I didn't dare show it to anyone and reveal the security's mistake until well out of view of any guards or cameras hours later. Then I rejoiced over the simple, yet sincere prayer.
In Doha, our squad said good-bye - for now - to Lindsay Heston. Our new sister that we have all come to love and respect is heading home to L.A., cutting her race short for personal reasons. As if a huge group of caucasian Americans making their way loudly through a middle-eastern airport after an international flight wasn't enough to draw attention, huddling in a massive circle in front of a busy security line for hugs and goodbyes certainly was. The tears flowed from many and though my eyes remained dry, the feelings of sadness were equal. I still have thoughts that we have not seen the last of her, even during these eleven months of The World Race. I still remember some of my first impressions of Lindsay from training camp seven months ago. She was/is cool, a natural born leader and never lacking a good punch line. But over the last few months, especially in December together in Eldoret, Kenya, I got to see so much more of her. I got to see her heart explode for the nations of this world and all God's children within them. I witnessed firsthand how her love and ministry never stopped short of her World Race family in front of her. And I got to see her unquenchable thirst for personal growth and never-ending desire to walk closer with her savior every day. So here's to you, Lindsay! You will be - you already are - missed and loved deeply.
Little else was notable about the travel day which melted into day ten without words. It was interesting watching the flight map on the plane trace its course over Yemen, Saudi Arabia, and then Pakistan on the second flight and thinking about all the world news and politics you constantly hear of from these areas, but which truly seem in some ways like another planet; forbidden territory. All in all, it was a good, but tiring day which never really seemed to end but rather float into the next as a result of flights, layovers, time changes, and of course the increasing anticipation about country number six - India.
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/14/2009
The following is just a portion of a day's writing, shared b/c of the good story that it is. So here is part of day seven, as recorded in my journal...
Announcement: "RACE DAY NAIROBI. Starting in ten minutes." It's been four months since the last race and I don't really think anyone was missing it. Last time it became more stressful and exhausting for everyone rather than fun and competitive. This task was much shorter, though, and after nailing down the route for our scavenge hunt, our group set off in pretty good spirits. (Un?)fortunately, the mood and our race were short-lived. Let me just say this: when was the last time you were held hostage in an African arboretum?
Goal number one included taking a picture of a certain bench here. Well we easily found the bench - as well as the three forest rangers guarding it as if their lives depended on it, demanding 1000 shillings for the rights to take a single picture. For the record, that's an astronomical rate by African standards and absurdly ludicrous. We instantly and defensively refused, snapped a quick, off-centered picture and began walking away. Well the rent-a-cops followed, complaining, and as we recorded the common name for a particular tree species per race goal number two, they made their way to chain-lock the gate entrance.
Yes, we were held against our will in a park - because we didn't pay thirteen U.S. dollars to take a picture of a bench under a tree. Then we heard the lady talking into her walkie-talkie, "Yes, bring handcuffs. There are seven of them." Katie was probably the most vocal rebel amidst all the chaos repeating over and over again, "You can't do this! You can't just hold us against our will!" Meanwhile, I became the crazy silent man, picking up a big stick and not letting go, finding a key and trying to unlock ourselves, and then literally attempting to lift the gate up off its hinges. I'm glad I was in a forced silence, though, because that is exactly the kind of situation where I would verbally blast those involved for their extreme incompetency.
All this time, Braedon has been talking on the phone with a local guy from Nairobi who works at our hostel trying to get the rangers to talk to him and sort things out. Of course, they would have nothing to do with that. The highlight comment then came as the guards yelled at Katie for how "rude" she was being. This came moments after they responded to her asking, "Where does it say we have to pay 1000 shillings?" with the ever so polite, "Well, if you had eyes, maybe you could see" in the same tone as an obnoxious teenage girl. Naturally we came to the sensible conclusion to make a run for it. Ok, well not exactly run (yet). We left the gate and started making our way down a trail tracing the outer rim of the park, looking for holes in the fene or bushes short enough to hop over.
Unfortunately, we had little luck. That is, until we came across a small hidden gate in the back corner of the park. Cindy was the first to spot it and with ZERO hesitation started booking it, not caring who was following, just trying to escape. When I heard the scream of "Gate!" go up, I started running as well - with a slightly different mindset. I couldn't see the gate yet to realize it was unguarded and so I was thinking that if anyone saw us coming and tried to lock us in there as well, then that gate would not be closed without heavy resistance before the others could slip out. Not necessary. We tumbled out unimpeded and inhaled the sweet breaths of freedom.
"So who wants to bail on the rest of the race and go see a movie" propsed our fearless leader? With much laughter and still recounting our amazing new memory, there came unanimous consent. Off we went to the mall. We didn't get the prize, but we definitely won this Race Day."
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/12/2009
Just want to clarify that the postings are behind real time. Today I am currently on day 16. So here is day six - the day we finished (Man)istry and departed the Masai, returning to Nairobi - as recorded in my journal...
Just a couple hours before our buses get here. I still need to pack, but if I'm counting right this will be the twentieth location change in five months so I know it won't take long to throw everything together. Didn't bother bringing out the Bible this morning. Instead, I just wanted to sit and relax in His presence and fully absorb all the natural beauty of this place once more. Speaking of "this place," I just remembered I still have no idea where I am. I may have heard it a couple times, but I have no hope of spelling it. I need to remember to get that from someone. I also hope my knife turns up somewhere as I pack. I thought the last place I had it was lying on my sleeping bag in the room and then it was gone. But there's also a chance I might have had it with me walking around somewhere and it fell out of my jacket pocket or something. Either way, super bummed if I can't find it. /
Didn't find the knife, but Ian did inform me that we were staying in the village of Enesampulai. I wonder if it will show up on any map. The road down the mountain was so much bumpier that I remembered from ten days ago and the dust was once again ridiculous. At times, it completely covered the windows, blocking all view of the outside, much in the same way as water in a car wash. Lose-lose situation. Either keep all the windows rolled up to prevent as much dust as possible from entering and bake in the hot stifled, bus. OR allow the comforting breeze to flow in, ushering in a thick cloudy haze of dust.
Anyway, we survived and made it back safely to Nairobi. I was a little relieved when I found out all the girls were either in town or had not arrived yet. My stomach began filling with butterflies as we neared the city. The first test came when Kelly said hey and asked how I was doing and I just gave her the standard "thumbs-up" sign to her bewilderment. Moments later, all the other girls came pouring in. Since I was cut off on one side of the room from all the other guys, I was left smiling and nodding, feeling completely like a fool and desperately hoping one of my brothers would quickly notice my predicament and speak for me. If observing the whole sequence of events from a birds-eye view, I imagine I would have found it quite hilarious. And it was funny. But feelings of being crazy or silly captured most of my thoughts. Not too bad, but I still have to go through it again with my Crux girls. (They had not arrived yet). Just ready for this day to be over and move past the novelty that my fast is in the girls' eyes right now.
I was thinking this morning as a Masai man approached during my personal time to say hello how I not only feel handicap but also kind of rude. After all, southern boys don't just ignore people when spoken to. (Not that I completely ignored anyone, but you get the point). Another observation. AS a man came to give me the pizza I ordered for lunch back at the hostel, I naturally just smiled my "thank you." Then seconds later he was laughing about something with another worker. Is this what some handicapped people go through all the time, being more disabled by their own imagination of how others view them than by the actualy restriction itself? I'm so sure the joke was completely unrelated, but nevertheless a little doubt instantly crept in. Also, right or wrong, the whole speaking fast is definitely more difficult already back in "civilization," in a huge city and around so many others. I didn't even think about it at the time, but of course it was a little easier up in the mountains in a tiny village with residents whom I will likely never see again before Heaven.
A city like this is also a place which emphasizes personal independence much more than Enesampulai, where every meal was taken care of and I never really needed to make personal requests. Here I have to order food, ask how much things cost and all the other daily activities which normally require verbal communication.
I'm exhausted. It's been a long day of travel, but also sensory overload reuniting with all the girls and explaining myself and my actions so many times. So I'm calling it a night. As always, so much more to write. Never enough energy to do so.
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/10/2009
So I don't think there's a need yet to share every single day. Without further ado, Day Four as recorded directly in my journal...
Today at lunch I had a plate with an extra amount of juices rolling around. As I tried to cut a tough piece of meat with my spoon - the only utensil - I accidentally tipped my plate slightly, allowing the juices to spill over the edge and onto the right leg of my jeans. I didn't even notice at first, but rest assured my brothers quickly did. This episode was most definitely the highest point of handicap feeling of the first few days. Of course this would be a little embarrassing in any situation. But without being able to say anything at all, and left with only a dumb look on my face, the feeling of foolishness was complete. More jokes were made because of the silence and I just had to sit there and take it.
While this represented the worst handicap feeling to date, it certainly was not the first. Every time I pass one of our contacts or local citizens, I find myself quickly averting my eyes in a little shame as if I were some kind of a mutant. My mind instantly wanders to imagined perceptions of how others view me.
Church this morning wasn't exactly the best either. Don't get me wrong, Jacob rocked the sermon and I'm still impressed at his incredible boldness in calling out the legalism and sometimes lack of grace in the African church, as well as daringly touching on the topic of "moderation" in a place where that might not be completely understood and lead to confusion. But I'm just so ready for a change from the typical African church service. We arrived around ten and it was after twelve-thirty before Jacob got up to preach. I'm tired of every word being yelled into the microphone. I'm tired of the loud speakers being turned up to unnecessarily deafening levels, as if in hopes of bursting ear drums every time. I'm tired of sitting down, only to be asked to stand once more just two minutes later - again and again and again. I'm tired of "Amen" or "Hallelujah" following every, or at least every other, sentence.
At this point, I put the pen and pad away to hear Braedon's open-air message. Just as Jacob in the morning, he gave a very bold message including many examples of Christian "moderation" contrasting the extremism that often comes more from Satan than from God.
I listened as best as I could, but before long there were swarms of kids surrounding me (and Dennis), leaving little escape. Eventually, some of the kids who spoke a little English began directly asking my name. Let me tell you, just staring back blankly is not much fun. Though for the most part I don't care, there's certainly a part of me that became very frustrated at allowing a group of small children to view me as the village idiot and knowing I can never "defend myself" to them. At the same time, I was able to relate to many of them without words, playing little games, making funny faces, and just generally conveying as much love as I could nonverbally. Plenty of joy was still found.
Whenever it comes to playing with kids around the world, I always become at least a little sad knowing that I will never know what becomes of their lives this side of Heaven. I just pray that they will grow to know God deeply and impact this world for His kingdom. And in 86 years - the designated time frame for our reunion in Heaven, shared with our contact from China - I can't wait to hear the stories.
For all the frustrations of the day and readiness to depart the continent, I was quickly reminded how much I'll miss this place and remember it fondly as I walked out in the dark just before dinner to pee. Another beautiful star-filled sky watches over us tonight. With 1.1 billion people, I can't imagine our group will be set up in a more secluded area in India, able to gaze upon all the constellations. We certainly won't have nearly the freedom to praise and I can imagine at least not everyone in INdia will be so friendly to a group of Americans. Though I can't know anything for sure.
Africa has not been terrible by any means. I'm simply ready to move on for now. There are still many more places here I would like to explore, goals I would like to accomplish and resources I desire to give in this land. But those will all have to wait for another day...
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/8/2009
As recorded in my journal:
Day One - The marathon has begun - and marathon is exactly what it feels like. You know the task before you is daunting, but you must begin with a single step; and though you are not immediately tired from the thing itself, the weight of what lies ahead is undeniable and heavy indeed. I was so blessed by the love, support, encouragement, and prayers of my brothers as I entered into this period of silence. And I cannot even begin to describe the feeling as I spoke my "last words," my lips becoming sealed for the next 40 days. It was as Armstrong setting foot on the moon or Columbus setting sail for uncharted waters.
Though surely this has been done before, I personally know of no one who has, willingly and in good health, given up the spoken word for such a time. In a sense I feel alone "where no man has gone before." I still do no know the exact reason why I feel God has called me to this, though new possibilities enter my mind often. But as Braedon encouraged me today as we walked through a field to an African funeral to journal throughout the process, I knew instantly that this not only should be done but may in fact be one of the most powerful aspects of this fast. So here goes nothing.
I feel that if I were speaking today, I may have taken the day for granted as is so often the case. I believe I'm generally able to appreciate things as they are happening - without needing time to enhance the memory - as well as anyone. But I, too, can sometimes get caught up in the similarities from one day to the next, allowing them to blend together instead of standing out uniquely as each a precious gift from God. Today, however, that was impossible Even as I sit and walk right beside my brothers, I am simultaneously removed from the situation and able to look down as if seeing it from above. My brothers, who are speaking, may fully realize just as much as I, who am not, that this was an incredible day that frankly very few westerners will ever get to experience. But it surely didn't capture their thoughts all day as it did mine.
The morning began by hiking down and up a valley to a home perched on the side of a hill. Here was the humble yet picturesque abode of a woman who, having attended one of our open-air crusades the afternoon before, was ready to accept Christ as her personal savior and just needed a little more help. I got to witness Ben, Brandon, Jeff, and Patrick clear up the gospel message for Betty and lead her to her acceptance. Most encouraging of all, she made a couple comments which clearly indicated to us that her decision was both personal and genuine - as is not always the case when it comes to African "salvations."
As we exited the single dark room where we all prayed, I noticed
that she has as beautiful of a front-porch view as nearly anyone in the
world. Acres upon acres of essentially untouched rolling fields
extending in every direction separate the hill on which her home rests
and another mountain across the way. Descending back down the dirt
path, I marveled at God's creation and for bringing me here to see it.
I also can't help but question if there is any greater color
combination as that of a crystal clear "Carolina blue" sky meeting with
the pure and natural greens of the land.
After lunch, our group attended the funeral of a woman we had gone to pray for just two days earlier. Whether true or not, her stated date of birth during the ceremony was 1884. While I have not attended too many funerals in my life, I do have enough experience to contrast this one. Instead of a service inside a nice church and a message delivered by a close pastor or relative, we each took our seat in the grass - men on one side, women on the other, and mzungus in the middle. Many of the women wore traditional Masai garments and some of the men leaned against the wooden posts connecting the barb-wire fence. Directly to my right was the freshly dug deep pit with a huge mound of dirt on either side. Then our brother Jacob got up to deliver the message. He spoke of death in this world and life in Christ, especially rejoicing that the woman had come to know Jesus as her savior - for approximately the last 5 months of her 125 year life. Finally, this was the first time I have ever seen the filling in of a grave. After all else was finished, some leaders of the ceremony put on some joyful music as if to celebrate the life that was, and men - including Aaron and Ben at times - took turns shoveling the dirt over the casket that they had just lowered.
At dusk, just before dinner, a few guys started up an impromptu baseball game using bamboo sticks - which we had personally chopped down from the forest with newly acquired machetes - as bats, and clean ears of corn we had just finished snacking on as the balls. The simple life is so hugely underrated in so many places these days. But out here we don't need (and don't have) television, internet, cell phones, movies, electricity (except from a generator at the church), running water, and our showers - when we ever take them - are bucket baths in the grass with only a clear tarp shielding us from view. And yet I feel so content here. God is with us and we are living as his humble servants, surrounded by brotherly love...
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 3/5/2009
So I would definitely like to post a lot more about this and plan on doing so in the near future. But right now, I am incredibly exhausted after having to get up at 6:30 am to go to the US embassy to get more pages added to my passport and then from all the other activities of the day. I still have to pack, shower, and close out my tab for the hostel, which has quite a long waiting line considering all 50 of us have to do the same thing. But long story short, I have been feeling since last Easter/Lent that I should fast from speaking for Lent this year. And now that is exactly what I am doing. Beginning last Wednesday, my brothers helped usher me into this period of silence with lots of prayers and encouragement. (I was with all the guys because we were together for 10 days in the mountains in the Masai tribal village of Enesampulai. Much more to tell about that experience as well). I have not spoken a single word in 8 days and have 32 more to go. I am journaling throughout this time period and plan on sharing with all of you the internal processes going on through this fast. For now, I simply ask for your prayers and support. I will talk to you again soon from Calcutta, India where our group will be going. Much love to everyone!
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Posted in General Articles by John Linkous on 2/20/2009
For the last two and a half weeks, my new team Crux and I
have been living in Mwanza, Tanzania on the southern coast of Lake Victoria. This is our third month in Africa, and ministry is somewhat similar everywhere we
go. We are expected to do most of the
preaching and public praying in church and at crusades. As one fellow Racer put it best, it's almost
like reverse racism when it comes to the African church leaders and the Mzungus
(white people); it's as if they believe that because we are American or came so
far to serve them that we somehow have more biblical knowledge, better words to
speak, or more powerful prayers. As far
as I'm concerned, we're all reading the same book, all have the same access to
the Father, and last time I checked we're hardly "professionals." Other
ministry includes the door-to-door evangelism, visiting church members in their
homes to spend time and pray with them, and going to hospitals and praying for
the very sick (Malaria, HIV/Aids, etc.) and injured (motorbike accidents,
electrocution burns, etc.).
Now I do
not want to belittle our ministry by rushing through such a quick description
of it. Everywhere we go God's kingdom
advances. We have seen dozens of people
come to accept Jesus as their personal savior this month, have powerfully
touched others with our preaching, and have brought, at a minimum, comfort, if
not full healing to those sick I mentioned. Above all, we have perhaps broken down perceptions about Americans or
Christians or Mzungus in general, opening the eyes of locals.
But our
experience of each country goes far beyond our ministry. As I was thinking the other day from the
front porch of our pastor's house where we stayed, we are very lucky. Lucky because other foreign travelers passing
through the third world places such as these will never get the full and true
experience of the place that we do. Backpackers may see the same city, but while they stay in hostels filled
with other foreigners and reminders of home, we actually get to live in a
Tanzanian family's humble abode. While a
backpacker hostel may be downtown, our home is about a twenty minute walk from
where the dolla dolla (bus taxi) drops us off – the trek concluded with a
straight shot up the rocky path to get to the top of the mountain where we're
staying. And while a backpacker's diet
might consist of some local food and then many other restaurants where they can
get something more familiar and comfortable, our team ate three meals a day at
the home, prepared just as the family would normally eat it. Rice. Beans. Chapati. Tea or milk. You get the idea.
I can make
the comparisons between backpacker and World Racer because I've been the
backpacker. During my semester of study
abroad in Singapore, our
group traveled all around Southeast Asia,
staying at all the cheapest hostels. At
the time, we relished the more authentic experience that a hostel gives over a
regular hotel. And now I see just how
much further a hostel still has to go. No hostel can tell me what it's like when the youngest son of an African
pastor cries in the middle of the night – or what that pastors PJs look like as
he tries to console him. No hostel can
show me what it's truly like to live with neighbors on every side no more than
a few meters away; and how that
community supports and cares for one another. You probably won't get the opportunity, as Steph did, to chase down a
duck and then carry it home by its wings for dinner at a hostel. At a hostel, you most likely won't have to
take a bucket "shower." Here, this is
all we know. Or have you ever had to
squat down over a hole in the ground (hence the name "squatty potty") when you
had the runny stomach? More importantly,
have you ever walked out of an African family's home to view a beautiful sunset
shimmering across Lake Victoria and falling behind the cascading
hill/mountains, one of which you are on top of?
Two and a
half weeks may not sound like much. In
fact, it is not. But we have experienced
Mwanza and in my humble opinion Mwanza is beautiful.
On a side
note, the men of the squad have assembled in Nairobi
and head out first thing tomorrow morning to spend our last couple weeks in Africa with the Maasai warrior tribe. Please keep us in your prayers, as well as
all our girls who are back at their Tanzanian ministry location. And for anyone
who would like to catch up, I will be able to Skype in your mornings, my
afternoons/nights of March 4th and 5th before we head to India on the 6th. Love you all.
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