Antelope

Several weeks ago we spent a weekend in Antelope, Oregon at a facility in Wild Horse Canyon. We took a group of college students to a retreat there.

Driving through the Columbia River Gorge never gets old to me. On the way down we stopped the van on some isolated road that seemed to wind endlessly into the canyon. We all got out, stretched our legs, and I was stunned by all the stars scattered across the black sky Friday night. Mesmerizing.

In Dec. I'll be traveling to India with four other women my age. We had lunch together on Saturday at the retreat. Sooooo exciting!!

Late Saturday afternoon I went for a hike while Bruce played frisbee golf with his friends. Mmmmmm....long walks, fresh air, and a beautiful view. Life is good.

In June '08 we carpooled to San Francisco with some classmates to take a course at the main campus in Mill Valley. Oddly, all four of us were at Wild Horse the same weekend. Ahh....road trip nostalgia. Good times.

Bruce, Matt, and I spotted this van while refueling in Biggs. This is the same van that carted us all over the West Coast when we were in college at UI. It was falling apart then, and that was almost a decade ago. Flying Toaster. Metal Torpedo. Transport of the cereal killer. This van has stories.

Liminality

According to anthropologist Arnold van Gennep, there are three stages or initiations into adulthood: separation, liminality, and reintegration. The concept of liminality fascinates me and here's why.

The liminal stage is "a stage of transition, a period that is neither one thing nor the other" (see Exiles by M. Frost, 109). People who enter the liminal stage separate themselves from mainstream society, from cliches and conformity, but only for a time and not as an end within itself. Here a true community forms and exists for an extended period of time on a social and spiritual threshold. People who deviate from the norm and exist in the liminal often devote themselves to causes greater than self resulting in a creative community and bond between people that defies superficial differences -- the antonymn of a cliche. The liminal community is inclusive, imaginative, and intentional. Cliques are exclusive to all who do not meet the societial, traditional, and often superficial criteria.

Bottom line: the people who breed change in society are people who have spent quality time in the liminal and found community there. Once integrated back into the mainstream, these are the people who challenge the status quo and help others move forward (or move into their own state of liminality).

I guess this really resonates with me because I lived in the liminal with a group of people while in Asia. I withdrew from mainstream existence and transitioned into another way of being. Everyone on my team experienced this at varying levels. We all had to learn how to communicate our spirituality in an environment where we couldn’t rely solely on language or words. We had to learn to listen to God in an environment where unexplainable phenomena seemed to be the norm. This all took place in a country where following Jesus was not safe (i.e. illegal) which serves as a rigid filter for those who are not serious about their commitment. I learned volumes about myself, others, and God, the likes of which I will never fully process or understand. But I’ve tasted enough of it to know that there are oceans of God yet to be had. And we will never tap into it without subjection to the liminal.

The difficulty only increases upon integration back into mainstream. God requires this as well, I think, because the integration forces others to face themselves, their traditions, and their worldview. Those who've lived in the liminal expose what is lacking in mainstream society upon integration. The best critique of the old is to live out the new....and to do so graciously among those who cannot see the old for what it is.

"If you want to build a ship, don't summon people to buy wood, prepare tools, distribute jobs and organize the work; teach people the yearning for the wide, boundless ocean." (Antoine de Saint-Exupery).

Wind & PLE

Tonight has to be the windiest night in the history of 25th street. I just finished off one the crappiest papers I think I’ve ever written. It was supposed to be two pages long. That’s nothing for me. I love to write. However, after much reflection, I have managed to conjure up three paragraphs of fluff. That really sucks. And I’m trying hard to avoid my prof’s warning against PLE (principle of least effort), but I think I’m failing miserably.

Oddly, God seems to pick the most unexpected times to speak to me. Times of frustration. Weariness. Comical cat watching.

I was listening to the wind and a picture flashed in my mind from several years ago. One morning I left our house early before work and drove to the park (confession: I did this almost every morning). But this morning it was really early – as in the sun had just risen. This park overlooked a mountain, farmlands, and some rolling hills in Idaho. As I was sipping on my coffee, the wind was raging outside the car. I had been reading a section from the gospel of John, and as it often happens, I felt like God was trying to speak to me, but I couldn’t understand him.

Jesus compared his followers to the wind, “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit” (jn. 3:8). What I find really frustrating at times is God’s silence. I just want him to explain things. But then again, maybe God isn't as silent as I think he is. Maybe I'm not really listening. In a world of instant gratification and automatic comfort, it seems like we’ve lost the art of sitting still and being silent.

I read Jesus’ statement several times, didn’t “get it,” and then just decided to sit still and enjoy the view. As I did I kept staring at this tree next to my car. It was swaying back and forth to the wind’s chaotic rhythm in a mesmerizing kind of way. In fact, the wind was so strong that not one part of the tree could resist movement. Every branch moved and every single leaf flickered in a million directions. How could something so ordinary suddenly transform into a thing of wonder? Maybe it was really no big deal, but for some reason I was captivated.

Then it happened. God whispered inside of me, “See that? That’s what I want to do with your life.” I read the text again, and it was clear. The wind’s presence is known predominantly by what it moves, even though we can all feel it and hear it. In the same way, we sense God’s movement and his reality by how he moves the people who yield to his rhythm. And he makes these people new by his spirit.

There are times in my life where I feel like I’m wholly joined with God and moving with him and in him. But there are other times when I am whole-heartedly resistant to him, doubting him and even frustrated with him. Then I hear the wind blowing outside (just like tonight), and I remember that morning when God transformed something really ordinary into something profound enough to reshape my being. And somehow this helps me push through my own resistance, doubt, and personal PLE.

A Riot of Color

I'm going to India this December for two weeks with four other women. I made a quilt for us to raffle off in a couple of weeks. All the proceeds will help our group pay for travel expenses.

Of all the quilts I've made, this one might be the most meaningful. I thoroughly enjoyed every step of the creative process, which is unusual for me. Generally I thrive on the initial design and then the finished product. The beginning and the end usually drive everything in between. But this quilt was different.

I tend to reflect best when I'm creating something. As I was making this quilt, I spent a lot of time alone thinking about many things. Sufficient to say that my own seasons of personal darkness and despair look very different from this side of the threshold. For the grace to see beyond what I once saw I am deeply grateful. What was once so dark has somehow carved out a space within me for grander things - things I didn't know I was capable of. The ideals I was once so very passionate about now resonate at a new level and have become a reality that I embody and not just something I talk about.

I also thought a lot about India where our group will be participating in a mobile salon in Lucknow, which means that we will get to pamper a group of women who, from what I understand, come from rather oppressive situations. So, lots of hairwashing, pedicures, manicures, etc. Every time I've been overseas in a serving capacity I've never walked away the same. Sometimes I go to sleep at night and see faces of people I've met from all over Asia. They haunt me. They drive me to attempt great things with my life. And they condemn me when I feel myself living for superficial things. God uses them to move me. And I anticipate that India will be no different. I will see things that I will never recover from. And for this I thank God.

Detour

Mandy and I were walking one morning through a neighborhood in Chiang Mai, Thailand several years ago. Very non-tourist area, which meant we were the object of many stares from the locals. Curious stares. Smiling stares. Who-the-hell-are-you stares.

An hour later we realized we were lost. Here we were practically illiterate and didn’t speak Thai. This area was void of public transportation. In fact, I don’t even remember seeing vehicles. Just livestock and bicycles.

Eventually a tuk-tuk from around the corner came to a halt right next to us. (A tuk-tuk is like a motorized tricycle with a bench and canopy over the back two wheels). The driver was adamant for us to get in his tuk-tuk. He spoke no English. Where exactly did he think he was going to take us?

A man standing nearby noticed our failed attempts at charades. He spoke English and offered to translate for us. “Where do you want to go?” he said.

“The large city gate near the moat in the city,” we said. We felt like this was the Thai equivalent of saying, “Take me to the statue of liberty, please.” We were on our way. There in the distance I soon spotted the gate and the moat. The planets aligned. Angels were singing. All was well in the universe…..except for one thing. The driver didn’t stop.

We were in the city now. Traffic in Asia is chaos. Kind of like watching cartoons. Multiple near death experiences among the numerous cars, buses, bikes, livestock, pedestrians, and tuk-tuks. Is that a red light I see? Silly traffic laws. Red lights, stop signs, yellow lines – those are just for the people who don’t know how to drive. And wait. Where are the seatbelts?! Seatbelts are for the weak.

I tried to tell the driver to turn around. Surely he can translate the desperation on my face. He turned around to look at me, rolled his head back in laughter, and then returned to his driving. Dude. Really? Is my desperation that comical? Do you see me laughing?!

Enter center stage: the voices. “You should have stayed home.” “Who exactly do you think you are?” “You’re so naïve.” My critics began to haunt me. Unfortunately these were people I greatly admired, people whose approval I desperately craved. In their eyes when I went overseas I detoured from everything rational and responsible. I was a disappointment. And now I felt I was in a situation that would give them the right to say, “I told you so.”

The driver eventually drove into a large complex of some sort. It was a Buddhist monastery, which looked like a community college for monks. Dorms lined the outer rim. Large ornate temples and gardens filled the complex. And an ancient pyramid stone structure rested in the center. This was a place that assaulted the senses.

After stopping in front of the first main temple, the driver motioned for us to get out. After we paid him, he drove off, and there we stood. I did not know what to do. Then I heard another inner voice say, “This is where you must pray.” As I began to walk around and take in all the sights, I talked to God within myself. Here God opened me up to realize that he has a great longing for people to know him. All people. And he is not an indifferent bystander. I didn’t fully understand how, but I knew he was pursuing relationship with people. I could feel God coming out of me even as I waved to the 12-year-old monks giggling at the foreigners who just got dropped off. God wasn’t sitting back waiting for people to find him. I saw him as an initiator. I have a hunch that God is often searching for us but sometimes we don’t really want to be found or fully known.

As I continued to make my way around the temple, I heard someone call my name from across the courtyard. I looked around and saw several of my friends from America. We had all split up early that morning to explore and pray in various parts of the city.

“Ann! How did you know where we were?” they asked with great surprise.
“I didn’t,” I answered with even greater surprise.
“Then how did you get here?”
“I don’t know.” Needless to say I wasn’t lost anymore.

This incident eventually became somewhat of a metaphor for my own spiritual journey, though I could not have realized it at the time. What I thought was a detour was actually the better path. God often invites us to deviate if only we’d have the courage to trust him. Jesus has this whole rhythm of life that is syncopated by comparison to mainstream culture (and sometimes even church). He stresses the off-beat and invites us to linger there with him. This is the realm where listening and doing intersect. Knowing comes through doing. Obedience and trust is the vehicle for profound revelation from our Maker.

I don’t know that I’ve ever received approval from my critics. I stopped caring the day I realized that I was striving to prove myself to people that I didn’t even want to be like. Ironically, the one person I want to be like I don’t have to prove myself to. And that is bliss.