The Continuing Journey

I have been back home for exactly one week. My time in Washington sadly came to a close and last Monday I reluctantly traveled back to Missouri — yet excited to greet my greatly missed friends and family.

I have attempted to describe my Washington summer countless times in the last seven days and I find myself at a constant loss for superlatives in describing the experience. I will save you another floundering attempt to describe my trip, and instead this simple report will suffice: it was life-changing.

A little over three months ago, I was sitting in front of this very computer in my Sedalia home pondering what in the world I should name a blog — a kind of journal that would keep friends and family updated on my summer experiences away. After some thought, I opted for “Musings of a Young Traveler.”

I chose this title for obvious reasons — I viewed my summer trip as a journey, an adventure, or an expedition. And I, the Adventurer, would coolly imitate my mental images of Meriwether Lewis or Indiana Jones in occasionally jotting down random observations or thoughts to send back home or to use for personal reference. But now that I am back home I recognize the silliness of that comparison, for my summer was not merely an adventure or a journey but rather a particularly unique chapter of my story that began nineteen years ago. And I thank each one of you because through your notes, your emails, your comments, your phone calls, your encouragement, your prayers, or simply your thoughts, you each have contributed to this portion of my story.

But now that this pivotal chapter has come to an end I am faced with the inevitable reality: alas, the story continues. The great journey points toward new horizons. The adventure has only begun. So much of the story has yet to be written. This young traveler is still traveling.

I thank you for your company over the past three months and as we all continue writing the stories of our lives — chapter by chapter, season by season — I ask for your continued company. I hope that as I continue sharing random excerpts from the next chapter of my story (although perhaps a little less frequently) that you all will continue checking in on the musings of this young traveler.

On Superheroes

When I was little-really little-my parents had superpowers. They did, seriously.

No one else in the world could give me such deep comfort in times of anxiety or such security when I was scared. When I was little my parents did nothing wrong-through their actions and words I distinguished between good and bad, right and wrong; and they had no flaws.

My mom provided and cared for me: instantly making my bumps, bruises, and stomachaches go away by her touch; giving me reassurance about the confusing world around me with calm, wise words; allowing me immeasurable happiness by fixing my favorite no bake chocolate oatmeal cookies to eat after an intense neighborhood game of wiffleball.

My dad provided and cared for me: lying down next to me at 3:00 in the morning when I was unable to sleep and sobbing — his presence magically put me at a sleepy peace; telling my siblings and me the greatest stories of all time about everything from pirates to cowboys to dinosaurs, entertaining us beyond any TV show or videogame; throwing a football with me in the backyard, making me genuinely feel like the next Jerry Rice; taking me out for Dairy Queen every Friday after school, showing me without any doubt that I was deeply, deeply loved.

My parents worked miracles.

And regardless of the consequences and punishments (which all too surely came regularly) that they imposed for my disobedience, I still always thought that they were just above Superman on my list of greatest super heroes ever.

Of course as I grew older I realized that no one is perfect — not even Mom and Dad — and it didn’t take long for the idea of superhuman parents to evaporate in the heat of arguments, struggles, transitions, school changes, and harsh words. The miracles that happened daily as a five and six year old weren’t nearly as frequent as a fourteen or fifteen year old, and I suppose that by nineteenth birthday it seemed as if I had completely lost my appreciation for my legendary childhood superheroes.

But now, more than ever, I realize that my appreciation for Mom and Dad has not disappeared, but only changed — I have not forgotten my superheroes.

Saturday they will arrive at the airport, where I will see them for the first time in over three months. This separation from my parents has been a strange, occasionally difficult, largely beneficial time, and although this summer has been a tremendous experience I will be glad to see them again.

Oh, just so you know, the list still stands:

5. Indiana Jones

4. Batman

3. Sherlock Holmes

2. Superman

1. My Mom & Dad

I Did Not Speak

Today I walked through the Smithsonian’s Holocaust Museum. Surely my description of such an experience would be severely botched by my lack of words, so I will just say that my time spent remembering the millions who suffered and died at the ghettos and concentration camps was ineffable.

Afterwards, in a time of deep reflection and reverence, I left the hall of remembrance and bought a postcard. It is a picture of a familiar quote engraved into a granite wall toward the end of the exhibit. It reads:

“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out -
because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out -
because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out -
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.”
-Pastor Martin Niemoller

If there was anything I took away from such an experience, it was that we must learn from the mistakes of bystanders like Niemoller – we must not be afraid to speak out against the atrocities that face our world today.

It is not because we are religious, not because we are Christians, not because we are Americans, not because we are Baptist or Methodist or Catholic or Episcopalian, but because we are humans we must not remain silent and complacent when the innocent are ruthlessly murdered at Darfur, when civilians are continuously killed in Iraq, when children are constantly orphaned in South Africa, when women are plainly objectified in China, when eight year olds are subjected to sweat shops in Asia, and when millions go hungry each day around the world.

In the coming years may we speak for and serve the cause of our fellow citizens of the world in such a way as to not voice the same regret as Martin Niemoller when our work and service is complete.

A Sad Goodbye

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”
-Irish Blessing

Goodbyes are never easy. No one likes the awkward social tension that comes with trying to verbalize adequate appreciation for time spent together without sounding overly emotional or dramatic, like a phony. But this week is one of goodbyes and it began last Friday when I had to bid Dr. Dennis Lambert, the church administrator and my close friend, farewell as he departed for Edinburgh, Scotland.

And I know that no words I could impart come close to sufficiently expressing my gratitude for the graciousness, encouragement, kindness, and personal investment that Dennis has given to me throughout this summer opportunity.

Dr. Lambert is closely affiliated with my school, William Jewell College, as a student, alum, and former professor. It was through Dennis that I was contacted about this summer position at First Baptist Church, Washington, D.C. and with him that I interviewed for the job. Upon my arrival and job training, Dennis was always there to answer any question, offer any insight, give ample encouragement, or relieve any stress by initiating personal conversation about home or family. Having earned his PhD in Theology & Ethics and served with the Truman Scholarship Foundation he was also an enormous source of insight in our conversations about divinity and graduate schools around the country. As the summer continued, I realized the huge contribution he gave to the church through his work as church administrator, all the while being a joy to work alongside each day with his candid (very often humorous and sarcastic, I daresay) remarks and quick-witted sense of humor. I cannot describe the lessons I learned, not from his words, but through his example of humility, dedication, courtesy, and proficiency.

I learned more from Dennis during this short summer than I ever could have imagined.

And I guess that’s why the goodbyes like these are so hard — because his gift and my indebtedness is simply too great to describe in words.

My only consolation is remembering that the difficult, awkward goodbye of today will soon give way to a warm, celebrated hello of tomorrow.

Some Borrowed Advice

It seems that my brother and sister are maturing exponentially just since I’ve been in D.C.-a matter of three months or so. Since I left, both have begun driving. My brother has gotten his fist job. My sister has gotten her first job. My brother is pondering joining the Navy. My sister just got her braces off. My brother has refrained from sending my completely inappropriate jokes at inopportune times on a weekly basis (now, monthly). My sister has joined and begun rehearsing with the elite girls’ show choir at the public high school. My brother is preparing to be a senior in high school (!).

So much for the three goofy little munchkins that used to constantly bicker about the front seat, flush conventional bathroom items down the toilet, gladly embarrass mom at church, vote daddy and mommy out of the family (three of us versus two of them), wipe our runny noses on dad’s slacks as we strolled by, and regularly climb up on to the roof when the parents weren’t watching.

I guess when I return home I will be the only one of us munchkins left.

But lo and behold, this rising maturity within my siblings has created a new string of questions to be brought before Big Brother while he is in Washington: romance questions (This is where my fun begins anew).

Both siblings have recently (secretly) called me to discuss the matters of their romantic lives-asking for advice and comment (which I graciously give, of course).

Today I was reading a popular new book recently given to me titled, The Dangerous Book for Boys. Within its pages is a section titled “Girls” under which there is a subsection titled “Advice About Girls.” I thought this advice was far better than anything I could come up with for my brother, and to be honest I think my sister could learn plenty about boys from it as well. Here are some excerpts from “Advice About Girls.”

1. It is important to listen. Human beings are often very self-centered and like to talk about themselves. In addition, it’s an easy subject if someone is nervous. It is good advice to listen closely-unless she has also been given this advice, in which case an uneasy silence could develop, like two owls sitting together.

2. Avoid being vulgar. Excitable bouts of windbreaking will not endear you to a girl, just to pick one example.

3. If you see a girl in need of help-unable to lift something, for example-do not taunt her. Approach the object and greet her with a cheerful smile, while surreptitiously testing the weight of the object. If you find you can lift it, go ahead. If you can’t, try sitting on it and engaging her in conversation.

4. Finally, make sure you are well-scrubbed, your nails are clean and your hair is washed. Remember that girls are as nervous around you as you are around them, if you can imagine such a thing. They think and act differently to you, but without them, life would be one long football locker room. Treat them with respect.

The Dreamers

“To dream anything that you want to dream. That’s the beauty of the human mind. To do anything that you want to do. That is the strength of the human will. To trust yourself to test your limits. That is the courage to succeed.”
-Bernard Edmonds

I spent part of the afternoon today practicing my delivery of the Old Testament and New Testament scripture passages which I was asked to read this Sunday in the service. Both passages are very familiar: from Genesis 37 (the story of Joseph and his brothers’ betrayal) and from Romans 10.

However, in my reading I noticed something I had never recognized before — the name which Joseph’s brother called him as they were conspiring to kill him: “dreamer”.

¹⁸They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. ¹⁹They said to one another, ‘Here comes this dreamer. ²⁰Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.’ (v. 18-20)

The scriptures indicate that Joseph’s brothers hated him because their father (Jacob) showed extreme favoritism to Joseph. But it appears that the reason Jacob favored Joseph in the first place, and the main reason why the brothers hated Joseph was simple: Joseph was different.

And some people don’t like others that are different.

One of the lessons that I’ve learned more clearly this summer is that it is alright to be an individual — to deviate from the norm, to dream big, to break the expectations, to ignore those that hold you back, to be different. But it’s risky. Being different takes courage. Speaking out for an unpopular cause takes courage. Rejecting the conventional molds and expectations takes courage. Sometimes disappointing people takes courage. Being yourself takes courage.

Because being different means that you’re standing up to the scoffers; you’re changing the status quo; you’re making people uncomfortable; you’re breaking stereotypes; you’re risking failure and naivety;  you’re rewriting the textbooks to write your own story; you’re going face-to-face with fear, doubt, and hate.

Yes, for Joseph and for all of us — dreaming takes courage. But may we have it.