5:45PM

Class let out at around a quarter to 5 today. 4 to 5PM is my favorite hour of the day during Longview winters, so I was fortunate enough to catch the tail end. I was glad because it's the best part of the hour anyway.  While anyone who knows me knows that I reserve only the sincerest disdain for Texas and all things it embodies, during this one hour, I can put all of my cynicism aside and just appreciate how beatiful the world really is and how grateful I am to be alive. Photographers refer to this hour before sunset as "the Golden Hour", and it's easy to see why. The light cast by a setting sun reveals the world as it was meant to be. In another hour, it could all change; anything can happen in an hour, but right here, right now, all is as it should be. It is well...

All of the fears, longings, desires, anxieties, insecurities, and guilt that plague every minute of every day relax with me, as if sitting next to me, watching as beams of light dart between the silhouettes of the trees. "We'll be back in the morning, but for now, rest," they whisper, believing that they have the power to grant it to me, that they have control. Sometimes, I believe it too, but not right now. Right now is Truth. Right now is Grace. It is well...

As I write this, sitting on top of my car, I can't help but feel peace as the sun begins to slide slowly behind the trees. I am overwhelmed by the desire to tell someone I care about that I love them. No logic I could ever conjure can explain this compulsion, but I suspect it is because in this moment, God's own love, the Love that sacrificed itself for my sake, is being communicated to me without my consciousness. This must be what it feels like to be content. This is what it's like to know and desire my purpose: to love my God and to love my brother. I wish I could feel it all the time. I wish I could understand it. I know the next few hours will very likely bring a change of heart, but at the very least I'm thankful for the reminder. I'm thankful for the peace, for the quiet. It is well...

"When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul."

Jonathan

The other day, I went to this bonfire party and had a good, long talk with a fellow international student who is from Papua New Guinea. His name is Jonathan. We talked for probably around two hours or so. I had met him earlier in the week, but hadn't really talked to him for very long until that night.

Jonathan is a shorter guy--somewhere around 5' 6"--and built like a miniature linebacker. He has a dark complexion and a wide face adorned with the type of smile that is so big and warm, smiling back is involuntary. When he laughs, you can't help but join him. His hands look like those of one who knows what it means to work hard. His manner is very respectful and kind, and even though I have known him for less than a week, if I had to choose one word to describe his personality, it would be "selfless".

He comes from a very different way of life than I do. His village is up in the mountains of Papua New Guinea. They recently were able to get electricity for the first time, but they still do not have running water. It is primarily a farming community whose major crop is sweet potato. The village is about an hour away from the nearest town. Going into town is always a big deal and requires a lot of preparation. The road is full of hazards. Every trip requires the men to get out of the car and push to dislodge it from some sort of pothole, mud puddle, or what have you. Fortunately, the village is fairly self-sufficient and trips to the town are not required often.

By most western standards, his way of life would be considered primitive and/or poor, but I feel these words connotate an arrogance without ground. Humble is much more appropriate descriptor. Jonathan and his family are content with what they have and are never left wanting. They never go hungry; they have sufficient shelter; they have no need of money; and don't miss any of the "stuff" western culture trifles over. Jonathan told me that he was a little intimidated by life over here because he is afraid of offending someone with his "poor manners", but really, he is perhaps one of the most polite and conscientious people I have met. It saddens me that this was his first impression of the "1st World".

He lives in a tin roof hut that he built himself with his wife and three small children, all under the age of 7. Jonathan will be the first person from his village to go to college. Most people from his village do not even continue their education beyond the tenth grade. If they do, they have to relocate to a larger village or town where eleventh and twelfth grades are taught. Jonathan was not so fortunate.

Sometime after he finished the tenth grade, he began an apprenticeship for a large international mining company and has spent the last 16 years working for the same mining company, mining gold and copper. The last ten of which have been as an electrical technician. He is here to study electrical engineering. The mine is far from the village he is from. So far, in fact, that the mining company has to fly him back and forth between the village and the town near the mine. He spends as many as six months away from the village. Fortunately, the company he works for provides housing for him and his wife and children

Jonathan told me about how he would often come home after a long day at work and play with his children until it was time for bed. Then, he would tuck them into bed and pray with them. He told me about how he and his wife taught them how to pray, how every time they would even eat without praying, his children would speak up, saying "Hey, we didn't pray! We shouldn't be eating yet!". He told me about how his son wanted to pray before meals but didn't know how to finish the prayer and how he would stop mid-prayer and ask his mother to help him finish. Jonathan relayed one memorable account of when his son asked to pray. This time he began the prayer, his mother expecting him to pause and request help half-way through. He kept going until finally he was done. It was his first complete prayer. Everyone was so happy and proud of him that they hugged him, threw him up in the air, and celebrated.

He told me about how earlier that day, while he was going through new student orientation activities, seeing all of the other much younger students and the way of life here in Australia, he began thinking of his own children and broke down thinking about how he wanted the same things for them, for them to get a good education and go off to college, to have all of the cool stuff that they wanted.

Now, I am not one who is easily moved to tears. There are few things that can even push me close to that point--at least since I was in grade school, anyway. One of these things, however, is the thought of one day seeing my own children experiencing harm or hardship or even seeing another father endure the same. Witnessing any sort of emotional turmoil for a father really gets to me. While Jonathan told me the stories of him playing with his children, his son praying on his own for the first time, and his breakdown over missing his children and wanting nothing but the best for them, I almost had a breakdown myself. I couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to miss any of the great milestones in the lives of his children because of his studies.

He has made a huge sacrifice by coming here to continue his studies. He will be away from his family for up to 4 months at a time. I pray that God will give him peace in being away from his family and that he will be as good of a student as he is as a father. I pray that he will be able to give his children all that he desires. I am glad to have met Jonathan.

10 Things That Weird Me Out

In no particular order:

1 - Families who kiss on the mouth. It's weird... just plain weird.
2 - When someone grabs my hand in the middle of a high-five. Occasionally, this type of person may even shake the hand, midair. Somewhat intuitively, I refer to these interlopers as "high-five grabbers."
3 - Men who urinate with one hand on their waists. This man is typically easy to identify: he tends to wear ties to occasions at which ties are not necessarily merited, he may have a gaudy ring from his alma mater on the pinky of his left hand, he gives a firm handshake, and he possess an overly hearty belly laugh.
4 - Nacho cheese. If it's liquid at room temperature, it's not cheese.
5 - Couples who refer to each other as "babe". This includes all subsequent permutations and other frivolous pet names that come to mind.
6 - Wirey facial hair. Typically backlit by pasty, white flesh which further deepens the contrast, this folicle anomaly is particularly disturbing on men but is even more so if found on women. Some have even coined the term "pubey" to describe this type of facial foliage.
7 - When people let their pets lick them on the face. Any tongue that has recently made contact with the ass-end of a house pet should never find itself anywhere near a human face.
8 - Mustard. It's gross.
9 - Body odor/bad breath. What makes body odor and bad breath especially nauseating is that those who typically possess these qualities also seem to lack a sense of personal space.
10 - Hearing the elderly discuss physical intimacy. Certain memories from "back in the day" should remain unvoiced until the grave.

San Diego County Fair

Being a raised in southern California, it's a wonder that I've never been to the San Diego County Fair before. Wednesday was the first time. It was pretty standard really. All the normal fair fare was there: funnel cakes, fried Twinkies, creepy carnival ride operators, etc. Afterwards, I realized a few things about fairs and carnivals in general.

1) No machinery newer than 1987 is still in operation, particularly the thrill rides. Sure they may have masked these mechanisms of mirth with modern music and some fresh grease, but nothing could conceal the clashing, neon color schemes and poorly conceived theming concepts that only the glam rock of the '80s could have been responsible for. Every ride looks like it belongs in the backdrop of a Poison concert.

2) Fairs have the highest concentration of germs per capita after that of a gas station bathroom. It doesn't matter what you touch; it IS sticky. The only thing that can make it worse is to remember that it has been sticky with the same gunk that it has been there since Vanilla Ice was cool. It makes you think about why the only place you'll find a black light in is the House of Mirrors. What's more is that people not only tolerate the blatant filth; they embrace it. Dirty, little fried food stands that you would never even DREAM of eating from while off the fair grounds--much less pay $7 for a hot dog at--are "okay" because they are part of a greater conglomerate of dirty, little fried food stands.

3) Aside from being enormous, festive petri dishes, there are those infamous gypsy-folk known as "carnies". We are known to them as "normies". No one likes them, but for some reason people still can't stay away from fairs. My personal favorites are the ones that operate those frustrating, unbeatable games. I suspect they are in the same family as telemarketers and street vendors. Once you start a conversation or make eye contact, good luck getting rid of them. As I listened to their sales pitches though, I actually came to believe that they sound more like male prostitutes trying to solicit suitors than game operators in a family friendly environment. Everything they say sounds inappropriate just because THEY are the ones who said it. There's nothing like the voice of a chain smoker under a rack of stuffed Sesame Street characters calling out "Hey, pretty lady, come over here if you want a good time. I might even give you an Elmo."

4) The prize winning animals always look like "special needs" animals. This concerns me. What do the animals I eat look like?

4) The worthless junk show: every fair has one. Rows of booths filled with useless junk. "Italian" leather, foot massagers, sushi makers, you name it. There's all sorts of stuff. Nearly everything boasts "As seen on TV!" or "Not sold in stores!" which as we all know, really means "It's a piece of s***! Don't buy it!" However, I would be lying if I didn't admit that this is one of the most entertaining things to witness at the fair. I can't help but be mesmerized by the man with a headset microphone saw through a block of wood with a kitchen knife. "But wait! There's more! If you buy now, I'll include the SUPER-DUPER KABLAMMY SHAMMY! It's SOOOO absorbent, if it touches bare skin, it will suck all of the moisture right out of your body!"

Planet Green

I know that the beginning of this commercial might be a little alarming, but the ending is totally worth it. I laugh EVERY time.

Dream

Last night, I awoke from a dream

I dreamed my life was a lie

Like nothing that I've ever known

What was life before death arrived?

I dreamt of the things men were never meant to see

A snake on the ground and a rose veiled in thorns

I ate of the fruit and I drank of the spring

All I wanted, I long for no more

I whispered in the ear of a gun

"Please, let me go."

I opened my eyes and my brother was dead

His blood was on my head

We were loved just the same, but I envied his name

Death now seeks me out, and I've no one to blame

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust

Nerves thought to be steel have begun to rust

I asked her to bring me more wine
But all she brought was more blood

Thirst is not known to be wise

I drank it all to find it was mine

I burned down the bridge and I shot my own horse

I cannot find shelter from my own remorse

If I could only remember the day that death died

The day it hung from a tree, why didn't I cry?

How can one remember over all the noise?

Volume clouds judgment;

Intensity substance

Turn it down

"Be still..."

Today, I awoke from a dream

I dreamed that I was alive

Like nothing known before

I remember the day that death died

I dreamed of the things men had forfeit to see

The smile of the earth, the face of the Maker

I can eat of the fruit and drink from the spring

More than I need, I can ask for no more

Golden Moments

Despite being frequently downtrodden by three plus years spent in an academic program dominated by testosterone--albeit a slightly less potent brand--and a erudite knowledge of how a computer converts a simple keystroke into a the swift and final blow that takes down Mongor, Ogre King of the Northern Hordes, every now and then there occurs an event that makes this town shine. Whether it be an all but flattering photograph of the recently crowned Ms. Longview performing what appears to be some sort of voodoo hex or listening to my neighbor, Mr. Saunders, awkwardly struggle through every note of Eli Young Band's "When It Rains" through the bathroom door, these events, though infrequent, are worth their weight in gold. If I had my way, every day would be filled with these moments. However, at the risk of becoming complacent, I try find contentment in their mere occasional occurrence.

Looking back, I am reminded of many such events that dot the landscape of my college career. One of my fondest occurred only a few weeks ago. It was in chapel. We had a band called "Downhere" perform--don't worry; I hadn't heard of them either. Now, for those who have never been to a LeTourneau musical event, it is a commonly known fact on campus that our student body has the collaborative rhythm of an epileptic ferret. We also happen to be tone deaf. The band did not know this. During one of their songs, the lead singer asked the audience to sing along. Any other campus--and probably any other band--and this probably would have worked, but at LeTourneau that kinda crap doesn't fly. Once he had dished out the invitation for participation, I braced myself. "Oh s***..." I thought to myself. The next thing I heard was one of the most humorous I had heard in chapel to date. It was like listening to an entire chorus of '90s grunger wannabes listening to to the radio when Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" starts playing. Everybody knows the tune, but no one knows the words. "...na... dum... doo.... dee....... NANANANA!!!! NANANANA!!!....." The cacophony that ensued was moving. I don't mean moving in the way people mean it when they say things like "His heart was moved." I mean it more in the way that people mean it when they say things like "That was a gnarly bowel movement." But even though it was absolutely horrendous, it still made me laugh. These are the moments that make this place "not so bad". It makes me look forward to what the future has in store.

This one goes out to all the peeps in east Texas with no rhythm and to Ms. Rebecca Robinson. I salute you.