As we traveled down to Dajia, we talked to Jacob and Teri (the Heinsman's daughter).
Jacob had been there a while, working on the camp, and was exhausted. Teri had recently returned from a trip to Kyrgyzstan, and talked about that a little bit. Mostly about the fermented horse's milk she had brought back, and how no one would drink it, so it sat in the refrigerator a long time, but how could you say a fermented drink was spoiled?
I mentioned previously that we had not expected to go directly to camp. I was excited at the thought of seeing our friends there from previous years, and of meeting the Australians, but a little apprehensive at the same time. We were being thrown straight into work, without a chance to recuperate or adjust. I had done this a couple times before, and Caleb had once, but the girls had not. All these things did not occur to me that night, but looking back I am impressed with how well they managed the lack of transition, even with a few relatively sleepless nights for them. (the bamboo mats and heat/humidity at night took a little getting used to for them, coupled with the jet lag)
We arrived at camp before too long (it's near a north-south highway on the island), and began to unpack. One of the Australians was there to greet us, a very large (in both height and girth) named Steve. Steve was the leader of the group, who came from a small church in Adelaide. In fact, it was small enough that with the team of nine people that came, their attendance was halved! We talked to him a little bit, and then carried our bags to our rooms. I was a little nervous ahead of meeting everyone again, meetings preceded by high anticipation usually have that effect on me. Yet it turned out to be anticlimactic. Several of them (the "core group", you might say, 5 girls who had been there every year we had, who all spoke english to some extent (mostly fairly well) and who we had become good friends with) had waited up on us, but were (understandably) very tired, and mostly went to bed soon after we arrived. Before we arrived, Teri ran in as a joke to tell them that we had gotten held up and wouldn't be there that night. As she finished telling them this, we entered the chapel. It is a largish open room, with a concrete terrazzo floor, and a stage up front. The girls were mostly sitting on the stage, and when we entered, two of them jumped up and ran to us. These were Judy and Steffie. Judy, 16 (but, unusually for the Chinese that I have met, appearing much older) also known as "Super Judy", a self-proclaimed Drama Queen (the term takes a slightly different connotation there than your highschool definition) and who possessed enough personality for any three normal people, hugged us and welcomed us back. Steffie, 17, a small, intelligent, and emotional girl who I have talked to during the intervening years more than the others, shouted "Joseph!" and ran to hug me. I was expecting her to slow down, but she did not, and collided with me at full speed. (since she weighed about 90 lbs, this did not have the damaging effects that it could have, heh) The others then greeted us: Starcey, 21 (as of earlier that day), cheerful and competent, who since last year had been the activity leader, balancing both the "up-front excite-the-kids" and the "behind-the-scenes-planning" roles remarkably well. Janet, also 21, (who recently changed her english name to that from Jenny), a bubbly, heavier girl, with a beautiful singing voice and impressive drama skills (though through the years they had all become very good at that), and Dorcas, 19, a tiny girl (5' -maybe-) whose english abilities were a little behind the others (though she also spoke Mandarin, Taiwanese, and Hakka, a dialect of the minority group in which her ancestry lay), but had improved since last year, and who was very good at the piano. All had worked to the point of near exhaustion. This was their third camp, and they had three more to go. By the end of our first camp, they would often finish an energetic drama skit and then collapse into a near-involuntary nap offstage. Throughout our time there, we were encouraged to keep working hard and push through our own tiredness by their example.
After talking with those of them that stayed up for a while, we went to our rooms and prepared for sleep. For the guys, (Caleb, Jacob, and myself) this was a small, concrete-floored box, filled with bunk beds, in an old camp building. With 153 kids, we didn't have room to stay in the normal dorms, which were fairly similar but with better circulation. An oscillating fan made it possible to sleep (and nearly breath) in the warmth and humidity that made the air thick. The best method I found was to lay shirtless and sheetless on the (surprisingly sleepable) bamboo mat, laid on top of the thin foam block they used for a mattress on the bunk beds, where I could feel some moving air. It was not uncommon to wake up sweating in the morning, and somewhat stuck to the bamboo mat underneath. One can get used to nearly anything, however, and here our labors at the camp came to our aid; by the time we were ready for bed, we were so tired that sleep came quickly, regardless of the unusual sleeping arrangements.
Upon waking, (early, due to jet lag) I took a shower and went to read my Bible as the sun rose.
These moments were sadly few for me this trip, as we were so busy and tired that opportunities to sit and read were seldom. Still, I managed to find a few times, and those were worthy.
Sitting in an especially beautiful corner of God's creation, with mountains in the horizon and rice fields nearby, and the cicadas buzzing, how can one not feel the presence of the God who said "it is good"? Paul speaks of creation leaving man "without excuse", and I agree. Nearly every people and tribe have their own creation myth involving a god or gods who created the world.
I cannot believe that someone could look at the world and not see that it was created. The touch of a master artist with a deep appreciation of beauty is unmistakable.
That day was a busy one, though not stressful for us in that the Aussies were taking care of this camp, we were there to watch and observe and help out where we could. I met their team that morning during their devotional. Steve, the big man we had met the night before, and his wife; Bryce, a tall man with a strong accent who worked as an environmental consultant for businesses and had a fondness for puns; Nat, a friendly man who was going to Bali after the Taiwan trip was over; Josh, a dread-locked, laid-back, young man, the sort of person that comes to mind when I think of Australians; Katie, an athletic red-head whose parents were farmers in the Bush; Pam and Leanne, sisters (though their looks were dissimilar) who seemed to get along well; and Penny, an easygoing woman who seemed to be very moved by her experience there.
We helped in various activities that day, and especially watched as they taught the kids some basics of cricket and Aussie rules football. Cricket finally makes a bit of sense now, heh.
Katie gave me the rules for both on a sheet they had printed out, which came in handy later, as Jacob and Caleb ran a class teaching Aussie football in both our camps. I talked to her for a while that day, and she told me a little about herself. Her parents, as previously mentioned, ran a farm in the Bush. Australia is currently in a terrible four-year drought, so they were trying to break even from their crop losses with the money they made on sheep. Her older brother was a diesel mechanic, and her younger brother was set to inherit the farm. Due to the drought, in most of Australia you had to get a permit to even water your garden, and then only at certain times of the day. They were very excited at the water war which came later. They had begun to prepare for it by setting out buckets and tubs of water, and soon all the kids split up into their groups to have a water balloon filling competition. Rows upon rows of squirtguns that the kids had brought were laid to the side, and we lined up the buckets of water along the side of the camp's small grassy area. There were some planned games before the big war started, one involving drawing colored balls from a box where they were hidden. The teams of kids chose a color, and if they were wrong, their councilors got soaked. Then the tables were turned, and it was the councilors turn to pick. Everyone had gotten pretty wet by this point, and it was funny to watch the pent up energy keep building and building. Soon it was time, and the water war exploded into being.
Water flew everywhere, as 150 kids and dozens of camp helpers doused each other with water balloons, squirt guns, buckets and scoops. It did not stop until the camp well began to run out, (it quickly replenishes itself later) when the last few vendettas were settled, and everyone went to change into dry clothes.
Then it was time for supper, a curious combination of Taiwanese food and "western food", usually not quite in the traditional sense. It was generally good, however, and was soon finished, the tables cleaned, and the kids had a few minutes of clean up time while all the staff (Aussies and us included) headed for the chapel for some prayer time. This was the most important night of the camp, when the "campfire" (a pile of wood and chopsticks in an old satellite dish set up on concrete blocks. I love Taiwan) was lit, and the gospel was presented to the kids. After leading the kids outside and lighting the fire, the camp staff turned things over to the Australians, who played a game with the campers called "four corners", with street signs for four Australian animals held up in the four corners of the basketball court (the fire was in the middle, so any games had to go around the perimeter). The kids would circulate from one to the other, and when the whistle blew, they had to stop at the one they were at. When a die showing each of the animals was rolled, whichever animal came up would be the one whose station the kids had to stay at. So, if a kangaroo was rolled, the kids at the kangaroo station had to remain there. Eventually, nearly all the kids were stuck, and the few who remained won. The camp staff then formed a conga line of sorts with all the kids, taught them some basic moves, and conga'd back into the chapel. There the kids saw the most important segment of the drama, based on the story of the Prodigal Son, where he comes back to his father. The gospel was then presented, and the camp song, in this case "Wo Yuen Yi" (Eng: "I am willing"), sung a few times.
It's hard to describe this time. Emotional, full of silent prayer on our parts that the kids will understand what they are hearing and take it to heart, and that God will work in their lives.
Afterwards, the kids split up into their cabin groups, where their councilors gave their own testimonies and answered any questions the kids had. We met with the Australians, who were having a prayer time, and then went to bed soon afterwards.
Next time: Wrapping up the first camp, heading to Taichung.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Flying West to the East
Here begins my attempt to transcribe our adventures over the past couple of weeks.
We were too busy for me to write anything during our trip, so hopefully my memory will serve me well, and no important details will be left out. The members of our party this trip were Caleb M, Erica C, Rebecca W, and myself. (My brother Jacob, having gotten there early to do some work at the camp facility, more or less joined the crew once we arrived.)
--July 11/12th 2007: Arrival
The voyage to Taiwan was fairly enjoyable this time around, as fun as a day of flying and layovers can be, really. We arrived at the Huntsville airport at a ridiculously early hour, and quickly realized this was a very good thing when the line at the American Airlines counter was very long. This in and of itself would not have been a problem, except that the line wasn't moving. One man at the front of the line had some sort of problem that was apparently difficult to resolve, especially for the ladies working the counter that particular morning, to whom English was apparently a second language. (not merely being sarcastic, they spoke with what appeared to be a strong german accent) So, instead of taking him off to the side and dealing with whatever intractable problem that required 30min to find a solution, they tried to figure something out while the entire line of people backed up almost to the airport entrance. (I should note that the Huntsville airport is quite small, and that the AA counter is almost directly in front of the door. Still, we're talking about several dozen people at this point)
Finally, either they gave up or fixed the problem, and the man left.
Meanwhile, I had been filling in parents and friends on the flight numbers and times, after resolving a bit of confusion about the day of our return trip. (the international date line always throws me off for some reason) Once the girls were through the line and got their boarding passes, it was nearly time to get on the plane. At this point, goodbyes were said and we all prayed (quickly!) together, and set off through security. I am always interested in the differences between security checkpoints in different countries. Mexico has been the most laid back, so far, and America tends to be a little frustrating. Taiwan is somewhere in the middle, and handles the process very efficiently for the most part. They are more thorough in their checking of carry-on luggage, however, as we shall see later.
Rant- I still don't understand the logic behind the whole 'no liquids on planes' nonsense. Wow, it looks like every single terrorist has needed oxygen to blow up anything. We should ban that on planes too! Seriously, if I want to bring a transparent water bottle, with water that I would happily drink from to demonstrate that it is in fact not an explosive, I see absolutely no reason why I should not be allowed to do so. It's a fear-based, knee-jerk reaction of idiotic bureaucracy, and it irritates me every single time I go through a checkpoint. And I'm not even the one who got stopped for it, heh.
Anyway, sorry about that. If I keep carrying on like this, you the reader will think that our trip was annoying or difficult, and it honestly wasn't.
We arrived in Dallas without incident, and spirits were high. We had fun and took silly pictures on the airport shuttle there, and arrived at our terminal and boarded as planned.
Airports (at least on the way -to- somewhere) are always a little exciting for me. Sure, they are not normally very stimulating places to hang around, but in spite of the utilitarian architecture and repetitive loudspeaker announcements reminding us of pointless security measures, there's an unmistakable undercurrent of travel. Yeah, -this- place is pretty boring, but think of all the places you can go from here! I always get a feeling of venturing out, from what is familiar to what is not, that I am in a temporary holding station before rocketing at hundreds of miles per hour into the atmosphere to touch down in a place that is at least somewhat new and exciting.
I feel very sorry for those who must commute by air. Without the excitement of the destination, it must surely be an exercise in monotony.
Now comes the worst part of our departing trip. After we left Dallas for Los Angeles, we ran into turbulence when we had to fly through/past/over/around a massive storm front. That was the worst that I had ever experienced, and probably the first time I was ever really worried while flying. Turbulence doesn't really bother me normally, it's something I pretty much expect to encounter a bit of while flying, and it's always funny to hear all the kids on the plane scream in unison every time their stomachs have that dropping sensation. This time, however, the turbulence was long and severe, and we lost some serious altitude at one point.
It was made easier by the fact that I had a first hand view out my window of the storm front we were flying past, and seeing a massive cumulonimbus cloud that you are passing in and out of is an impressive experience.
This soon passed, and we could relax until we got to LAX.
LAX was interesting for me, and was the first time I had set foot in California. I could not have really counted it, except that we had to walk out of the terminal and to the international flight building, and so we really did go outside and walk down the street for a couple of minutes. The weather outside was more or less perfect, and I can see one of the reasons the California coastal cities have a homeless problem: when it feels like that outside, who wants to live in a house?
(of course I realize the weather isn't always that perfect, but it certainly was that day)
Upon arriving at the international flight building (or whatever it's called), we saw the China Airlines counter, and decided to check with them about our flight, just in case. This turned out to be a very good idea, since our original boarding passes were not valid on this flight, and we had to get new ones from China Airlines. Since we had some time, we went upstairs and looked at the little foodshops they had. There was a haagen dazs, staffed by people whose accent sounded like they spoke whatever language haagen dazs would mean something in if it were actually a real phrase (it's actually just made up, I read somewhere) and we all got some ice cream, which was very good. We then headed through security (Man, I would make a lousy citizen in a totalitarian regime. I don't like security checkpoints, and I hate people shouting at me to do things. I already took my shoes off, sheesh)
We could see the plane we would be leaving in while we sat in the boarding area. It was a humpback 747, a truly massive plane, beautifully painted with a plum blossom on the tail.
Once we got inside, we had a nice surprise: it was the most well-furnished plane I have ever travelled in. Every seat had its own personal touch-screen, with movies, music, TV shows, and games available. This was manipulated both by touch and by a controller mounted to the armrest, that you could unclip to use as a phone (though this feature was disabled), TV remote, menu selector and even game controller. To put the icing on the cake, when the meals came, we were given actual metal utensils.
For some reason, my ticket had me sitting away from the others, at the very front of the coach seating. This gave me more leg room, for which I was grateful, and told God so. Little things like that remind me of how much He loves me.
Shortly after take-off, a little Chinese boy came and sat on the front row with me. His name was Ivan, oddly enough, and his mother later told me that she hadn't realized the implications of that name when she had picked it to be his english name. (he can always change it later if he doesn't like it, but it's kind of cool, I think. I've never met a chinese person named Ivan, heh)
Perhaps somewhat appropriately, Ivan liked chess. For being so young (7 or 8, I think, though he was precocious and gave the impression of being older so I had originally though he was 11), he was a pretty good chess player. I happened to have a travel chess set with me, (yes, Tope, if you are reading this, it was the same one we used, haha) which is why I know this.
I also helped him solve multiple levels of a little puzzle game that the system for our touchscreens offered. I had a strong feeling that my ticket had been separate from the others for a reason, and that God had placed me on the same row as this little boy for a reason. I explained the purpose of our trip (his english was at least as good as any normal kid of his age in the US, at which point we talked a little bit about Christianity. It turned out that he and his mother were Christians, but his grandparents who he was going to Taiwan to visit were not. His mother came by and talked to me a little bit, she had formerly been a flight attendant on that airline, but had to quit when she got married and started having kids because it kept her away from them for too long. She was very kind, and thanked me repeatedly for keeping her son company. She gave me some contact information and said that if I was ever in L.A. (where they lived) I should get in touch with her and come eat with the family.
Between this and the in-flight movies (of which I had my pick of about 30. This airline seriously rocked), the trans-pacific flight passed much more quickly than it had in the past. We had a direct flight, so there was no stopover in Osaka, and soon we touched down in Taipei.
There, we stretched our stiff legs, found our luggage, and went through immigration quickly.
Upon exiting, we found my brother and two of the Heinsmans (an American family who live in Taichung, the father of which is Ron, who is in charge of the camp in Dajia) there to greet us.
It was then (and only then) that I learned that instead of spending a couple days in Taipei to acclimatize, see some sights, and get ready for camp, that we were heading for camp directly. And immediately. We exited the airport, and I was greeted by the hot, muggy, scent-laden air of Taiwan once again. We threw our luggage in the back of the Delica van they had driven up in, (being a smaller team this year, we all fit) and within minutes we were driving down the American-style highway system on our way to Dajia and the camp there...
Next time: Old friends and new friends
-Joseph
We were too busy for me to write anything during our trip, so hopefully my memory will serve me well, and no important details will be left out. The members of our party this trip were Caleb M, Erica C, Rebecca W, and myself. (My brother Jacob, having gotten there early to do some work at the camp facility, more or less joined the crew once we arrived.)
--July 11/12th 2007: Arrival
The voyage to Taiwan was fairly enjoyable this time around, as fun as a day of flying and layovers can be, really. We arrived at the Huntsville airport at a ridiculously early hour, and quickly realized this was a very good thing when the line at the American Airlines counter was very long. This in and of itself would not have been a problem, except that the line wasn't moving. One man at the front of the line had some sort of problem that was apparently difficult to resolve, especially for the ladies working the counter that particular morning, to whom English was apparently a second language. (not merely being sarcastic, they spoke with what appeared to be a strong german accent) So, instead of taking him off to the side and dealing with whatever intractable problem that required 30min to find a solution, they tried to figure something out while the entire line of people backed up almost to the airport entrance. (I should note that the Huntsville airport is quite small, and that the AA counter is almost directly in front of the door. Still, we're talking about several dozen people at this point)
Finally, either they gave up or fixed the problem, and the man left.
Meanwhile, I had been filling in parents and friends on the flight numbers and times, after resolving a bit of confusion about the day of our return trip. (the international date line always throws me off for some reason) Once the girls were through the line and got their boarding passes, it was nearly time to get on the plane. At this point, goodbyes were said and we all prayed (quickly!) together, and set off through security. I am always interested in the differences between security checkpoints in different countries. Mexico has been the most laid back, so far, and America tends to be a little frustrating. Taiwan is somewhere in the middle, and handles the process very efficiently for the most part. They are more thorough in their checking of carry-on luggage, however, as we shall see later.
Rant- I still don't understand the logic behind the whole 'no liquids on planes' nonsense. Wow, it looks like every single terrorist has needed oxygen to blow up anything. We should ban that on planes too! Seriously, if I want to bring a transparent water bottle, with water that I would happily drink from to demonstrate that it is in fact not an explosive, I see absolutely no reason why I should not be allowed to do so. It's a fear-based, knee-jerk reaction of idiotic bureaucracy, and it irritates me every single time I go through a checkpoint. And I'm not even the one who got stopped for it, heh.
Anyway, sorry about that. If I keep carrying on like this, you the reader will think that our trip was annoying or difficult, and it honestly wasn't.
We arrived in Dallas without incident, and spirits were high. We had fun and took silly pictures on the airport shuttle there, and arrived at our terminal and boarded as planned.
Airports (at least on the way -to- somewhere) are always a little exciting for me. Sure, they are not normally very stimulating places to hang around, but in spite of the utilitarian architecture and repetitive loudspeaker announcements reminding us of pointless security measures, there's an unmistakable undercurrent of travel. Yeah, -this- place is pretty boring, but think of all the places you can go from here! I always get a feeling of venturing out, from what is familiar to what is not, that I am in a temporary holding station before rocketing at hundreds of miles per hour into the atmosphere to touch down in a place that is at least somewhat new and exciting.
I feel very sorry for those who must commute by air. Without the excitement of the destination, it must surely be an exercise in monotony.
Now comes the worst part of our departing trip. After we left Dallas for Los Angeles, we ran into turbulence when we had to fly through/past/over/around a massive storm front. That was the worst that I had ever experienced, and probably the first time I was ever really worried while flying. Turbulence doesn't really bother me normally, it's something I pretty much expect to encounter a bit of while flying, and it's always funny to hear all the kids on the plane scream in unison every time their stomachs have that dropping sensation. This time, however, the turbulence was long and severe, and we lost some serious altitude at one point.
It was made easier by the fact that I had a first hand view out my window of the storm front we were flying past, and seeing a massive cumulonimbus cloud that you are passing in and out of is an impressive experience.
This soon passed, and we could relax until we got to LAX.
LAX was interesting for me, and was the first time I had set foot in California. I could not have really counted it, except that we had to walk out of the terminal and to the international flight building, and so we really did go outside and walk down the street for a couple of minutes. The weather outside was more or less perfect, and I can see one of the reasons the California coastal cities have a homeless problem: when it feels like that outside, who wants to live in a house?
(of course I realize the weather isn't always that perfect, but it certainly was that day)
Upon arriving at the international flight building (or whatever it's called), we saw the China Airlines counter, and decided to check with them about our flight, just in case. This turned out to be a very good idea, since our original boarding passes were not valid on this flight, and we had to get new ones from China Airlines. Since we had some time, we went upstairs and looked at the little foodshops they had. There was a haagen dazs, staffed by people whose accent sounded like they spoke whatever language haagen dazs would mean something in if it were actually a real phrase (it's actually just made up, I read somewhere) and we all got some ice cream, which was very good. We then headed through security (Man, I would make a lousy citizen in a totalitarian regime. I don't like security checkpoints, and I hate people shouting at me to do things. I already took my shoes off, sheesh)
We could see the plane we would be leaving in while we sat in the boarding area. It was a humpback 747, a truly massive plane, beautifully painted with a plum blossom on the tail.
Once we got inside, we had a nice surprise: it was the most well-furnished plane I have ever travelled in. Every seat had its own personal touch-screen, with movies, music, TV shows, and games available. This was manipulated both by touch and by a controller mounted to the armrest, that you could unclip to use as a phone (though this feature was disabled), TV remote, menu selector and even game controller. To put the icing on the cake, when the meals came, we were given actual metal utensils.
For some reason, my ticket had me sitting away from the others, at the very front of the coach seating. This gave me more leg room, for which I was grateful, and told God so. Little things like that remind me of how much He loves me.
Shortly after take-off, a little Chinese boy came and sat on the front row with me. His name was Ivan, oddly enough, and his mother later told me that she hadn't realized the implications of that name when she had picked it to be his english name. (he can always change it later if he doesn't like it, but it's kind of cool, I think. I've never met a chinese person named Ivan, heh)
Perhaps somewhat appropriately, Ivan liked chess. For being so young (7 or 8, I think, though he was precocious and gave the impression of being older so I had originally though he was 11), he was a pretty good chess player. I happened to have a travel chess set with me, (yes, Tope, if you are reading this, it was the same one we used, haha) which is why I know this.
I also helped him solve multiple levels of a little puzzle game that the system for our touchscreens offered. I had a strong feeling that my ticket had been separate from the others for a reason, and that God had placed me on the same row as this little boy for a reason. I explained the purpose of our trip (his english was at least as good as any normal kid of his age in the US, at which point we talked a little bit about Christianity. It turned out that he and his mother were Christians, but his grandparents who he was going to Taiwan to visit were not. His mother came by and talked to me a little bit, she had formerly been a flight attendant on that airline, but had to quit when she got married and started having kids because it kept her away from them for too long. She was very kind, and thanked me repeatedly for keeping her son company. She gave me some contact information and said that if I was ever in L.A. (where they lived) I should get in touch with her and come eat with the family.
Between this and the in-flight movies (of which I had my pick of about 30. This airline seriously rocked), the trans-pacific flight passed much more quickly than it had in the past. We had a direct flight, so there was no stopover in Osaka, and soon we touched down in Taipei.
There, we stretched our stiff legs, found our luggage, and went through immigration quickly.
Upon exiting, we found my brother and two of the Heinsmans (an American family who live in Taichung, the father of which is Ron, who is in charge of the camp in Dajia) there to greet us.
It was then (and only then) that I learned that instead of spending a couple days in Taipei to acclimatize, see some sights, and get ready for camp, that we were heading for camp directly. And immediately. We exited the airport, and I was greeted by the hot, muggy, scent-laden air of Taiwan once again. We threw our luggage in the back of the Delica van they had driven up in, (being a smaller team this year, we all fit) and within minutes we were driving down the American-style highway system on our way to Dajia and the camp there...
Next time: Old friends and new friends
-Joseph
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Departure
I write this at 11PM, on the night before my third departure for Taiwan.
I am excited, so excited that I doubt I will sleep, although the glass of Chianti might help on that front. (I know, "be not drunk", and I have yet to be, no worries there.)
So rarely do I feel that I can anticipate something fully, up until the moment it happens. Typically this ends in the anticipated thing managing to not occur. I have foolishly done this in the past with things that I had no surety of, and met with great discouragement, but last year as I remained skeptical up until our plane left Osaka for Taipei (meaning that we would either land in Taiwan or crash) I was forced to admit that some things can be fully savored up until the moment that they do indeed occur. This can only happen when God permits it. I have no control over whether this trip happens or not now; it is in His hands. I will trust that He can bring me to Taiwan once again if He chooses.
Taiwan felt inexplicably like home after the first trip. The second trip felt very much like coming home again, and it remains to be seen what the third trip will feel like. I sometimes catch myself using terms like "coming to Taiwan" rather than "going to", as if I am already there in a sense, and am only returning to myself. We shall see. At present, as far as my long term stay is concerned, I have dragged my feet on my application, but finally filled it out and gotten some references. I had hoped to send it before I left, but I have reaped the rewards of my procrastination, and that will not be the case. It is just, however, the fault is my own and I cannot complain. I do know that I will get there this fall at some point, Lord Willing.
Speaking of moving in that direction, I have informed my employers of my decision to quit this fall. They took it well, or at least appeared to, and wished me luck in my endeavors. I feel relieved; the last couple of months at work have felt like a sort of hypocrisy, with me knowing that I will not be there too much longer, but my employers considering me an investment for the future. I am sorry that their investment has not profited them as they expected, but I think my time there has been well-spent, and have no regrets on that front.
It's time to move on, to a wider world.
The world that awaits me.
May He deliver us there safely, and bless our efforts for His glory.
I am excited, so excited that I doubt I will sleep, although the glass of Chianti might help on that front. (I know, "be not drunk", and I have yet to be, no worries there.)
So rarely do I feel that I can anticipate something fully, up until the moment it happens. Typically this ends in the anticipated thing managing to not occur. I have foolishly done this in the past with things that I had no surety of, and met with great discouragement, but last year as I remained skeptical up until our plane left Osaka for Taipei (meaning that we would either land in Taiwan or crash) I was forced to admit that some things can be fully savored up until the moment that they do indeed occur. This can only happen when God permits it. I have no control over whether this trip happens or not now; it is in His hands. I will trust that He can bring me to Taiwan once again if He chooses.
Taiwan felt inexplicably like home after the first trip. The second trip felt very much like coming home again, and it remains to be seen what the third trip will feel like. I sometimes catch myself using terms like "coming to Taiwan" rather than "going to", as if I am already there in a sense, and am only returning to myself. We shall see. At present, as far as my long term stay is concerned, I have dragged my feet on my application, but finally filled it out and gotten some references. I had hoped to send it before I left, but I have reaped the rewards of my procrastination, and that will not be the case. It is just, however, the fault is my own and I cannot complain. I do know that I will get there this fall at some point, Lord Willing.
Speaking of moving in that direction, I have informed my employers of my decision to quit this fall. They took it well, or at least appeared to, and wished me luck in my endeavors. I feel relieved; the last couple of months at work have felt like a sort of hypocrisy, with me knowing that I will not be there too much longer, but my employers considering me an investment for the future. I am sorry that their investment has not profited them as they expected, but I think my time there has been well-spent, and have no regrets on that front.
It's time to move on, to a wider world.
The world that awaits me.
May He deliver us there safely, and bless our efforts for His glory.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
A reflective day at work
I sat at work today, for the last part of the workday, reading an article on wired.com. I had come across it by a small chain of events (and weblinks); first a desire (the basis of which I have forgotten) to look up the wikipedia article on the postcyberpunk genre. From there, it was only one hyperlink to Snow Crash, a foundational novel in the genre, written by Neal Stephenson. From there, one more hyperlink to an article about the man himself. After skimming the article, I noticed a link to an entry about an article Stephenson had written for Wired.com, about the role the tech-explosion in China was playing in the culture there. I chased down the article itself, glad that Wired.com keeps extensive archives, and read it. It was a lengthy and glorious exposition of the grimy, wire-tangled backstreets of China, where in the midst of a communist regime, capitolism flourishes on a level unknown in the US, yet leads to no increased freedoms on a cultural level. Hooked by Stephenson's seamless integration of a love for technology (and how it relates to everything else), captivating writing style, and socio-political commentary, I went back to my search results on Wired.com to see if he had written any other articles.
I found a 56-page behemoth about his experiences as a self-proclaimed 'hacker tourist', whilst tracing the route of the longest undersea cable ever layed. Lovingly, he began with the history of undersea cables themselves, originally encased by gutta-percha, a substance rather like tree-rubber. From there, he began to jump, country by country, locale by locale, into a series of expeditions into the colorful neighborhoods near or through which the wire passed. Giving GPS coordinates of each stop, and punctuating his descriptive narration of the locations and personalities with technical descriptions of how information cables, and indeed the entire global information network, operate.
While devouring this flood of well-conveyed information like a chocolate-addict who has just bought a brick of special dark and decided to have it all in one sitting, I sit in my dingy cubicle, listening on my iPod (manufactured in China) to music by Yoko Kanno, an eclectic composer extremely popular among a small niche group in Japan and America (and perhaps a few other countries). Soon, -days, even- I will be in Taiwan. Yet there I can jump onto any computer with an internet connection and access the same article. I am never totally away from home, in an earthly sense at least, if I have an internet connection. By that link, I can communicate with friends and loved ones, and maintain the flow of both relevant and irrelevant information that my brain has become so accustomed to.
The world grows smaller, and yet larger. Products made in some and designed in other various countries jostle each other with an innocent familiarity. What if one were to trace down each factory where they were made? One would see places and have adventures and meet people enough for a lifetime. And yet not enough, for on each trip a world would open up, waiting to be explored, and yet followed by an endless stream of others. There is perhaps no general location on earth that cannot be reached within a few weeks by someone sufficiently motivated and with sufficient resources. The very accessibility of the world makes it enormously unaccessible. The very number of countries one might visit taunts one with the knowledge that there is not time in a life to visit them all. And visiting is not to know, to know intimately. The local culture, the small things that any child born there ceases to even think about, yet are totally unknown to the transient observer. Even within our own towns, these places exist. Do we really ever pay attention? We drive, ride, or fly to our various destinations, heedless to the thousands and millions of lives playing out as we pass. The world has become endlessly complicated and yet a simplicity emerges.
But here I sit, isolated from most external sources of stimulus; the artificial lights maintain a steady (save for the occasional flicker), unceasing illumination. My cube does not move, or change, the only difference in its appearance now than from an hour ago is the constantly updating image displayed on my computer screen. The occasional noise from the hall filters in; uncomfortable shoes banging their soles against the dirty tiles, someone washing their coffee mug, perhaps a door closing as an office empties at the end of the day. These are masked and blurred by the ceaseless humming of the grimy air vents, which pump in conditioned air to keep the temperature constant. Occasionally, random forces cause a slightly more forceful push of air, and a welcome draft blows past me. The smells do not change, unless someone burns a bag of popcorn (a frequent occurrence), when a burnt, sweet smell fills the air, and dissipates, to linger eternally in the complex smell of dust, plastic, mildew, and vague smells of people and lunches that soon deadens the sense of smell so that it is no longer noticeable. I do not hate this place, but I grow weary of it.
I must see, I must know. It is this desire which propels me forward. I am drawn by the places yet unseen, the air yet unbreathed, the food yet untasted. The changing skies, the seas, the oceans, the forests, the weather, the cities, the people, the books, the endless sea of knowledge, infinitely absorbable and yet infinitely continuing, rushing past me and every moment both wasted in my failure to comprehend but a tiny portion of it.
We tritely ascribe omniscience as one of God's attributes, vaguely imaging it to be an encyclopedic sort of knowledge. Yet we cannot truly (never fully) appreciate anything like it without realizing how much there is to be known. God set forth a creation and a reality dependent upon Himself, and reality presents us with an incomprehensible torrent of what can be known. (Choices too, the vast majority of which are unconscious and automatic, lest our minds be broken by the sheer unending number of them)
All reality streams from the One self-existent reality, somehow This and yet a Person, a never-ending flow of what is, from the never-ending One who simply, Is.
That this Source of all reality can be mindful of us, can endure our endless pettiness and triviality, and yet love us with a love beyond all that the human race could collectively imagine, could Himself, Who is Meaning, descend to become that for which meaning is derived, and suffer Himself to be slain by -and for the sake of- those whose very existence is utterly and totally dependent upon Him in every infinitesimal unit of time, is beyond all comprehension. What sufficient response can there be but to utterly and totally submit, by whatever free will (real or apparent) is given to us, the whole of our beings to Him Who has done this thing?
I found a 56-page behemoth about his experiences as a self-proclaimed 'hacker tourist', whilst tracing the route of the longest undersea cable ever layed. Lovingly, he began with the history of undersea cables themselves, originally encased by gutta-percha, a substance rather like tree-rubber. From there, he began to jump, country by country, locale by locale, into a series of expeditions into the colorful neighborhoods near or through which the wire passed. Giving GPS coordinates of each stop, and punctuating his descriptive narration of the locations and personalities with technical descriptions of how information cables, and indeed the entire global information network, operate.
While devouring this flood of well-conveyed information like a chocolate-addict who has just bought a brick of special dark and decided to have it all in one sitting, I sit in my dingy cubicle, listening on my iPod (manufactured in China) to music by Yoko Kanno, an eclectic composer extremely popular among a small niche group in Japan and America (and perhaps a few other countries). Soon, -days, even- I will be in Taiwan. Yet there I can jump onto any computer with an internet connection and access the same article. I am never totally away from home, in an earthly sense at least, if I have an internet connection. By that link, I can communicate with friends and loved ones, and maintain the flow of both relevant and irrelevant information that my brain has become so accustomed to.
The world grows smaller, and yet larger. Products made in some and designed in other various countries jostle each other with an innocent familiarity. What if one were to trace down each factory where they were made? One would see places and have adventures and meet people enough for a lifetime. And yet not enough, for on each trip a world would open up, waiting to be explored, and yet followed by an endless stream of others. There is perhaps no general location on earth that cannot be reached within a few weeks by someone sufficiently motivated and with sufficient resources. The very accessibility of the world makes it enormously unaccessible. The very number of countries one might visit taunts one with the knowledge that there is not time in a life to visit them all. And visiting is not to know, to know intimately. The local culture, the small things that any child born there ceases to even think about, yet are totally unknown to the transient observer. Even within our own towns, these places exist. Do we really ever pay attention? We drive, ride, or fly to our various destinations, heedless to the thousands and millions of lives playing out as we pass. The world has become endlessly complicated and yet a simplicity emerges.
But here I sit, isolated from most external sources of stimulus; the artificial lights maintain a steady (save for the occasional flicker), unceasing illumination. My cube does not move, or change, the only difference in its appearance now than from an hour ago is the constantly updating image displayed on my computer screen. The occasional noise from the hall filters in; uncomfortable shoes banging their soles against the dirty tiles, someone washing their coffee mug, perhaps a door closing as an office empties at the end of the day. These are masked and blurred by the ceaseless humming of the grimy air vents, which pump in conditioned air to keep the temperature constant. Occasionally, random forces cause a slightly more forceful push of air, and a welcome draft blows past me. The smells do not change, unless someone burns a bag of popcorn (a frequent occurrence), when a burnt, sweet smell fills the air, and dissipates, to linger eternally in the complex smell of dust, plastic, mildew, and vague smells of people and lunches that soon deadens the sense of smell so that it is no longer noticeable. I do not hate this place, but I grow weary of it.
I must see, I must know. It is this desire which propels me forward. I am drawn by the places yet unseen, the air yet unbreathed, the food yet untasted. The changing skies, the seas, the oceans, the forests, the weather, the cities, the people, the books, the endless sea of knowledge, infinitely absorbable and yet infinitely continuing, rushing past me and every moment both wasted in my failure to comprehend but a tiny portion of it.
We tritely ascribe omniscience as one of God's attributes, vaguely imaging it to be an encyclopedic sort of knowledge. Yet we cannot truly (never fully) appreciate anything like it without realizing how much there is to be known. God set forth a creation and a reality dependent upon Himself, and reality presents us with an incomprehensible torrent of what can be known. (Choices too, the vast majority of which are unconscious and automatic, lest our minds be broken by the sheer unending number of them)
All reality streams from the One self-existent reality, somehow This and yet a Person, a never-ending flow of what is, from the never-ending One who simply, Is.
That this Source of all reality can be mindful of us, can endure our endless pettiness and triviality, and yet love us with a love beyond all that the human race could collectively imagine, could Himself, Who is Meaning, descend to become that for which meaning is derived, and suffer Himself to be slain by -and for the sake of- those whose very existence is utterly and totally dependent upon Him in every infinitesimal unit of time, is beyond all comprehension. What sufficient response can there be but to utterly and totally submit, by whatever free will (real or apparent) is given to us, the whole of our beings to Him Who has done this thing?
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