So Excited!

I am headed out the door to spend the weekend with 13thFLOOR’s UK team in Amsterdam. I am can not wait to see the team and hug all of them to death. I have really missed them because they are in many ways my kids that I have adopted while in South Africa. I am looking forward to hearing all their stories and sharing some of mine as well.

Please be praying for Lourens' visa to get straightened out so he can join us soon.

Over the weekend I will also attend a gathering of artists and friends who are proposing and artistic way of challenging people’s worldviews. I am looking forward to hearing their plans and consider what they are doing. Who knows it may spark something in me.

Have a great weekend, I know I will.

Last Days of Ignorance

Saturday marks the beginning of my 3^rd month of sabbatical and I am not sure that I am quite ready for it to begin.

The first two months of my time off were to be spent without serious contemplation of my future endeavors. It was to be a time of rest, learning, writing and reflection and I have been pretty vigilant about maintaining this boundary even when presented with enticing offers. Now I am anticipating a struggle that I am not looking forward to. Figuring out what this next phase of my life will hold is intimidating. I have no idea how long it will take only that it is a journey I must start. Time is pressing because I cannot remain on sabbatical forever and frankly I think I would have been bored if I were left without some target to aim towards. I think I fear disappointing people, because it is inevitable that someone will come away with that experience, if I do not disappoint myself.

So it begins…soon.

But today I will enjoy the frivolity of suspended choice and the comfort of words on the page. Trying, with minimal effort, to push back the questions seeping into my consciousness.

Prepare for Sinterklaas

Last Night a little girl chased me down, grabbed my hand and shouted “Swarte Piet!”

It was a surreal moment in my life, one that I had been prepped for a few weekends ago when Sinterklaas arrived in Amsterdam after his refreshing annual hiatus in Spain.

Let me back track historically for a moment…

There was this sainted bishop of Mira, Turkey named Saint Nicolaus. He was known for his generosity to children. It is believed that Americans made him into what is known as Saint Nicholas or Santa Claus from the Nordic version Sinterklaas. As time progressed a feast was attributed to him on December 5^th to celebrate his birthday (actually the 6^th but who wants to be such a stickler). He returns a few weeks before his special day to give gifts and make appearances.

Shortly after the tradition first appeared, Sinterklaas’ mystic grew to him championing evil. This triumph was dramatically presented on feast day and men would dress as Sinterklaas and act out his defeat over evil. Evil of course was depicted as - yes you guessed it - a white man in black face. So it became impossible to see one without the other during his tours of the Netherlands. Apparently the work of delivering gifts and keeping track of naughty and nice kids was such a strain to Sinterklaas’ respite in Spain, that his little evil sidekick was morphed into his faithful servant who relieved Sinterklaas of his burdensome life. His sidekick is known as Swarte Piet (Black Pete) who is the predecessor of the elves who work for Santa Claus.

Some decades back when a white man played the role of Swarte Piet, he would put on court jester’s costume, blacken his face, elevate his voice, and take on the demeanor of a hapless child (not making this up people). Swarte Pieten are quite busy going down the chimney to collect the straw children leave in their shoes for Sinterklaas’ horse in exchange for gifts, in addition to keeping track of everyone’s behavior. There was also a time when naughty children were told they would receive a beating with twigs and then taken away in a burlap sack to SinterKlaas’ workshop in Spain. (This may be how Sinterklaas has collected so many Piets).

Today Swarte Pieten (plural) are Sinterklaas’ faithful companions who walk before Sinterklaas’ (who is mounted on a white horse) carrying a burlap sack filled with treats for young children who shout his name. Sometime during the civil rights movement Swarte Piet disappeared but in recent decades has reemerged as the playful chimney sweep (with miraculously clean clothing with a dirtied face) who prepares the way for Sinterklaas and delivers ginger cookies to children on the day they return from Spain in mid-November.

Being at the parade in Amsterdam for Sinterklaas’ arrival was an experience to say the least! Seeing little Dutch children dressed in brightly coloured costumes wearing wigs to cover their blonde curls with coarse black hair was strange. Extreme parents would top this by blackening their child’s face! I think my defense mechanisms kicked in and all I could do was laugh to the point that I could not stop (I could not focus the camera I was laughing so hard). My friends were shocked and embarrassed by the racial overtones but like me did not know what to do with it. What else can you do in the face an indigenous culture norm that rams into your paradigm? Every store you go in has diminutive Swarte Pieten decorating their merchandise and the windows are covered with the blacken faces with red lips and gold hoop earrings that look very much like the performers of the traveling minstrel shows of America in the 1800’s. I do not know where to begin, besides making a joke of the whole thing. (And believe me I did – you can ask Ari Snow about it).

Now back to this moment’s reality….

So knowing all this, when this child ran after me shouting “Swarte Piet,” I froze. How do you tell a smiling six year old cherub-face child that they just insulted you and explain to her the significance of the slight. I asked her where her parents were and she said they were in the overly crowded store (I had a few words in mind for them). So I bent down and told her that I was not a Swarte Piet and not all brown people are Swarte Pieten. She was confused, but excepted this and asked me if I knew where any Swarte Pieten were, I of course told her no, because I was not from her country and there are none where I come from. She shrugged and went off to find her parents.

I am still struggling to figure out what to do with such an experience. It took a night of wrestling just to write about it. Maybe there is a constructive and brilliant answer out there but in that moment all I could come up with was love to this little girl’s innocence while I processing the distain for the reason we met. I doubt she or her parents know the origin of Swarte Piet (no one that my friends and I asked had a clue and were shocked to hear it), so it was not malicious but it was still wrong in my universe (Especially because I have experienced obvious prejudicial treatment in this country as I have in many others including my birthplace). In a world that is shouting relativism above everything, how do you make choices that reflect significance for all mankind at the same time? I guess there are some things that take tremendous thought and foresight to handle. I am willing to enter into it and invite others to do the same.

Sinterklaas pics

Photobucket Album

Baby, It’s Cold Outside!

Went walking around Den Haag today. I waited until the temperature reached a high of 7°C/45°F before venturing outside. That was 15h people! A whopping 2 hours before it gets dark. Did I mention that the sun only comes up after 8h in the morning?

I love walking around the city and observing the great architecture, people and the kids who seem to be impervious to the cold. This will be my first really cold Christmas season this year and it is taking some getting used to. One great thing is that all the Christmas Shopping is outdoors on the market high streets so the streets are all decorated nicely. It is really festive and joyful.

I stopped for a warm drink in a local coffee shop and watched people for a while. I was inspired to write about a man's struggle with the world that is racing around him while he struggles with his aging body to stand. Only a rough sketch but I hope to make it into a short story.

Today the 13thFLOOR team arrives for their show on Friday at the Hilversum International School in Amsterdam. I am excited to see the team and hear about their journey so far as I will spend the weekend in the city with them. We will brave the cold and rain together.

Familiar but different!

Today I rode around some of my old haunts in Den Haag and it was a surreal experience. The last time I was here was with Kelley for some meetings so I did not really have time to go out and visit some of the places that I would spend time visiting when I was here before with Christian Associates.

I went for a ride past one of the squares and came across a restaurant that had amazing BBQ and that says a lot considering I was taken to the place by Texans! I was introduced by my good friends the Strauss’. They were such a large part of my experiences in Den Haag and are some of the most generous and caring people I know. I felt a twinge of sadness knowing that they were no longer live here, and some how it felt wrong to visit the place with out their company, even though I was feeling a bit peckish at the time.

After some errands I made my way through Haagse Bos, the park that holds the Queen’s house. It still holds a magical quality for me as I drink in the luscious greens and moss. I used to stay across the street from this forest and walk its paths daily. It still rejuvenated me as it would then. I love the way the tree canopy hugs itself around you while you are stunned by the emerald green moss that dances across the water ways that twist their way though the park. It is a beauty that I always love to return to. I realize how much I have missed being close to the recreational core of myself and how far from it I have been in recent years due to location, work and lack of optimal situations. Although it was a crashing reality that confronted me, it was a loving nudge from within that I need to restore this again in my life.

I shot down a main street and turned onto Thersiastraat, where I did most of my daily shopping when in town. Most of the shops were still there and a few had changed hands. I received warm welcomes from old friends at the hair salon and the Turkish restaurant. It was funny to hear the variations of my name that they could recall and I am sure they chucked at me as I tried to remember the Dutch that had escaped me. Exchanging stories of our past days since we met last made me realize how much time had escaped me.

My last stop was my old office 249 Bezuidenhoutsweg - for some reason that address is indelible in my memory. I parked the bike and rang the bell for the first time in many years and was let in by a confused Kevin, but soon saw familiar faces that were surprised by my unannounced visit. It was good to see Al and hear about his upcoming wedding to a colleague and meet her for the first time. I got a quick glimpse of Rogier and hope to spend some time with him and his family before I leave the country. The office had been rearranged and redecorated. As I looked around so much was different and changed since I last walked these halls, but then again some things were still the same, like Al’s office and Rogier’s focus.

Today was very nostalgic and sweet. In a way it was a homecoming, a completion of the circle that solidified my love for the European continent. Although it was nice to visit this place again I also know that it is what once was and can not be duplicated. It is always good to be reminded of where you come from and take a peak at the how you have grown and remember what you must take with you in the moment. Otherwise what is meant to be a sweet memory can easily turn sour if we choose to hold tightly to the past.

Obedient Creativity?

Last night I was at a home group of my friends, Andrew and Belinda Perriman where we wrestled with the idea of new creation. What does that mean in the context of the Bible and in life today. Andrew conncected us to the echoing language of creation’s blessings and mandates thoughout Genesis. It seems that God himself has challenged mankind to be blessed, care for the earth, multiply and spread out. In the story of Genesis we see how man failed at this miserably, each time tripping over the need to make a name for itself and defying the blessings of God and in effect inviting the destruction of creations beauty and ongoing process. Each time God would start over and reitterate that promise to mankind through, Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham and though the foresight of Isiah who proclaimed Emmanuel’s coming. The new testement is also rich with the metaphoric language of creation calling us a “new creation” and foretelling of God’s city coming to reside on earth. It was a facinating concept and I am sure that I do it little justice here.

But it got me thinking. What if creatvity is the outcome of obedience? What if being made in His image is mostly reflected in our ability to trust in where He leads us and in that leading it frees us to be creative. Stagnation and hording are the enemies of creativity, because they contain what has already been. Innovation is the outcome of excellence in the basics. You become a virtuoso through hours of practice, most of which is rudementary and basic. As you hone your skills with scales and rhythms, you can take risks that produce something other and beautiful, but only after you have mastered the primary notes. Could there be a lesson in this we could learn about how we lead lives of spirituality individually and corporately. Could this more importantly outflow to rest of the world and stir something innovative, other and valuable?

What if everything boils down to this tenuous relationship between obedience and the divine other being birth in creativity? It might have us hold loosely to that which is now, and eagerly anticipate what is does not yet exsist all based upon how I live in obedience now. Then the past is nothing more than what we can learn from to move forward and not an anchor to hold us back or disqualify, because there is the cahnce for renewal, rebirth, and regeneration that comes forth within the divine spark of creativity.

So I have to ask the question, What if creativity was the ultimate outcome of obedience?

Categorically Baffled

Black, 5’7, INFJ, D/S, 2 who presents as a 4, 90, female, African-American. And the list just goes on and on. Even if I were to offer you the results of every single test I have taken and listed every category or stereotype I could conjure that might label me, you would not claim to know me. So why do we think that we actually can sum up a person’s behavioral motives by smacking a label on people based on our cursory knowledge of some random stereotype or test (that took years to hone mind you)?

It seems to me like just another excuse not to know anyone deeply. Tell me if this is familiar, you share something about yourself that is revealing and the person, smiles knowingly, laughs, then sings out “You must be an F?”Or some other alphabetical stamp. Then this person takes the posture of addressing you as some case study that needs to be solved. In that moment, I am stumped. I think to myself, is that all you have to say? Could you be anymore halting in what could be intimacy? Now I know that these categories are tools to help you understand and relate with others better, but I think we have moved past their intended usefulness onto something that has become pejorative and stereotypical. I have a name and experiences I would like to share with you and enter into a dialog that can lead to a deeper knowing and now I feel stopped dead in my tracks because you think that you know so much about me that you can predict my motives and thoughts. If I refute your armchair diagnosis then I am just acting out some negative manifestation of your prescribed category and what I share is dismissed. It is frustrating!

It seems these test results in popular culture are like any other stereotype. Stereotypes seem to be descriptions used to globally define something so that there is not need for further investigation, explanation or understanding. If a person looks at you and says, “Oh your White and from Orange County so you must be a republican and drive a SUV,” you’d be a little offended wouldn’t you? Even though the statistics may be in favor of such a statement or correct in your case, aren’t you put off because you think that you are more than such a small label?

What if we came back to the core of what these test were designed for, to foster deeper relationship and understanding of the subject, not as a way to objectify and define. If you notice that someone has D traits from the DISC test, wouldn’t it be more inviting to say to the person, I notice that you have strong convictions, do you find it easy to make decisions? And then you wait quietly for the reply. It invites more freedom in the conversation and leaves room for discussion. Just a thought, what do you think?

Meeting Isabella

Zambujal de Baixo, in the hills above Sesimbra was my first wandering destination of my sabbatical. Sesimbra is idyllic in views as it is a peninsular beach town nestled in the heart of a one of Portugal’s national forest. Because it is away from most of well traveled tourist spots you have a chance to peak into the daily lives in Portuguese culture. The people are very friendly and treat each other as a collective family. It was also a challenge because no one spoke more than a few sparse words of English. I became know as “Niña” in town by most of the people at the morning fish and produce markets. I am sure that I was comic relief to most as I crudely communicated in hand motions and Spanish.

On my second trip to town, I decided to walk around the local shops before heading back home. I walked into the local haberdashery to see if they sold knitting needles and handmade yarns. The shopkeeper was on the phone as I came in and greeted her. I could tell that this conversation was especially intense and even though she smiled my way as I entered, she was involved with something that was causing her incredible pain. When I looked into her face I could see her struggling to hold back tears and her voice’s timbre was elevated and constricted. Something was very wrong.

I knew that helping a customer at this point was the last things she needed, especially one that would require extra effort to cross the language barrier. But I could not leave either. I needed to stay there – so I waited until she hung up the phone. As she put the phone down, she turned her back to me and I watched her wipe the small collection of tears from the corners of her eyes. As she prepared herself to face me, I summoned all the Spanish I could recall and made a decision to disregard how lame I might sound with mispronunciations and bad grammar because I really felt I needed to speak with this woman. Eventually, she sighed deeply as her final resignation before donning a plastered smile to face the insistent customer in her store.

I swallowed my shame, immediately took her hand and asked her what was wrong. She paused for a moment and looked at her hand in mine, then looked into my eyes as if she was searching for something. She must have found it because she proceeded to tell me her doctor just told that she has breast cancer and was going to have a double mastectomy. Then the tears came. I thought of a million things I wish I could say to her in that moment, but without a translator my words would offer no comfort, maybe words on my part were never necessary at all. The only thing I could do at that moment was let her cry and allow her emotions wash over me as she spoke words I mostly did not understand. I hugged her, and said that I could not speak Portuguese well, but that my heart was full for her and that I was sorry. She smiled at my childish attempts, and said I no speak English pero I see you heart.

We prayed together and continued our conversation of the heart. In those 30 minutes we were undisturbed and got to know and see each other. It was one of the best conversations that I have had in a long time and we barely used words. When both our tears subsided and were ready to face the outside world again, I told her my name and asked for hers. “Me, Isabella,” she said, then I said in Portuguese, “It was nice to meet you Isabella.”