Category: My Thoughts

Soul Survivor, the latest book by Philip Yancey, is a trbiute to mentors who helped transform his life. The book is so much better than I thought it would be, but I should have known it would be soul searching. I bought it and had Yancey sign it to give to Terry, our Bible teacher, but of course, I had to read it first. 🙂 Here’s a quote from Heni Nouwen, the last mentor discussed. It’s about writing.

Most students think that writing mean writing down ideas, insights, visions. They feel that they must first have something to say before they can put it down on paper. For them writing is little more than recording a pre-existent thought. But with this approach true writing is impossible. Writing is a process in which we discover what lives in us. The writing itself reveals what is alive . . . The deepest satisfaction of writing is precisely that it opens up new spaces within us of which we were not aware before we started to write. To write is to embark on a journey whose final destination we do not know.

(From Reflections on Theological Education by Henri Nouwen)

It was a gold medal he won. Not the Olympic one, mind you, but colored gold anyway hanging on the long ribbon the Korean magistrate put around his neck.

Back in 1972, Dan was a sturdy built, dark-haired man that women found handsome. The kind who never knew jovial flirtatious could mean a harassment case. Not that it would matter to him. Dan thought he was above the law. Motorcycle racing or dirt biking in Korea was an outlet for his risk-taking personality. Just like him. But it didn’t start that way.

“I need a motorcycle to drive back and forth to work.” Dan told his young wife. “You can ride behind me and the two kids between us. It’ll be safe. There are no rules here like in the US. Don’t even need helmets.”

She acquiesced, knowing it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t.

A motorcycle attracts similar motorcycles, and soon the Harley attracted a small group of fellow riders, high-energy military men ready for some excitement. They called themselves the “Dirt Diggers” and had uniforms made with their emblem on them. Tailored clothes in rural Korea cost pennies because so many peasants clamored for the business.

The motorcyclists’ enthusiasm skyrocketed when they found out that Korea had their formal competition racing on the oval flat track. Teams from all over the country competed to go to the finals in Taijon, a little town north near the DMZ zone.

The team entered, traveling from the east to west towns in Korea, near rice patties, grass huts and Buddha temples. Dan’s wife, one of few American woman at the Air Force Base among tens of thousands of GI’s, went along. Unable to go with the motorcyclists because of their two children, she traveled by bus, crowded buses smelling of hot kimchi and bulgogi. At last the day came when the only American team, Dan’s team, made it to the finals. Using military trucks to carry the men and motorcycles, Korean girlfriends, and Dan’s wife and children, the convoy traveled over the mountainous dirt roads toward the dangerous border of North and South Korea. All for a chance to show the Koreans that Americans too, could win a trophy.

They didn’t expect what they found. The stadium was jam-packed with black -aired, dark-eyed people inspecting them. The wall of movement grew. The American team set up camp in the middle of the flat track and suddenly realized there may be more at stake than winning a gold medal.

ps. This is the beginning of a story. A true one.

Did you hear the people cry? The women and children screamed when the enemy came to their houses at 3 a.m. with machetes. Did you hear them? Read about the violence and cry. Then pray. People, pray hard for the evil to be pushed back and for the goodness of the Lord to reign.

Lagos, Nigeria (CNN) — More than 100 people were dead after an attack Sunday on a predominantly Christian group in central Nigeria, officials said. March 7, 2010 5:47 p.m. EST

http://www.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/africa/03/07/nigeria.violence/index.html?eref=igoogle_cnn

I took off my shoes and stepped into the orphanage. Small little black heads surrounded me and tiny faces looked eagerly toward me. Arms reached out and each child begged to be picked up. The Korean babies home in 1972 held one hundred babies up to the age of five.  At six, the children were shipped off to live where they could attend school.

For several months I slept in a room above the children and spent hours with them. All the babies slept on the floor. Some developed boils on their backs from not being turned over.  Others were touched only when a diaper was changed or bottle put into their mouth. Two of the smallest babies were unusually quiet and no one picked the up because they never screamed for attention.

One day measles came to the babies home. A few days later, I entered the room and the two quiet ones were missing. I asked where they had gone. They had died. I was told that when sickness comes, the ones who  have had the least affection die first. Touching and holding are vital to a baby’s survival.

Touch is important to all of us. Remember to touch someone on the shoulder or give them a hug. Let your children feel the warmth of a touch. Jesus knew it was essential, often he touched someone. It is an important way to show  love.

My life is like a little story. It’s fun to see what will come next. This quote is from the first page of the book, i am not but i know I AM by Louie Giglio.

“Life is the tale of two stories–one finite and frail, the other eternal and enduring. The tiny one–the story of us–is as brief as the blink of an eye. Yet somehow our infatuation with our own little story–and our determination to make it as big as we possibly can–blinds us to the massive God Story that surrounds us on every side.”

He also wrote, “I . . . urge you to exchange the starring role in your small story for a supporting role in our God’s epic adventure.”