This trip promises to be the bloodiest ever.

With any luck, none of that blood will be human.

We usually kill a pig. And oh, yeah. A pig will be killed. But this year, we’re also killing a cow.* Okay, okay. I shouldn’t sound so gleeful. I don’t really delight in the suffering of innocent animals, but this is for the kids.

Explain? Okay. Every time I go on one of these trips, I try to do something special for the kids. In Cambodia, I usually take a bunch of the orphans to a water park. In Thailand, we throw a big barbecue party, wherein a large sow invariably meets her delicious, bacony demise.

continue reading on my other blog, which you should bookmark, since I won’t be updating this one for about a month…

Well, it’s that time again.

I leave on Wednesday, and while I’m glad to have a few extra days with the family, I’m also ready to leave. The bags are packed, the itineraries are confirmed and the tentative, plan A* agenda has been reviewed and distributed.

Sometime during team prayer on Sunday I passed the “Why am I doing this? I shouldn’t be leaving my family; Now’s a bad time at work to be MIA for three weeks” phase and entered into the “Okay, let’s do this thing” stage of my trip prep.

Now comes the long goodbye, the days when the kids become just a little sadder, and Kori and I start to steel ourselves emotionally. It’s not that we grow distant, it’s more like we begin to build up our independence in preparation for my stint as tour-guide-missionary-chauffeur-video-producer-photographer-planner-strategist-jungle-gym and her’s as activity-planner-disciplinarian-comforter-single-mom.

As many of you know, I’m not very good at the “waiting around to leave” thing. I’m anywhere from 20 minutes to 2 hours early for everything. Over the next couple of days, I’ll be doing a lot of pacing, a bunch of repacking, a bit of pointless errandry and a fair amount of emailing. Don’t be surprised if you receive a message marked “urgent” demanding that you “Make sure you know for certain where your passport is — I don’t care if you think you know, get up and find it now!” even if you’re not on my travel team.

And, starting now, I’ll be posting on my other blog, and won’t be returning here until August (Please pass that link around — we could use all the prayer we can get).

And then we’ll leave. And we’ll keep you posted. Please keep us all in mind, especially Jamie and Kori, who will be without spouses and co-parents.

And that’s about it. I’ll catch you all on the other side of dawn…

–
*Plan A never actually happens. And I usually give up by plan D or E and just start winging it.

Words can barely express the degree to which I’m geeking out about my newly installed Cambodia and Thailand maps on my Garmin Nuvi 650 GPS.

Thanks to two nights’ worth of hard work from Andy Taylor, we were able to overcome the Garmin’s heavily engineered barriers to the installation of third party maps.

I’m now able to navigate anywhere in either country. I can type in the coordinates for our new orphanage and get turn-by-turn directions to, say, Angkor Wat. A-freaking-mazing.

My iPod? Didn’t change my life — it’s just a walkman that doesn’t require a CD. My GPS? It’s like my cell phone: a paradigmatic, epochal change.

Oh, yeah.

I’m just praying that it works as well in my Toyota Truck in Phnom Penh, Cambodia as it does in my office in Clintonville…

ME: Out of your WHAT?!!

PAK: Out of my AXE. I can shoot things out of my AXE!

ME: Ohhhhh. Your axe…

Don’t feel bad. I haven’t really been reading blogs lately. It’s a wonder you’re here reading mine. Oh, and I haven’t updated my links in, oh, about a year.

And about that cell phone of mine? I never check messages.

Anyway, I just discovered another notable blog that I never knew existed: Breakfast with Nick. For some reason, my friend Nick has a blog that is, apparently, completely about breakfast.

Like breakfast? You’ll love the blog. Hate breakfast? You’re outta luck, pal.

Read the last line. Then read the headline. Then read the last line.

WhaaHUHH?

Boy Decapitated by Batman Ride at Georgia Six Flags
Saturday , June 28, 2008

A boy visiting Six Flags Over Georgia in Austell with a church group was decapitated Saturday after he tried to grab someone’s foot while on the Batman ride, MyFOXAtlanta.com reported.

The incident happened shortly after 2 p.m. when a group of the boys jumped a fence and entered an area that was marked off limits, the station reported.

Investigators did not release the boy’s name, age or the church group he was traveling with.

It isn’t clear whether the boy died at the scene or was alive for a time after the incident.

As reported on Fox News

Bath boys 04

Originally uploaded by John McCollum

I found this hilarious picture I took back in October 04. Good times.

I’m bringing this conversation over from Facebook (where I’ve been reposting my recent thoughts on patriotism and America), which doesn’t allow me to post super-long comments.

From Jake:

I think that there is a distinct American culture in the same way that there is a distinct culture in any other country. However, one does not have to practice this culture or be akin to it in order to be an American. Another interesting thing to think about is that the United States, being such a geographically large country, has many different cultures in different regions and I think that makes it a much more interesting place. That being said I believe there is a common cultural thread throughout the country as a whole and it cannot necessarily be explained with words. Things as simple as certain names (John vs. Barack),certain foods, music, forms of communication etc. are all small pieces of this. It is, in the same way as every other culture, something that lives within a person and becomes a part of them. it is something that I personally find remarkable and one of the most exciting nuances of human life.

From Me:

Jake, thanks for the comment.

I’m not disputing the existence of a loosely-held, but identifiable set of values that are expressed by the dominant culture. I am, however questioning how that set is formulated, who gets to make the rules and whether or not we’ve got it right.

I’d like to challenge your thinking about the similarities between the formation of an “American culture” and that of “every other country.”

Unlike many of the other countries of the world, there is no “American” ethnicity. No one (save a few native Americans who have managed to survive the genocide) can trace their bloodlines back to this soil.

In Cambodia, where I spend a lot of time, the “true” Cambodians are those who are of Khmer ethnicity, have Khmer names, speak natively no other language but Khmer, have no other evidence of mixed blood or mixed culture. The ethnic minorities – even the ones whose families have lived in the country for more than a century – are still considered second-class citizens.

To a certain extent, it’s like that in some European countries. To be “Dutch” or “Swiss” means a certain thing. An Algerian family can move to Switzerland, I would suppose, and even their grandchildren would not be considered “real Swiss.”

America is, or should be, different. We are a nation of immigrants. John Smith’s name is no more American than Juan Valdez’. The problem that those of us who don’t identify with any other ethnic origin is that we often feel threatened by “Hyphenated Americans.”

That, however, is a function of what is often called “White Privilege,” which is, in simple terms, the privilege that allows those of us who occupy the dominant position in society to see ourselves as the norm and everyone else as aberrant or foreign or ‘ethnic’ or ‘exotic.’

So, when I hear people saying things like, “Why does he have to identify as African-American or Chinese-American or Mexican-American or Asian or Hispanic or Black – why can’t we all just be Americans?” or “Why do we have to have Black History month? Why can’t we just celebrate American History?” I now recognize that the person speaking has swallowed the lie that those of us with Irish or Welsh or English sounding names never really came from anywhere, and that we’re the real Americans, living the way all real Americans should live, and that our culture and history should be viewed as the norm to the exclusion of all other cultures and experience that are no more or less foreign than my own.

Sure, America could identify itself as having a monoculture, a homogenous melting pot, where everyone comes and gets assimilated into the dominant society’s expectations and preferred expressions. There are a lot of people who think that way. I, however, think that such an identification makes our country less strong, less vibrant and less free.

God, why do you stand so far off?

Boasting and lustful, the wicked are hot on the trail of the poor. Trip them up, tangle them up in their fine-tuned plots. The wicked are windbags, the swindlers’ breath smells like death. The wicked snub God, their noses stuck high in the air. Their graffiti are scrawled on the walls: “Catch us if you can!” “God is dead.”

They care nothing for what you think; if you get in their way, they blow you off. They live (they think) a charmed life: “We can’t go wrong. This is our lucky year!” They carry a mouthful of hexes, their tongues spit venom like adders. They hide behind ordinary people, then pounce on their victims.

They mark the luckless, then wait like a hunter in a blind; when the poor wretch wanders too close, they stab him in the back. The hapless fool is kicked to the ground, the unlucky victim is brutally axed. He thinks God has dumped him, he’s sure that God is indifferent to his plight.

Time to get up, God—get moving. The luckless think they’re Godforsaken. They wonder why the wicked scorn God and get away with it, why the wicked are so cocksure they’ll never come up for audit.

But you know all about it— the contempt, the abuse. I dare to believe that the luckless will get lucky someday in you. You won’t let them down: orphans won’t be orphans forever.

Break the wicked right arms, break all the evil left arms. Search and destroy every sign of crime. God’s grace and order wins; godlessness loses.

The victim’s faint pulse picks up; the hearts of the hopeless pump red blood as you put your ear to their lips.

Orphans get parents, the homeless get homes. The reign of terror is over, the rule of the gang lords is ended.

In my recent post “To Love One’s Country,” I questioned the value of patriotism. Having read the thoughtful responses on this and other blogs, a new and perhaps more important question emerges: What is America? Or to put it another way, what constitutes American-ness?

Unless we answer this question, the inherently abstract notion of patriotism veers even further into irrelevance. If, for instance, I can’t define what I mean by “America” or “American,” the terms concepts like pro- or anti-Americanism or patriotism are neither useful nor honest.

So, is “American” simply a legal definition based on citizenship? Is it founded on a specific political ideal? Are certain ethnic or religious groups inherently more or less American? Are certain activities, interests or pursuits more American than others? Is there an American culture? If so, what are its defining characteristics?

When my wife and I adopted our oldest son from Vietnam, one family member expressed dismay that we were going to “keep” his name, Chien. “Well, why don’t you want him to go by an American name?” this person asked. I responded, “Who says ‘Chien’ isn’t an American name?” “You know what I mean,” the person answered. Yeah. I’m pretty much sure I knew what he meant.

Not long ago, I had a discussion with a friend who said, “I just think it’s going to be difficult for people to vote for Barack Obama – maybe if he had a more American name…” Unless my friend was thinking of something like Pocahantas or Sacagawea, I’m not sure I can think of any name that is more American than “Barack Hussein Obama.” Is “John McCain” a more American name than “Trinh Van Nguyen?”

If so, why? Discuss.

Last year I overheard someone complaining about the proliferation of businesses in Columbus with signs in Arabic, in Spanish, in Somali. “C’mon, people. This is America, not Mogadishu!” Wanna know where this conversation took place? P.K. O’Ryan’s, an Irish pub (if the irony’s not apparent, you might want to take a moment to think before reading any more of this post).

I know no one who explicitly endorses the Aryan Nation conception of America, that is, “America is the rightful Fatherland of the white, European men who built this country. Other races, ethnicities and cultures are a cancer that must be contained and eventually excised for the health of the white race and its homeland.” To advocate this ‘extreme’ position would be political suicide. To exploit the milder form of anglocentric Americanism that courses bloodlike through the hearts and minds of millions of white Americans, on the other hand, is a sure-bet recipe for electoral success.

I, for one, accept a different conceptualization of what it makes this country great, what makes it different, what makes it “America:”

The country I love believes that all men – regardless of color, creed or ethnic extraction – have been created equal.

The country I love believes that no ruler, no party, no corporation and no administration is above the law.

The country I love embraces immigrants and immigration and accepts that to be American is to recognize the value of the cultural contributions of others. That country still stands, arms outstretched to the world and says, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free…”

The country I love values dissent as the most sacred form of political participation, and does not accept as morally right that which advances the cause of “Americans” at the expense of the rest of the world.

This framework judges false – even un-American – the notion that Barack, Abdi and Xiudan  are “less American” names than “Bobby, Andrew and Sarah.” It renders unpatriotic any calls to stifle internal criticism of the nation’s foreign or domestic policies, and calls “bullshit” once and for all on all un-American, McCarthyistic demands for immigrants, dissidents, misfits and independent-thinkers to produce patriotic credentials or demonstrate symbolic acts of allegiance.

By these measures, I’m a far cry more patriotic than some of the people I’ve seen waving flags. As a matter of fact, if more Americans were willing to stand up for the kind of American values I’ve described our world would be a hell of a lot safer, our political discourse more civil and constructive.

Heck, I might just don a flag pin myself.

Unfortunately, that America has never really existed, except in theory. Neither have any of the other “Americas” that are frequently imagined. This having been said, I believe in those values not only because they coincide with many of my religious convictions, but because I do think that there is something unique, something “American” about the formulations of those values, those goals for a modern state.

As we approach this upcoming election, I urge all of you to join me in urging members of both parties to reject jingoism and anglocentrism and to embrace with righteous, patriotic fervor the higher, broader and nobler ideals that embody the true promise of American goodness.

When I grow up, maybe I’ll learn to say “no” to things that fall outside my talents, skills and giftings.

I know for a fact that God has not equipped me to be a travel agent. I shall never again be the one responsible for flight plans, fund collections or any of those kinds of details related to a missions trip. I’m just not good at it.

Maybe then I’ll be able to take a team to Cambodia without migraines, acid surges or panic attacks.

You’d think I’da learned this by now.

To Love One’s Country

also entitled “The Post That Erased Any Chance I Ever Had At Being Elected To Public Office.”

I’ve tried — and will continue to try — to avoid taking sides during this political season, but damn, ain’t it hard when the shiz starts to fly? At any rate, the political status I’m shooting for is “engaged but not aligned.”

I’ve noted with interest and not a small amount of consternation this election cycle’s focus on “loving America,” and I’m interested in exploring what it means to love one’s country, and whether or not it’s important to do so.

Michelle Obama said something like, “For the first time in my adult life, I’m really proud of my country,” and the pundits and bloggers reacted as if she said, “For the first time in my adult life, I survived a 24 hour period without sacrificing a toddler on the altar of Baal.”*

Barack Obama’s newest campaign commercial, entitled “The Country I Love” seems to be crafted as a point-by-point refutation of the argument that the presumptive Democratic Party nominee for president is an America-hating, flag-pin-eschewing, pledge-defiling, terrorist-fist-jabber.

First, I just want to say that I really do think that there is a double standard when it comes to evaluating what constitutes anti-American perceptions or actions. The far right in our country (and probably in every other country) has very effectively crafted the perception that support for nationalistic militarism and ethnocentric exceptionalism are the primary means for demonstrating one’s love for the Fatherland.

Thus, a pastor who says “God is judging this country because of its economic and military injustices” is immediately and effectively labeled “an America-hater,” but a white pastor who says, “God is judging this country because of its sexual immorality” is regarded — at worst — as being moralistic and outdated. In both cases, the pastor “hates” the nation’s moral record. In only one case does the accusation that the man “hates America” stick. Likewise, people who oppose the country’s drift toward secularism at sexual tolerance may still be considered “good, patriotic Americans,” but those who oppose the nation’s march toward imperialism are somehow seen as exhibiting civic deficiencies.

My friends on the far right would probably acknowledge that this double standard exists, but they would probably see it less as a misjudgment and more as a confirmation that liberals do indeed hate America.

And you see, this is where I get into really deep trouble with my friends of all political stripes, and I effectively disqualify myself from ever winning 51% of anyone’s votes for anything. Double-standard aside, I’m not really sure I see “loving my country” as being particularly high on my list of moral imperatives. Don’t get me wrong — I do love my country — I just don’t think that patriotism is necessarily one of the higher virtues, or that lack of willingness to go to great deals to demonstrate one’s patriotism is an indication of one’s suitability for good citizenship, or even good leadership.

I could make my argument from a secular standpoint, but I’m more interested in exploring the scriptural aspects, since “God and Country” are so often linked in this discourse, particularly among us evangelicals.

In the scriptures, I’m commanded to love a lot of things: my God, my neighbor, my wife, my enemy…I’m never commanded to love my country. In fact, if “loving my country” means that I demonstrate preference to someone based on their ethnicity, their nationality or, for instance, their loyalty to America’s foreign policies, I think I’ve pretty much undermined a very important aspect of Jesus’ mission on this earth — to make his temple a “house of prayer for all nations” and ours, to “make disciples of all nations.” And when I’m willing to value American lives over, say, Iranian lives or when I’m willing to promote America’s economic interests over the interests of the world’s poor simply because I’m American I may actually demonstrate my infidelity to the only Kingdom worthy of my allegiance.

I guess I’m grappling with what it means to “love my country.” I do recognize that being born American, much like being born white, has afforded me many opportunities that I didn’t earn, and that I don’t deserve. I am grateful to God for all of those opportunities. But I also am deeply conflicted about what those opportunities and privileges require of me, and what blind spots they provoke, and I think that promises of allegiance and demonstrations of fealty to any temporary, earthly kingdom creates an untenable level of moral debt to a creditor by whose terms I cannot abide.

I don’t know exactly where this is going, but it’s a theme I’ll probably revisit over the next few months. I’d be happy to discuss my thoughts on these issues in person or on the blog. Perhaps I should lead the discussion with a few questions:

1) Is it important for a Christian to love his country?

2) Is patriotism a good thing? A bad thing? Both? Neither?

3) Have you ever felt pressured to express patriotism at work, at church or in your family?

4) Should Christians say the Pledge of Allegiance?

5) Is it right for Chinese or Canadian or French Christians to express their patriotism?

6) Would this image bother you more if it was the Chinese or Iranian or French flag? What does this even mean?

*Yet today, I watched a video in which John McCain said, (and I paraphrase) “It wasn’t until I was captured in Vietnam that I really loved my country.” I wonder if he’ll get the same amount of flak (no pun intended).

—

Followup post here.

Cambodia tickets
Our ticket situation has been resolved acceptably, but not optimally. We’re leaving two days later (knocking two days off of our trip), but we’re leaving. Unfortunately, that means Chris Kay can’t come with us, since he was already taking a shorter trip, and decided wisely that he should just wait until he can spend a longer time in-country. That kind of sucks.

Quick to anger, quick to speak, slow to listen
I’ve done a pretty lousy job this week of controlling my temper. No tsunamis of rage, just a bunch of little pop-up storms. I could blame the objects of my wrath and say they’re nasty and bad — no, I really could, because they’re really infuriating — but that’d be counter productive. But damn, some people are really nasty. And bad.

The best beer in the world
I had the opportunity to do some hard work this weekend with a few friends from church, and it was a blast. The best beer in the world? The one you have with friends after you’ve busted your collective hump for a couple of days.

Heavy clouds, but no rain
Lots of proposals, no checks.

Like an American Bobby Fischer
Chien’s kicking it hard at chess camp. He’s in his fourth straight 8-hour day of knight sacrifices and Grünfeld Defences, and I don’t think I will ever win another move against him, much less another match. If you play chess, please come over and beat my child. And then defeat him in chess. I think he’s one of the only kids at the camp who isn’t nationally ranked. And he’s doing okay as far as I can tell. We’ll see — tomorrow’s the tournament.

Popping. And locking.
Having invested a week (see previous paragraph) in reinforcing Asian stereotypes, we’re going to spend a little time confounding the Elmers. The boys (boyz?) have their first breakdancing class. Which is pretty much hilarious.

Full House
My parents and my little sister are visiting from Florida and will be staying at our house. 8 people in our little place? No problem. You should see how we roll in ‘Bodia.

Muntjacs!
I’m really looking forward to seeing the Meat Sacks tonight at 8pm at the Shanahan’s Irish Flea Market and Taxidermy Hut on Indianola. As I understand it, Froot Snacks is some sort of all-male revue featuring Nick “The Stick” Dekker, Karl “Lagerfeld” Boettcher, Andy “the Manhandler” Anderson and Ryan “The Ryan” Hoke. To be honest, I can’t say with confidence that there will be nudity, but there will almost certainly be penguins.

Don’t be afraid, America

Please pray for me. And for Toby, Libby, Kristie, Jim, Bethany, Kileen and Chris. We’ve fallen victim to the world oil crisis, which is hitting the airline industry hardest of all.

The “Asia” portion of our upcoming flight to, well, Asia, got cancelled. Under the best case (that I can currently see), we’ll miss a couple of days of our trip. Worst case? Who knows. I suppose there’s a chance that we might, well, I don’t want to consider that right now.

The fact that all of this is completely out of my control makes me feel only slightly better. Each of the trip participants has sacrificed financially, emotionally and logistically to spend a couple weeks helping our staff and showing God’s love to our children. Please pray that we can get this worked out.

I’m not really trying to be humorous here, but it is a bit funny.

I guess.

Just the other day someone said to me, “Wow, you must have a lot of faith.” Off the cuff, I answered, “No, I think I just have a really strong denial reflex.”

And it’s true: most of the time I can’t tell whether or not I’ve got a lot of faith, or I’m just really good at passing quickly via “de longest river in the world” from the “I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!” phase into the “Okay, this is all going to work out…” phase of crisis management.

I’m not sure that, in the moment, I can really tell. I do know, however, that however faithless I’ve been, God continues to be faithful to me and to my family.

I’ve already had my “Kill me now, because my life is over” moment, and I am, rather inexplicably, at peace. I’ll take that.

Beauty 1

Originally uploaded by John McCollum

Happy Birthday to the most beautiful little girl in the world. No, I’m not at all biased. Yes. Your daughter is also beautiful, a close second.

I can’t wait for the moment in an upcoming debate when John McCain says to Barack Obama, “Senator, I served with Abe Lincoln: I knew Abe Lincoln; Abe Lincoln was a friend of mine. Senator, you’re no Abraham Lincoln.”

We watched some of the political coverage as a family last night. My exchange between any of the pundits?

Chien (watching McCain): What is wrong with his NECK?!
Kori: He’s just old, honey.

Q: So, what’s up?

Not even sure where to start. So, I’ll just start with the bike.

We got a tandem bicycle.

It’s a 60s era Schwinn Twin. It’s blue, and it looks just like the one Amanda Anderson’s parents used to ride around the neighborhood. Okay, it is the one Amanda Anderson’s parents used to ride around the neighborhood.

Kori rode about one block on it and had just about enough (”I can’t see anything. You don’t ride in a straight line. I’m going to die.”) The boys, however, love it. I’ve taken them out — one at a time, of course — three nights in a row. It is apparently quite difficult to avoid smiling at the sight of us on our Schwinn. I’m sure it’s because we’re devastatingly handsome men and has nothing to do with looking ridiculous.

Our boys are no longer enrolled at Worthington Christian

This is a way bigger deal for our family than I can adequately express. I graduated from WCS. Kori graduated from WCS. My older brother and older sister graduated from WCS. My younger sister and niece and nephew attended WCS. My mom worked at the school for, what, 18 years?

Our boys had a uniformly wonderful experience with the school, and we all made many wonderful friends. But for a number of reasons, it was time for us to leave. We’re now free to pursue intentional and authentic relationships with families in our immediate neighborhood. We’re free from the emotional drain provoked by months of drama and scandal, and we’re free to pursue the next chapter in our lives.

To call our parting “bittersweet” would be an oversimplification, but it will have to do for now. Our last day was Friday, and it was tough for all of us, especially for Kori and for Pak.

Chien celebrated his new freedoms by getting his ears pierced. I wanted to celebrate by burning a stack of ugly school uniforms, but Kori informed me that we might be able to make some dough by selling them back to a used-uniform store. Okay, but I may burn the in effigy if I can figure out how to do that.

Our money is at work in Burma

I can’t say too much at this point, but I can tell you that lives have been saved by the money we raised for relief in Burma. I can also tell you that Jesus’ name is being praised as our brothers and sisters reach out in love, their efforts augmented by the sacrificial gifts of my friends in the U.S., especially those at Central Vineyard, who came through big-time for the Burma initiative.

I’m kind of freaking out

I can hardly believe that my next trip to Asia is less than five weeks away. Neither can my family, my clients and my co-workers. 

I’m gaining new ground and new energy

Things are going well at Element — the team is productive and happy, and we’re getting lots of new opportunities to pitch exciting projects. We’re also hearing very nice things about ourselves. Our work is winning awards, appearing in exhibits, publications and books and we’ve suddenly turned some sort of a corner in the “design world” in Columbus. It’s as if someone called all of the heavy hitters — the designers and principals at other firms — and said, “Hey. You really ought to call Element and tell them that you really like their work. And let them know that if they ever have any openings, you’d love to submit a resumé.” Really, it’s been flattering and encouraging and a bit mystifying.

I’ve also had some amazing conversations that have given me new hope about my future at Element. In short, I want to move toward more of a “Jack Hannah” role at Element — a director emeritus, or a Chief Charitable Officer — so I can spend more time doing Asia’s Hope stuff. Until recently, I had no real ideas about how to make that work. That’s changing. More, of course, on that later.

I’m passing the torch

It’s kind of official: I’m no longer leading the Northridge Home group. We’re still hosting, and I’m still dominating the conversation on occasion (huge surprise, I know), but Andy Taylor is moving into the leadership role, and Brian Estabrook is leading worship. Which means, in theory, that all I have to do is show up and make the tea. It also means, in theory, that I’ll have more time to do other things.

I’m enjoying the kids

One of the other things I’ll be spending my time on is helping to foster a fun, supportive and welcoming community for the 4th, 5th and 6th graders in the church. Erika Crawford is heading up efforts to retool the kids ministry at church. She’s Captain Steubing. I’m Julie, the activities director. Our first of four events, the Bigger or Better Hunt, went well. The kids had a blast. I was stressed the hell out, but no one got lost or injured, and I think some new friendships were formed. Our next event, a community-wide scavenger hunt, comes up in a couple of weeks. It too will be stressful, but fun.

I’m avoiding the fray

Well, mostly. I gotta tell you, this political environment is toxic for me. It’s very tempting for me to jump in to the muck and start pullin’ hair and gougin’ eyes. But I’m doing my best to be a peacemaker, someone who is engaged but not aligned. There are enough people out there who can and will make forceful arguments for or agin’ one candidate or the other; as a leader in a politically diverse church, a business owner with a wide variety of clients and a representative of a socially and theologically heterogenous non-profit organization, I can’t afford to become a partisan, alienating approximately 50% of the people with whom I must work and to whom I must minister.

That having been said, most of my friends and family members know that I’m a political mutt, somewhat of a rebel, self-contradictory at best, irrationally unstable at worst. I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’m going to try to stick with the issue that I’ve been called by God to address: God’s care for the fatherless and the widow, the immigrant and the poor. I think that all of us can find some degree of agreement on that one.

I’m tired

Yeah. It’s a quarter ’til one in the morning. I have a busy day tomorrow. I can’t exactly sleep right now. Too much on my mind. But I can’t really write any more either. Perhaps tomorrow. Good night.

Amy and Jenna

Originally uploaded by John McCollum

Jenna and Amy in Patrick and Erika’s kitchen.

Drive through

Originally uploaded by John McCollum

Xiu Dan running the “McDonalds” at the Columbus Public Library.

Noted without comment: God Loves My Country

“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction” — Blaise Pascal

Parent, to child: Your use of the word ‘masturbating’ was impressive, albeit imprecise. What your brother was doing is ‘exhibitionism,’ not ‘masturbation.’

These teenage years are going to be, um, interesting.

I read with sadness the news last night that musican and adoption advocate Steven Curtis Chapman lost his 5 year old daughter, adopted as an infant from China, in a tragic auto accident involving his teenage son.

I thought of my own children and of the loss to my family, my church and to the world at large if one of them died today. What joys would we all forfeit if this afternoon I found that I had already kissed Chien goodbye for the last time? What permanent deficit would be introduced into my life if his brilliant mind was extinguished in an instant? Or if Pak’s compassionate heart was suddenly stilled? Or Xiu Dan’s songs forever quieted?

What if Kathleen had been more seriously ill, and despite the fervent prayers of family and friends, Jeff and Adrienne’s beloved daughter had never risen from her hospital bed? What if it was your child?

Our hearts race and stomachs plunge at the thought of any one of these precious kids succumbing to a grave illness or appalling accident — the injustice, the loss to our world seems to great to even contemplate. Our hearts and minds and bodies recoil in horror at the the notion.

Yet day after day after God damned day children do die. They die in Ethiopian villages, in American hospitals, in Burmese rice paddies, in Cambodian slums, in Tennessean driveways, each child precious to God and treasured by a parent, a sibling, a friend.

All of this brings me to an impasse, blocked by what may be the greatest paradox in all of Christianity:

We are all like grass, as dust, a vapor that appears and is gone.

We are all of inestimable value, dearly loved children, eternally valued and known by God.

These two seemly incompatible truths are held together in awful tension by faith. And that faith must be a gift. It cannot be willed into existence; it would become tokenistic pat-answerism. The likelihood of arriving at the conclusion that “God is good and loves the world” apart from a direct revelation seems frighteningly slim.

As Holocaust survivor Elie Weisel said, “Anything you say you believe about God, you must be able to say standing over a pit of burning babies.”

Last night, as I was flipping through the channels, I heard a haggard, wan George Michael sing these words:

The rich declare themselves poor
And most of us are not sure
If we have too much
But well take our chances
Because God stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere along the way
He must have let us all out to play
Turned his back and all gods children
Crept out the back door

So you scream from behind your door
Say whats mine is mine and not yours
I may have too much
But I’ll take my chances
Because God stopped keeping score
And you cling to the things
They sold you
Did you cover your eyes when
They told you
That he can’t come back
Because he has no children
To come back for

And its hard to love,
Theres so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say its much too late
Well maybe we should all be
Praying for time

Somehow through the cheesy lights and pop-star glam, Mr. Michael struck a chord.

Today, I’m just praying for time. I’m praying that I have another day to play with my kids, to love my wife. I’m praying that they’ll be safe and happy when I get home from work today. I’m praying that the people in Burma can hang on just one more day while the nations of the world and charitable organizations large and small strive to reach them with medicine and clean water.

Even so, Lord Jesus, quickly come.

Eben

Originally uploaded by John McCollum

Thank you, Eben, Adam, Brian, Tyler, Heather and all who made the Asia’s Hope fundraiser at Starbucks on Saturday night a huge success.

The youth turned out in force, and raised about $500. Asia’s Hope is truly becoming a multi-generational, multi-national, multi-denominational grass-roots effort.

I thank God for all of you.

Looking to carry your xenophobia, racism, patriotism and warmongering in one convenient package? You can. Just look for the box marked “Full-Blooded American.”

Check out this noxious article by Kathleen Parker that ran in syndication nationwide (emphases mine):

“Full-Blooded American.”

That’s how 24-year-old Josh Fry of West Virginia described his preference for Sen. John McCain over Sen. Barack Obama. His feelings aren’t racist, he explained. He would just be more comfortable with “someone who is a full-blooded American as president.” Whether Mr. Fry was referring to Mr. McCain’s military service or Mr. Obama’s Kenyan father isn’t clear, but he may have hit upon something essential in this presidential race.

Full-bloodedness is an old coin that’s gaining currency in the new American realm. Meaning: Politics may no longer be so much about race and gender as about heritage, core values and made-in-America. Just as we once had and still have a cultural divide in this country, we now have a patriot divide.

Who “gets” America? And who doesn’t?

The answer has nothing to do with a flag lapel pin, which Mr. Obama donned for a campaign swing through West Virginia, or even military service, though that helps. It’s also not about flagpoles in front yards or magnetic ribbons stuck on tailgates.

It’s about blood equity, heritage and commitment to hard-won American values. And roots.

Some run deeper than others, and therein lies the truth of Mr. Fry’s political sense. In a country that is rapidly changing demographically - and where new neighbors may have arrived last year, not last century - there is a very real sense that once-upon-a-time America is getting lost in the dash to diversity.

We love to boast that we are a nation of immigrants - and we are. But there’s a different sense of America among those who trace their bloodlines back through generations of sacrifice.

Meanwhile, immigration trends have shifted drastically in the past 40 years, as growing percentages of Americans are foreign-born. In 1970, just 4.7 percent of the total population was foreign-born - 9.6 million people. By 2000, 11.1 percent, or 31.1 million individuals, were foreign-born, according to the Census.

Contributing to the growing unease among yesterday’s Americans is the failure of the federal government to deal with the illegal immigration fiasco. It isn’t necessarily racist or nativist to worry about what these new demographics mean to the larger American story.

Yet, white Americans primarily - and Southerners, rural and small-town folks especially - have been put on the defensive for their throwback concerns with “guns, God and gays,” as Howard Dean put it in 2003. And more recently, for clinging to “guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them,” as Mr. Obama described white, working-class Pennsylvanians who preferred his opponent.

The “guns, God and gays” trope has haunted Democrats, and Republicans have enjoyed dusting it off when needed to rile the locals. It’s an easy play.

But so-called ordinary Americans aren’t so easily manipulated, and they don’t need interpreters. They can spot a poser a mile off, and they have a hound’s nose for snootiness. They’ve got no truck with people who condescend or tolerance for that down-the-nose glance from people who don’t know the things they know.

What they know is that their forefathers fought and died for an America that has worked pretty well for more than 200 years. What they sense is that their heritage is being swept under the carpet while multiculturalism becomes the new national narrative. And they fear what else might get lost in the remodeling of America.

Republicans more than Democrats seem to get this, though Sen. Hillary Clinton has figured it out. And, the truth is, Mrs. Clinton’s own DNA is cobbled with many of the same values that rural and small-town Americans cling to.

She understands viscerally what Mr. Obama has to study.

That God, for instance, isn’t something that comes and goes out of fashion. That clinging to religion isn’t a knee-jerk response to nativist paranoia but is the hard work of constant faith.

Likewise, clinging to guns isn’t some weird obsession so that Bubba can hang Bambi’s head over the mantel. To many gun owners, it’s a constitutional bulwark against government tyranny. As Condoleezza Rice has noted, it wasn’t long ago in this country that blacks needed guns to protect themselves when the police would not.

Some Americans do feel antipathy toward “people who aren’t like them,” but that antipathy isn’t about racial or ethnic differences. It is not necessary to repair antipathy appropriately directed toward people who disregard the laws of the land and who dismiss the struggles that resulted in their creation.

Full-blooded Americans get this. Those who hope to lead the nation better get it soon.

There are so many things wrong with this article, I don’t even know where to begin. I can only hope that this election will begin to expose the deep seated racism that defines much of what passes — and has always passed — for patriotism.

Last Sunday, Central Vineyard collected a special offering — more than $8,000 — to provide relief to Burmese victims of Cyclone Nargis.

That money has been sent to Asia’s Hope in Wooster, and will be wired to our account in Thailand early this week.

International relief shipments are still being stalled, but we have unique, direct access through our Thai and Burmese contacts.

Members of our staff will be entering Burma next week to purchase medicine and emergency relief supplies to distribute to a network of Christian churches near Yangon, thus allowing our Christian brothers and sisters to give generously in the name of Jesus.

We know that the amount of aid we’ll be able to purchase is unequal to the need, but we trust God to multiply our efforts and to bless Burmese churches as they work to engage the suffering of their friends and neighbors. We’re also trusting God to provide more money for this effort.

I have received photos and messages from some of our contacts working currently in Burma. For security reasons, I can’t post them, but I can assure you that the situation on the ground is every bit as terrible as it has been portrayed in the media. Corpses are floating in the rivers, fouling much-needed water supplies. Men, women and children are dying from starvation, communicable diseases and untreated injuries.

We will be documenting our efforts in Burma and taking photos. I will not be able to distribute them electronically, but I will share them with you in person, and perhaps in church. I’ll update with blog posts as often as I can. We will probably not hear back from our contacts for at least a week, as they will be deep in the country with unreliable, non-secure email access.

Please contact me at john@elementville.com if you have any specific questions or if you know of anyone who is willing to support these efforts.

About 8 years ago, on my first trip to Cambodia, I visited the Killing Fields. Like all “tourist attractions” in that country, the place was nearly overrun by beggars. The dozens of street children, filthy and half-starved, were not allowed to enter the actual grave sites, so they congregated under the trees near the exit, mobbing depressed and sweaty Westerners, most of whom struggled to get back into their waiting taxis without having to make physical contact with the unwashed masses.

I kept a bag of Jolly Ranchers in my backpack for such situations; I figured a few crunches of sugar wouldn’t save anyone’s life, but a piece of candy always leaves ‘em smiling. I spent a couple of quiet, yet emotionally turbulent hours examining the mass graves, running my fingers over the teeth and bone fragments that wash up out of the dirt every time it rains, tugging at the scraps of bloodstained cloth sticking out of the mud. By the time I reached the gravel parking lot, I was already spent.

I was unprepared for the sheer numbers of beggar children, for their suffocating warmth, their sweat, their grime, their grasping hands. “Please, mister! Something to eat!” they clamored.

“Okay, okay…” I said, forcing a smile as I removed my backpack and reached for the bag of candy. When I pulled it out, I was almost knocked off my feet by the surge of kids. “Hey, hey, HEY!” I shouted. “One at a time!” I handed out the candies, trying to keep track of which kids took one, working (largely unsuccessfully) to make sure that no one got more than their share and that there was enough to go around.

After a minute or two, the candy was gone, but the hands were still grasping, the faces and the pleas of the tiny children who had missed out grew more anxious. Eureka! I had cough drops. I shooed away the kids who I knew had already taken some, and gave away my very last pieces. I checked to see if I had any gum or anything else I could possibly give away. No dice. As I turned my pockets inside-out in an attempt to prove that I wasn’t hiding anything, I heard a small child crying. I hadn’t even noticed him before, he was so tiny. His head stuck out from between the legs of an older child, tears streamed down his face. He lunged forward and grabbed onto my shirt and tugged hard. He pressed his hands together as if in prayer, and then put his hands together to beg for the one last piece of candy that I didn’t have.

Feeling immensely jetlagged, depressed, frustrated and guilty, I completely lost it. Hiding my face, I ducked into the car and began to weep bitterly, my face buried in my backpack, t-shirt pulled up over my head. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” I wondered. What a pathetic response I had offered. These kids needed food and medicine and shelter. I brought them three dollars worth of candy — not even enough for each child to have one piece.

Today, I feel very much the same. Having spent the last two weeks trying to wrap my mind around the extent of the unmet needs even among our existing ministry partners and the kids in their care, I feel completely overwhelmed, under-resourced and outmatched. I believe, however, that this sense of helplessness is fertile soil for a powerful work of God. So, (now that I’ve confused things with an agricultural metaphor) I’ll wait, as James says “for the early and late rains, as the farmer waits for his land to yield its valuable crop.”

Hey!

If you have a digital camera (compact flash or sd) in good condition (with charger/cables, etc) that you don’t need anymore, can you let me know? I’m donating one, and trying to send Savorn and Tutu back with 5 or 6 cameras so that each orphanage can have at least one to document day-to-day activities.

Like everything else we do, it’s “beg, borrow or steal” for Asia’s Hope. Not so much on the stealing.

They’ll be here ’til Thursday morning. Please contact me john@elementville.com if you can help.

Thanks!

Sourm or-kun cheran (Thank you very much) to all of you who have made Savorn, Asia’s Hope’s Cambodia director and Tutu Bee, our Thailand director feel welcome this weekend.

Thanks to the Paxtons, who are hosting Tutu. Thanks to all who brought food and drink to today’s reception. Thanks to all who gave generously today to support the relief mission to Burma, and to all who support our kids on a regular basis.

Thank you, Jeff, for your leadership in this endeavor, and to Karen for your assistance with the sponsorships.

Please continue to pray that Tutu and Savorn’s trip to the states will be profitable — we’re still trying to raise another $800 in monthly support to underwrite their salaries and those of key staff members; that money currently comes out of our general fund. Also pray that we will be able to raise enough to cover general expenses for the ministry on a monthly basis.

I know that your love is a great encouragement for Savorn, Tutu, the staff and kids. I’m grateful for all of you.

Here’s the plan as it stands today. Burma needs 100x whatever we could muster, but this is scaled commensurate to Asia’s Hope’s ability to administer the funds. If you’re interested or know of anyone who is interested in helping, please contact me immediately at john@elementville.com.

Funds may be sent directly to:

Asia’s Hope
PMB 185, 343 W. Milltown Road
Wooster, Ohio 44691
Subject Line on check: Burma

If you wish to donate via credit card or electronic transfer, please let me know.

Thank you.

–

I’ve been in close contact with [name withheld], our Burmese coordinator, and have a good grasp on the logistics and the scale of the operation we’re hoping to launch. [name withheld] is closely tied with a network of churches around Rangon, Burma’s former capital and largest city. He has sent three of his associates do do recon and to determine which of the churches are best suited to serve as relief and care centers.

Rangon itself was badly damaged, but is the most accessible area in the country for any sort of aid. It is the country’s financial capital, and may be the only place in Burma where stable currency (in our case, Thai Baht) will be easily convertible to locally available supplies. Additionally, we expect many survivors to flee to Rangon once the water goes down and supplies run out in rural areas.

[name withheld] believes that, given his network of Burmese Christians, we can effectively administer whatever monies we receive. In the first weeks, we will probably take in no more than USD$20,000 to Burma at a time, and even then, split the funds among three or four people who will enter from Mae Sai, Thailand and rendezvous over the Burmese border.

We envision building simple dorm-style housing at these churches for orphans, refugees and widows, and purchasing food, clothing, medicine and other supplies for immediate use and to keep “in stock” at these churches as the crisis continues. I’m working with other organizations that can provide large-scale shipments once the junta opens the doors more widely to international aid.

I am reaching out to everyone I know, and praying fervently that God will provide. I have no idea how much will come in, but I believe that we can effectively and accountably use every dollar that God sends us.

—-

I would like to budget the following:

$12,000 per church center for construction of shelters and housing. I think we can manage at least six of these church centers.

$6,000 per church center for supplies (food, medicine, clothing, etc.)

$800 per church center for cross-country travel and incidental costs

—

[name withheld] will provide us photographic and written documentation of all expenses, and will be personally administering the distribution of funds and goods.

Asia’s Hope’s executive director, Dave Atkins, is traveling to Northern Thailand within the week and will facilitate the finances and any other States-side logistics on the ground.

I will be traveling to Cambodia and Thailand with a team from Columbus in July and will try to get into Burma myself to encourage and document any of the recipients of our funds.

If any of you belong to, have at any time attended, or know the contact information for any church (or business, or community group) that might be interested in helping with immediate, desperate needs in Burma (Myanmar), please let me know, or please send them my way.

Here’s the text of a letter I sent to a local missions pastor. I’m not usually so forward, but lives are at stake. I know that it’s difficult for churches to move quickly on projects like this, but I just have to ask…

—

Hi, [name deleted].

We’ve met before in passing, but I’ve never had the opportunity to really sit down and talk with you like I’ve wanted. I apologize for being so direct, but I wanted to see if you could help me out in a time of emergency. I understand the position you’re in as a missions pastor, and I would not normally come to you with my hand extended, but the situation in Burma is so serious that I felt I had to break protocol and just reach out to you in this way.

As you probably know, Burma (Myanmar) is aflood. The situation is dire, and our brothers and sisters — oppressed Christians who have been faithful with little — have contacted me with a desperate plea for assistance.

The organization I co-founded, Asia’s Hope, has had plans on the books to provide Burmese churches funds for orphan care for some time now. We have contacts in Burma and in Northern Thailand who can provide us access and accountability in one of the most repressive, closed countries in the world. We’ve provided limited assistance, but have not yet mobilized on any real scale.

This week’s cyclone — which has left as many as 100,000 dead and 2 million homeless — has made the situation very, very urgent. If you or anyone you know has a heart for Burma and is feeling called to act, I am anxious to help you facilitate.

Our greatest need today is cash — we need to get money in the hands of our Christian pastors so they can provide immediate relief to the people around them. Our ongoing needs will be money to rebuild churches and regular support to create orphanages for the hundreds of thousands of newly orphaned children this tragedy is sure to produce over the next few weeks.

Please let me know if you’re aware of anyone who is looking for ways to get involved in Burma. I will free my schedule meet with anyone who might be able to help. If you know of any other pastors who might be interested, please let me know, or send them my way.

I appreciate any assistance you can provide. God bless you.

Warmly,

John McCollum
http://www.asiashope.org

–

work: 614.447.0906
home: 614.263.8283
cell: 614.804.6233

We received word from our contact in Burma. He is okay, but his country is devastated, and things are getting worse. He’s begging us for help. We’re already short of cash. Pray that God will provide.

We need churches, businesses and individuals who are willing to invest now in emerging Burma projects and in our general fund, which is where we get money for any unexpected expenses. With gas prices, bribes, rice, emergencies, we’re strapped.

I’m more than a little stressed. But God is good…

I know I’ve just posted on this, but I have to say, I’m getting more and more depressed about this Burma tragedy as time goes on.

Please pray for David S, our contact in the country. I have no idea if he’s even still alive.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the famous Milgram Experiments, which were designed to test how much pain the average individual would be willing to inflict upon another person, given orders by an authority figure.

Here’s how Milgram himself described the findings:

The legal and philosophic aspects of obedience are of enormous importance, but they say very little about how most people behave in concrete situations. I set up a simple experiment at Yale University to test how much pain an ordinary citizen would inflict on another person simply because he was ordered to by an experimental scientist.

Stark authority was pitted against the subjects’ [participants'] strongest moral imperatives against hurting others, and, with the subjects’ [participants'] ears ringing with the screams of the victims, authority won more often than not. The extreme willingness of adults to go to almost any lengths on the command of an authority constitutes the chief finding of the study and the fact most urgently demanding explanation.

Ordinary people, simply doing their jobs, and without any particular hostility on their part, can become agents in a terrible destructive process. Moreover, even when the destructive effects of their work become patently clear, and they are asked to carry out actions incompatible with fundamental standards of morality, relatively few people have the resources needed to resist authority.

The long and short of it is that I believe most of us live each day obeying arbitrary commands from authority figures that hold improper or undeserved power in our lives. For some, the “authority” might be an actual person. For others, it might be some arbitrary standard of living foisted upon us by a spouse, a child, a parent or a society.

As Milgram said, “Relatively few people have the resources needed to resist authority.” I can relate to that. I see it in me — I see that I’ve bought into the lie and accepted the rules of the game, often at the expense of others. I’d hate to think that I’d keep on pushing the “shock” button, but I’m not sure I don’t do it on a daily basis in more subtle, self-deceptive ways.

So, what kind of people turn to page 68? I’ve met a few recently:

The guy who turns down a job for 3x his current pay. Why? His new schedule wouldn’t allow him to continue coaching Special Olympics teams and leading groups on ministry trips to orphanages in Mexico…

The guy who says, “I know we don’t have the money, but we can’t let those kids starve. My wife and I will pay the bill…”

The guy with three kids in college who quits his job to start a ministry connecting underserved, at-risk kids in underfunded public schools with mentors…

The women who say, “Honey, we’ll miss you, but we can lend you to some kids who don’t have any parents for a couple of weeks…”

The pastor who steps across racial, denominational and political boundaries putting his reputation and his ministry on the line to take a stand against injustice…

The rec league soccer coach who ignores the sighs and rolled eyes of his players and their parents allows his team to lose 6-0 because he wanted the kid with cerebral palsy to have a chance to play goalie…

The senior citizen who spends his “leisure years” building houses for Habitat…

The rich man who says, “I can’t do what you do, but I can write the checks…”

The young people who have no money of their own, but are willing to pick up their guitars and busque for orphans…

The Cambodian pastor who says, “They can put me in jail if they want to, but I’m not going to stop feeding these children…”

The overworked IT professional who shows up every week to minister at the Medicaid nursing home — even when he doesn’t feel like it — because if he doesn’t go, the schizophrenic guy in the wheelchair will probably go another week without having anyone say a kind word to him…

The cubicle-dweller who risks her professional standing by seeking out the people in her office who are hurting and depressed, and standing up to the office bullies and gossips who want to harass or marginalize them…

The bright, popular kid in elementary school who intentionally befriends the struggling, cast-asides because his heart is broken when he sees them getting kicked around the rest of the “in crowd…”

What does page 68 look like for you?

Upon further reflection, I wish to retract my previous post about firefighters. No, upon even further reflection, I wish to qualify it.

Analogies are inherently weak. If there was one metaphor that “worked” to tell the whole story of life, Jesus wouldn’t have needed so many different parables to get his point across.

In plain(er) English, here’s what I think I meant:

Most of us experience other peoples’ suffering at a distance. In fact, we organize our life to avoid people who are suffering, from people who have been bullied or oppressed, and when their pain encroaches upon our comfort, we seek to regain our distance by dissociating ourselves from the situation and denying that we have either the power or responsibility to act.

One one level, this sort of dissociation is functional. It temporarily numbs the pain. On another, larger level, it’s massively destructive. It leaves the other person in their suffering, and it leaves us disconnected with our true vocation as defenders of the weak, peacemakers and justice workers. It robs the world of the love God wants to pour out through us, and it leaves us with insipid lives void of intimacy with God and others.

The problem with the firefighter analogy is that it posits a superhero model — an exceptional individual who saves the day with his own remarkable skill, bravery and strength. Even in real life, a firefighter doesn’t work that way. She works in a team, many of her tasks are tedious. There’s not a lot of glamor there.

But I’m trying to grapple with this idea of “vocation.” Once you realize you’re a firefighter, it’s difficult to watch things burn down without wanting to get involved. That’s why you’ll see these guys from Columbus and Cold Springs and Charlotte grab their gear, kiss their kids goodbye and immediately deploy to California to pitch in every time there’s a major wildfire. They know they have a job to do, even if no one in the world would blame them if they said, “Sorry, it’s not in my jurisdiction.”

–

Oh. I said I’d talk about superheroes and other mythical creatures.

Here we go: Trogdor rocks. So does Shaazam.

Child at 3:30am: Daddy, I can’t sleep. Can you come down and talk to me?

Daddy at 3:30am: Okay

Child at 4am: ZZZzzzzzzz…

Daddy at 4am: Grrrrr….

Daddy at 5:30am: Thinks to self, “Well, since I can’t get back to sleep yet, I might as well get up and start my day.”

(wavy dream sequence special effect implying a look into the future)

Daddy at 2pm: ZZZzzzzzz…

Remember those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books? Loved ‘em. Zork? Great game. Here’s the book I’ve been reading, the game I’ve found myself in.

You awake from a dream and find yourself sitting on a chair in front of a large building. Behind you is a large, open garage door. There is also a truck.

In the distance you see a plume of black smoke. Then you smell it; your senses are stirred. You stand up and you realize that there is a house on fire.

You look around to see if someone is going to do something — it’s a tragedy! Perhaps someone’s child is in the house.

You notice that you’re wearing a heavy coat and a funny hat. The truck behind you is red, and there are hoses and ladders hanging from its side. You’re carrying an axe.

Option one Turn to page 43…

You become sad. “What kind of a world do we live in where people die in house fires?” you ask yourself. “Some day, when Jesus returns, there will be no more house fires; we’ll all live without fear, pain or sadness. Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly!” you say. You sit back down and pray that those people had fire insurance.

Option two Turn to page 68…

It suddenly occurs to you. “I know where I am. I know what I am!” You’re confused, but determined. You jump to action. You sound the alarm. You get in the truck. You know you might not be able to put the fire out, and you might be too late to save the child, but you’ll be damned if you don’t give it a try.

Option three Turn to page 54…

You weep. You really feel bad for those people. You know you’ve got the costume and the truck, and everyone else thinks you’re the fireman of the year, but you know it’s a sham. You take off your coat, ditch the hat and walk away from the station, hoping no one sees you go. You go home, check your smoke detectors and hide the matches from the kids.

—-
additions
—-

Option four (suggested by Brian) Turn to page 23…

You save the child and make sure that nothing is left behind of the building but ashes.

Option five (my default choice) Turn to page 71…

You whip out your laptop and write a blog post articulating the failures in all the other fire departments in town.

Burma is aflood. 60,000 killed? 70,000? 100,000? The numbers keep rising. Two million homeless? Three?

Burma is close to my heart. Our work in Thailand is focused on the region’s hill tribes — Akha, Karen, Hmong, Lisu, Lahu — some of the same tribes that comprise the poorest and most oppressed in Burma.

We’ve been aware of the growing orphan crisis among Burma’s ethnic minorities for years, and have wanted to get involved, but have lacked the funds. Now, the orphan population has probably increased by a factor of ten.

What does that mean for us?

No, that’s not a rhetorical question. What are we supposed to do? Of course we should pray. We should pray that this tragedy provides an opening, that the ever-paranoid ruling junta will realize that it can no longer hide its inability or unwillingness to care for its people from the world community.

What else? We need to raise money for orphanages in Burma. Our Christian brothers and sisters have suffered long under the crushing weight of political oppression and state persecution, yet have been faithful in caring for the fatherless with their scant resources. Now, with one blow from nature’s fist, these heroic men and women have had both their task increased and their resources depleted.

Please pray for Asia’s Hope and for other organizations working in war-torn and famine-ravaged parts of the world. And if you haven’t found a use for that tax rebate you’re getting from Uncle Sam…

Somalia is ablaze. Amnesty International, the International Red Cross/Crescent, the UN all report that hell has been unleashed.

U.S.-backed Ethiopian troops are killing, raping, maiming civilians at will. Militias loyal to the Somali Islamic courts are looting, assaulting and murdering non-combatants — men, women and children.

Our city is home to more than 40,000 Somali immigrants. This means that our neighbors are suffering. Their families are suffering. Their aunts, uncles, parents — even children — are in imminent danger.

What does this mean for us?

No, that’s not a rhetorical question. What does it mean for us? I don’t know. I’m open to suggestions. If we’re called to engage suffering in our neighborhood and across the world, the Somali community in Columbus seems a good place to start.

God have mercy on Burma, especially on its ethnic minorities who are already suffering.

Thousands upon thousands have died. As many as 2 million people may be homeless. Many of them will die in coming days, orphaning and widowing an unthinkably large percentage of the people in this battered and weary nation/

Well, about 40 hours of meetings, 24 hours of driving (some occurring simultaneously) and $200+ in gas later, I’ve returned to sunny Columbus exhausted, but encouraged.

On Saturday, we pulled an all-day, work-through-lunch meeting of the Canadian and U.S. boards. We grappled — sometimes vigorously — over financial, strategic and philosophical issues big and small. We talked about the past, the present and the future of our ministry, and we ended up with at least as many questions as answers.

It’s really a remarkable thing, this ministry. We have more than 70 employees and 250 kids in Asia, and we have only one full-time person in the U.S. The rest of the stuff is done by volunteers on our board, among our friends and supporters and in our sponsoring churches. Our admin costs thus far have been remarkably low. Like less than 5%, depending on how you calculate them.

The future is bright, but challenging. Everything we’ve ever done has been based on a “faith, not sight” type of a commitment. Right now, we need a huge chunk of change in the next 12 days to accommodate a funding shortfall. We’ve been there before, and as we continue to grow, we’ll probably be there again. And God will continue to provide. But dang if it isn’t stressful. It’s hard enough feeding the three kids who live in my house…

All of our orphan homes are running well, and are more or less within budget on a month-to-month basis. Unfortunately, there are loads of unexpected, unbudgetable expenses — kids get sick, cars break, gas prices soar, costs for rice triple, etc, etc. Even on our capital projects, we get hit with rising land prices, construction cost over-runs, hidden fees and the like.

We identified the need to raise more money for “general expenses,” probably pursuing a “founders circle” or “annual fund” kind of funding model — I’d like to see 100 people commit to $50 a month to pay for expenses that we can’t really pass on to our sponsoring churches, who are themselves stretching their limited resources to carry the majority of the monthly burden.

There are so many opportunities out there, so many needs. It’s clear that we’re not able — or even called — to address all of them, but certain ones cry out for us. Burma, for instance, has been on our radar screen for years. We have pastors who are already risking their lives to provide for the poor and oppressed among the country’s ethnic minority groups, and they’re dying to have us find churches or individuals who are willing to help.

Did I say “dying?” According to the news today, they may already be dead, along with 10,000+ others. You know what that means? More orphans. More suffering. More opportunities for God’s people to be the defenders of the weak that we were called to be. Please pray for Burma.

Please pray that we’ll have the money, the time and the wisdom to devote to the children we’re already supporting and the children who desperately need our help. Please pray for our leaders and workers in Asia who are stretching every penny, every riel, every baht to make ends meet. Our Cambodian and Thai staff are the hardest working, humblest and most generous people I’ve ever met, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to know them and to serve them.

Okay. I’m rambling.

Anyway, our Cambodia director, Savorn Ou and our Thailand director, Tutu Bee will be at Central Vineyard this Sunday morning for both services, and at my house (559 Northridge, 43214) for a potluck reception. You really should meet them. Thank them. Pray for them. Fund them.

Anyway, I’m too tired to make any sense any more. I’ll write more after I recover from my looong weekend. Grace, peace and love to you all.

Montreal’s very nice. Dozens upon dozens of Thai and Vietnamese restaurants.

I’m going to be one tired puppy. It’s 11:30 and I just got back from a semi-official Asia’s Hope affair. I have meetings all day tomorrow, half day on Sunday, and then I get to drive home. Which should take a long time, too.

It’s physically, emotionally and intellectually taxing, but it’s good. I got to spend some quality time tonight with Savorn and Tutu, our Cambodian and Thai country directors. I’m stoked about their visit to Columbus.

They’ll be speaking at Central Vineyard on the 11th, and I’ll be carting them around trying to raise support to cover their salary and that of their staff on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. If you want to hang out with them, I’ll be having a reception after church next (not this) Sunday. It’ll be sorta potluck, but you’ll get a chance to encourage them and get to know them a little better.

More on that later. It’s late. I miss my family. I’m going to bed.

I’m not exactly thrilled about the 13 hour drive (although I bet I can make it in 8), but duty calls. I’m going to Montreal for the annual Asia’s Hope International Board meeting.

I’m definitely excited about seeing our Canadian Board members, and nearly ecstatic about seeing Savorn and Tutu, our Cambodian and Thai directors. But, ugh. The drive. And the being away from the family…

When I go overseas, I prepare emotionally months in advance. This one kind of snuque (the Canadian spelling of the past-tense of sneak) up on me. And it’s four whole days. Merde.

Anyway, that’s what’s up. I intend to have a great time once I get up there. It’s just the getting there that kind of suques.

Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field till no space is left and you live alone in the land. — Isaiah 5:8

Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming upon you. Your wealth has rotted, and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire. You have hoarded wealth in the last days. Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty. You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered innocent men, who were not opposing you. — James 5:1-6

My parents sent me this article, published in the UK’s Guardian newspaper, which may be one of the most infuriating and depressing things I’ve read in a long time.

You really ought to read the entire thing. It’ll help you understand the plight of the poor, the greed of the world’s rich and the real economic impact of what many of us would call “investment” or “progress” or “development.”

It’ll also help you understand why, in Cambodia, it now costs us about 500% more to buy land for an orphanage, and why there are more orphans than ever who need us to provide them a home.

I’ve excerpted the article here:

Sang Run’s family all vanished, but he survived, hiding in the forests, living off what he could pluck and hunt. When the Vietnamese invaded in 1978 - overthrowing the Khmer Rouge a year later - Sang Run found his way, like thousands of others, to Cambodia’s 300-mile long shoreline. Stretching between Thailand and Vietnam, the region had been a Khmer Rouge stronghold, controlled by Pol Pot’s notorious commander, Ta Mok, who was known as The Butcher. In the 80s, when the fishing shacks and noodle stores went up along the Sihanoukville coast, there was no development plan. There had never been