Final Entry

                This will be my last entry on this travel blog.  I have been home for 22 days, and while that’s not nearly enough time to really process or summarize the last five months of my life, I feel it’s time to finish this blog (at least until it becomes a different kind of blog, if I find enough reason to continue blogging).

                Before I left for Australia, when I told people about my plans, I was asked the same collection of questions regularly:  Are you going to the Great Barrier Reef?  Is it hot there?  Will you see kangaroos/dingoes/koalas?  Will you surf?  Do you think you’ll pick up the accent?  What I didn’t realize is that now that I’m back in the US, I’m asked the same questions, only in past-tense.  I don’t know why this surprised me.  The average American only knows so much about Australia.

                I don’t mind this, except when it ends there.  I had an amazing time in Australia, but talking about the kangaroos, beaches and Ayer’s Rock doesn’t even touch it.  Yet a lot of people are satisfied with those stereotypical things.  It’s like going on a date with a fantastic girl, and then your friends ask how the food was.  Even if the food’s great (and it was), it misses the point.

                I think some people are afraid to go deeper.  Or they feel it is inappropriate to do so.  Maybe it’s simply a lack of interest, or time.  Or maybe it’s a consciousness of privacy that prevents them from asking how I’ve grown, what I learned about myself and about humanity, what God did in my life, what challenges I had to overcome.  But these are the things that made my time in Australia valuable, more than a vacation, that make me excited about where I’ve been and where I’m heading.

                A good friend told me I should think about taking the initiative to talk about the deeper stuff instead of waiting for someone to ask the right question.  I’m still considering that advice, but this seems like a good place to try it out.  Even though nobody may ever read this entry (I’m not really sure anyone read it even while I was away), right now I’m going to tell whoever will read exactly what’s on my heart:

                I see people differently.  When asked if people were good or evil, I used to say evil.  I can’t say that anymore.  People make mistakes, people mess up and do bad things, but people don’t seek evil.  We seek good things.  We want love, acceptance, security, hope, and freedom, and we do what we can to find them.  Some people find some amount of these things, but in the wrong places; these are the people that many (including some Christians) call evil.  But they’re doing the best they can, like anyone else.  To these people, I want to say I’ve found the ultimate source of highest love, beauty, security, everything your heart desires.  His name is Jesus, and he invites you to know him.

                I see myself differently.  I’ve come a long way over the past few years, from hating myself to accepting myself to accepting my body to, eventually, liking myself.  But what I never had was initiation.  My life’s been a cake-walk:  My only struggles have been what I’ve brought upon myself.  Traveling to Australia alone was a true challenge, one that tested my resolve and my faith in God.  To make a long story short, God came through, in ways and to degrees I didn’t even imagine.  With his help, I made it.  Now that I’m home, I feel different.  More mature, more confident, more determined to live an upright, selfless life.

                I didn’t show it very often, but I was quick to admit that I didn’t have it all figured out.  And I still don’t, not even close.  Not every day abroad was magical.  There were times that I sat in my room, curled up in a ball, and indulged myself in self-pity.  One evening I sat on a huge boulder on the beach and watched the sunset over the water, and felt nothing but the sharp rock beneath me.  There were times that all I wanted to do was get drunk (but I never drank).  There were nights I would go for long runs without really knowing why.  When I received news that one of my best friend’s dad passed away, I felt helpless.  I spent a lot of time “obsessing,” which I now realize was really worrying and doubting, while at the same time telling everyone that “it all works out in the end.”  I made mistakes, I made decisions I knew were wrong, I didn’t love everyone like I should have.  And my troubles didn’t end when I came home.  Now, I’m lonely.  I miss my friends, in Lincoln, around the country, and around the world.  I waste time.  I get frustrated over little things.  I don’t have it all together.  I have something great, I have hope for better things, and I see daily improvement and little successes, but there’s still a lot more for me to move into.  It’s still a process.  And the truth is, I love it.

                And that’s it.  That’s all I have to say here.  I could go into more, but at some point, you need to have someone across from you to really communicate.  Thank you for reading, this entry and any others you’ve stumbled onto.  I won’t know you’ve read this unless you tell me; it’d make me happy to hear you did, though, so if you want to tell me, that’d be cool.  I’d probably even give you a high-five, for a Facebook poke if you’re in Australia.  Anyways, thank you.

                Signing out.

Mossden

                 This entry has the potential to be very long.  For you sake (and for my own as well), I’ll try to make it as concise as possible.  Just know that there’s a lot more I could say this time.

                My flight out of New Zealand was canceled.  I don’t know the word to describe how I felt, my attitude was not especially positive.  And my attitude is almost always positive.  I tried to convince myself that there was a purpose here, some way I could make use of three extra days in Christchurch, but I didn’t have any idea what it could be or how to find it.  I’d much rather have been going home.

                I took a bus from the airport to Papanui street, from which I had to walk about 20 minutes (with about 60 kg of baggage) to the motel.  If it sounds like I’m complaining, it’s because at that time, I was complaining inside.  Quiet little personal grumblings.

                A block from the motel, I bumped into an elderly man on the sidewalk who wanted to chat with me.  He asked me where I was from, what I do, where I was staying, and how much they were charging me (he said I was paying way too much, which I didn’t really want to hear at the time).  He said that if I wasn’t busy, I should go to his house down the street and join him for a cup of tea one of these days.  He also said that I should just sleep in his house in his spare room and save myself the money.  He also said he was a licensed physical therapist, and he’d be happy to give me rub-down, no charge of course.

                All I could think of was, this guy seems suspicious to me.  I didn’t know if he was just old, or if he meant harm.  I’ve never been offered a free rub-down by a total stranger.  We offered our names (his was Mossden) and shook hands, and as I walked towards the motel reception, I thought to ask them if they knew the old man.  Maybe he’s just the crazy guy down the street, or a registered sexual predator in the area.  I didn’t ask, though.

                I spent that day and the next pretty much by myself.  I slept a lot.  Watched some movies.  Wasted time on the computer.  It came to my mind that I should go and take Mossden up on his offer, but I “couldn’t be bothered.”  That’s a phrase I’ve picked up in Australia.  What it means, in this case, is that I’d rather be lazy and vaguely dissatisfied and bored than get out of my warm room, face the cold, and try to find this guy’s house for what could be a long, awkward conversation.  I told myself he might be dangerous, but I didn’t really believe it.  I just tossed it in the pile with the rest of my excuses.

                But that second day left me so dissatisfied and guilty, I knew I had to do something.  So this morning, while reading my Bible and talking with God, I decided I have to get out and catch life, “grab life by the horns.”  So I grabbed my runners and hit the sidewalks.  As I was running, I happened to bump into Mossden.  He invited me in, and I knew I had to say yes.

                He made me a cup of coffee, and we ended up talking for at least an hour.  He’s lived in the area for his whole life.  We talked about earthquakes, geology, human nature, religion and faith, politics, health, sports, and everything in between.  He did most of the talking; I was just happy to listen and learn.  Then he told me about his divorce, and losing his children.  Then he told me a story from his childhood, when a sexual predator at the horse races tried to kidnap him.  He said the man’s face haunted him for years.  At the end of the story, he said he never told anyone.  I don’t know if he meant he never told anyone at the time, or if he’s never told anyone before me.  About that time, he said he should get some stuff done around the house, and I left.

                As I walked back to my room, all I could think was that I am such a… word I can’t type in this blog.  Here was this sweet old man who just wanted some company, and I was too lazy to knock on his door.  Here I’d suspected him of being a predator, when he was only ever a victim.

                Since then, I’ve been productive.  I’m not wasting any more time.  I’m going to chase life.  And I’m not going to take the easy way out when God lays something on my heart.  No more excuses.  Mossden invited me over to watch TV tonight.  I’ll take him up on that offer.

                Seeing as how this is my last day before I’m home (flight conditions allowing), this might be my last blog entry.  I know this isn’t exactly the best summary of my trip.  Maybe I’ll post something like that from home.  And I don’t know if I’ll continue this blog or not.  I’ll do some thinking and praying about it.

                Thank you for reading.  Family, friends from either hemisphere, thank you, for being a part of my life.  I’m a very blessed man.  God has done incredible things in my life and in the lives of people I know.  All the credit, all the glory, goes to Him.

It Is What It Is

             I had a moment the other day.

Some friends and I had taken the bus to Allansford to see the Cheese Museum (and yes, we had a fine time).  As we were leaving, I stepped outside, and for more than a second I felt like I was back in Bradshaw, Nebraska.  There was the little gas station on the right, the agricultural buildings across the highway (they were for dairy processing, but they looked enough like grain elevators), trucks, pickups, and green fields all around.  Just as quickly I remembered I was in Australia, but even then I kept popping back and forth, visualizing one and then the other.  I felt like I was zooming in and out, but way too fast, and it was unsettling.  I simultaneously felt both closer to and further from home than I’ve felt in a long time.  I told Savanna (another exchange student from the US) about it, and she said she’s had similar experiences here.

I don’t know the moral of the story this time.  Maybe it goes to show that some things are universal.  Maybe no place is truly exotic.  Maybe every place is exotic.  Maybe this is a sign that I’m coming to grips with the reality that I’ll be home in less than a week.  Maybe home follows you.  Maybe I’ve missed home more than I’ve realized.  I won’t draw any conclusions right now.  In the end, it doesn’t really matter anyways.  I am here, for a little while yet, and then I will fly home, and all that matters is that I am content with that, and that I make the most of it.

On the Art of Moving

I leave Australia in about two weeks.  It’s not a move I’m ready for, neither logistically nor emotionally, but I’m hoping that when the time comes, I will be.

I’ve been thinking about packing my bags.  I’ve picked up a few things through the semester, and I don’t know where they’re going to fit; my bags were already, well, packed.  I suppose I’m going to have to make some hard choices.  Some things are just going to have to go.  However, there are bigger concerns.

            I know that once I am home, once my bags are unpacked and I’m back to work on the farm and eating supper with the family, there’ll be a morning when I wake up and realize that it’s not weird to be home.  It will be comfortable and pleasant, and normal.  I’ll still miss the people here, and think fondly on the experience, but I will have moved on.

Some part of me will resist this and try to hold on to my connection to my Australian home.  Somehow the thought of moving on from a half a year in another world is almost offensive, and I would rather just never move on.  It feels like the process of moving on somehow devalues what you are moving on from.

But that’s a lie.  Moving on is an essential part of life, and without the ability to let go, we’ll end up carrying a lot of baggage and dead weight.

And this is the art of moving; finding the balance between holding on and letting go.  Too much of either, and you’ll pay a price.  While there are some things that will never leave me, friendships and lessons learned and positive memories, I will also have to accept reality, and Nebraska will be my home again.

            And no, I don’t think I’m super clever for figuring out that you have to let go of certain things.  My real intent is to find other ways to apply this principle to my life.  There are other kinds of “moving” in my life; in, out, on, along, through, around.  I’ll keep it vague so you can find your own examples.  In some of these things in my own life, I haven’t found the right balance yet.  But at least now I know that.

             If you’re reading this and you live in Australia, and you’re in the market for a guitar, a duna, a pillow, chairs, books, posters, or about 75 empty cans of miscellaneous energy drinks, let me know.  Prices are negotiable.

Expectations

Here’s the deal:  You’re going to be in a movie, and you’ll be the main character, the hero.  You’ll have a mission, the salvation of the oppressed or the swift hammer of justice or some other noble cause.  Your mission will take you to strange lands and unknown territories, perils and beautiful vistas.  There’ll be plenty of bad guys, lurking behind every corner, and even some of your companions will turn against you, but by your virtue and dedication to justice, you will overcome every obstacle and finally triumph, and there will be much celebration.  Trust us, this template has proven exceedingly profitable for a long time (think Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Gladiator, WALL-E).  We’ve already got James Earl Jones as the villain, Brendan Frasier as the bumbling sidekick, and Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence as fat black women.  Interested?

Aside from some of the casting choices (which are negotiable), I would say I am.  This is metaphorical, of course; the movie is life.  I fully intend to live a life worthy of story-telling.  Don’t we all want to?  Maybe I shouldn’t assume so.  But I will here.

But the topic that’s been on my mind lately is expectations.  I came to Australia with a lot of them (although I didn’t realize it).  I had it all figured out, what I would experience and what kind of friends I’d make and who I’d become and what kind of impact I would leave when I left.  Well, it’s now May 17^th.  The trimester ends in about a month.  I don’t have much time left.  If I was to judge my time here by the number of expectations I’d met, I’d call this experience a failure.  But I know it hasn’t been.

One of the things we love about our favorite movies (and books and songs and jokes and people) is that they upset our expectations.  They surprise us.  Yet even these unpredicted circumstances come around and work out, sometimes even better than your expectations would have.

One particular expectation I had was that I’d meet someone like myself here, and we’d hang out all the time and be best friends.  Well, either I’m weird or everyone else here is, but either way, that didn’t happen.  Instead, I was fortunate enough to find myself surrounded by friends who are more or less nothing like me (at least on paper).  And I love them.  Wouldn’t trade them for anything.  And in this, I’ve learned more about myself and the world than I otherwise would have.

But the expectation I’ve been thinking about the most lately is my expectation of who I’d become or grow into through this experience.  I’d heard that studying abroad is life-changing.  Everyone told me as much.  That’s a big burden, an expectation to live up to.  In effect, if my life doesn’t change in these five months, I’ll have failed.  I’ve had this fear that I’ll fly home, unpack my bags, and find I’m right back where I started (you know what I mean).

I’ve decided to stop thinking about my life this way.  I’ll change how I change.  I’ll live the best life I can, and that’s the best I can do.  Months and years from now, I’ll look back on this time abroad and I’ll be able to say how I did or did not grow in this time, and that’s that.  If I keep my focus on the day I’m given, everything else will take care of itself.

Then again, that’s an expectation too.  I guess we’ll just see.  But maybe we won’t.  I don’t know.  But that’s okay.

"A Small Crime, And I Got No Excuse"

                In the first couple weeks of Uni, I was in the kitchen with a guitar and a small audience (I don’t remember how this came about, but that’s not really important) and I played and sang a song I’d written about a year ago or so.  Since then, I’ve been told numerous times how much they liked it, and how I simply have to record it for them before I leave for the States.

                Then, about a week ago, some friends and I were hanging out in a lounge on the second floor.  I had my guitar handy, and I performed a song for them that I’d just finished writing.  I wasn’t sure how it would be received, but they loved it.  They loved it so much, in fact, that I heard about it almost every day.  A couple of them later told me they had cried, or almost cried.  One friend asked to see the lyrics some three days later.

                 I liked the attention and the validation.  I had new confidence in my abilities.  I started thinking about my unfinished songs, and how I should get around to finishing them.  But I also felt like they’d have to be as good as the last one I’d written, or else I’d let my friends (and myself) down.  About that time, I found a song by Damien Rice (called 9 Crimes) that I still figure is one of, if not the, most beautiful and haunting songs I’ve ever heard, and suddenly, my own songs weren’t good enough, and probably never would be.  Every hour, I was thinking about lyrics, characters, chord progressions, timing, anything and everything I could use to make a song that can recreate the effects I’d given my friends, the feelings I’d experienced when I heard 9 Crimes for the first time.

                I’d have thought that with my history of obsessive tendencies I’d have seen this progressing, but by the time I did, I was already feeling the effects.  I felt drained, stressed, and restless.  Others could tell I wasn’t myself, either.  Once I realized where I was heading, I decided to take a break from guitar until I get my head together.  It worked.

                I’ve thought about what happened for long enough to see why it happened.   Most of the songs I write are not peppy songs.  Generally, I use songwriting like I use journaling; to make sense of things I don’t understand, to come to accept the things I don’t like, and to express things I can’t express any other way.  So the subjects aren’t always happy.  But they’re the things I’m working through.  They’re the things I talk about with my close friends.  So by letting others into my songs, I felt like I was connecting with my new friends in a real, deep way.  By finishing my songs, I could continue to show myself to my friends.   And that’s something I desperately need.  And I’m not ashamed of that.

                And that’s just the way it goes.  We have a serious, legitimate need, and we set out to meet that need, but so often we do it in the wrong ways.  Writing songs is a great, but it is not meant to accomplish what I wanted it to accomplish.  I was abusing it.  And in that abuse, we find ourselves in a whole new host of troubles, often worse off than when we started.  It’s like drinking sea water when you’re thirsty.

                If you know me, you know the punch line by now:  Jesus is the good water.  He calls himself the living water, and those who drink of him will never thirst again.  So I’ve taken a break from song writing, and I’m trusting in God to give me what I really need; community, acceptance, and love.  Since then, people have come up to me, offering to talk.  I’ve seen that my friends care about me, and that they do want to know me better.  And that was what I wanted all along.

Meditations on a Beach Run

                I have run on streets and country roads, sidewalks and tracks, forests and corn fields and deserts, but my favorite place to run is the beach.  Disregarding the beautiful scenery, the run itself is better; the sand acts as a great cushion for the limbs, but it also works you harder.  Running barefoot through soft sand and shallow water works muscles differently than you’re used to, which is an important step to a great workout.  The slant of the beach also makes you work on your balance more.  Plus, if/when you get too hot, you can just take a quick dip in the surf and keep running.

                 A couple nights ago, I took my bike down to the mouth of the Hopkins to photograph the sunset.  I got some shots I liked, but when the sunset was over, I wasn’t ready to leave.  The air was perfect, and my legs were feeling fresh, and I knew I had at least a half an hour until it was too dark, so I hid my backpack and shoes behind a rock and took off towards the breakwater.

                As I ran, I started thinking.  I thought about how I have to do this more often.  I have the bike, I have the legs, I have the time and the continent and everything.  It’d be a shame, a waste, if I didn’t come out here to run at least weekly.

                I thought about the waves.  The sound of them was a better running mate than my iPod (at least as good as Explosions in the Sky and Olafur Arnalds).  The sound was both changing and constant, and in the waning light, they were terrifying.  The first time a wave caught my foot, I gasped.  At one point, somewhere near Granny’s Grave, the waves hit some sort of underwater rock shelf, and they plume up into the air.  I knew I was safe, but I imagined the danger of being out there in the surf.  I knew I’d be toast.  It was at that moment that I came to respect the waves.

                I thought about a verse in the Bible that says that you can learn about the qualities of God from creation; the sky, the mountains, the critters, everything.  I’ve learned about God from the cornfields and the summer sun, thistles and butterflies, all the things I’ve grown up with, but I’d never seen God in a wave.  I thought I’d like to.

                I thought of another place in the Bible where a man (Isaiah) had a vision where he saw God on his throne, in all his glory and power.  The first thing Isaiah said was “Woe is me, for I am ruined!” which basically means, “I’m toast.”

                By the time I got back to my backpack and shoes, I’d made the connection I was looking for:  I saw that in some significant ways, God is like the ocean.  God calls people to himself, like people feel the call to visit the ocean, to see something vast and powerful and beautiful and beyond themselves.  But just seeing the ocean is not enough; so we go to the beach, and we stand and wait for the first wave to break around our ankles, and right then we feel the ocean for the first time, an experience that shocks us awake, simultaneously satisfying that desire and feeding it, calling us in deeper, to the knees, to the waist.  So little water does so much in us, and then we look out at the far reaches of the horizon, and we know that there is more in this ocean than we can gather or expend, more than we could ever imagine, enough to crush us or carry us away to be lost forever.  As the wave retracts, we can feel the sand fading away beneath our feet.  I thanked God for the new perspective and climbed the rocks back up to my bike.

                Now, as I sit here typing this, I have another thought; I wonder how most people see God?  As a powerful, untamed, breath-taking ocean?  Or maybe as a mighty river?  No, I would guess people see God more as a pond; small, quiet, suitable for weekend picnics and baby playgrounds, either past its prime or man-made, but either way unimpressive and insignificant.  Let me tell you, God is not a pond.  This is the God who saved me from depression and pornography and fear and self-loathing, who loved me so much I actually came to love myself too, who made me new, the God who offers salvation, not just in the afterlife, but right now, right in the middle of whatever battle you’re fighting, and I know you’re fighting one.  He is not an old white man with a beard on a cloud.  He is merciful, but righteous, and he hates evil, hates it so much he died on the cross to beat it forever, so you can be free too.  He is the most satisfying thing you can give yourself to, and all you have to do is ask.  I want to spend the rest of my life in this ocean, and when I finally slip below the foamy surface, I’ll only sink deeper into his presence.

                As I’ve said before, I’m not trying to preach.  I’m not doing this for brownie points at church, either.  This is my heart, these are the thoughts I’ve been tossing around, this is what’s happening in my life.  Even if your worldview is totally opposite of mine, I’m sure you can appreciate my desire to express myself and to be known for who I really am.

                Thank you for reading.  Nothing makes a blogger happier than a bloggee.  Without you, this is just a journal.