Obituary for an Idealist

*** an excerpt from my personal journal***

Jan. 1, 2009

I tried to take time to be reflective and write down everything that I’m thankful for in the year 2008. Of course on my list there were the undervalued and often mentioned family, friends and health.

I found within myself a sense of irony, when in trying to reflect upon thanksgiving I found myself drawn to this year's personal failures and disappointments. And there have been many. It is ironic that after having seemingly failed and underachieved in so many aspects in my life that God has brought me farther than I ever could have gone on my own strength. Yes, I can concur that it is only when steel is bent in the furnace of failure that it can be formed into the image of God’s only son. The fire- the torrid flame- is the only passage through a person of haughty countenance can ascend. If failure is the precursor to glory than I can only continue to claim my failures as my utmost thanksgiving.

I realize my own limitations. If I could write an obituary for the death of an idealistic youth, I would. Standing on the cusp of 2009 when I will turn just 23-years-old, I realize that the fallout of youthful idealism is that it is tainted by pride. It fails to realize that our foresight is shallow; we are not invincible, we cannot fly and death is our shared destiny. This is a doorway to adulthood that I have felt most excruciatingly sobering because it reveals the frailty of my own humanness.

I see in my own reflection, limited and finite creation, clinging to the infinite and omnipotent Creator. I confess that as a man, finite and broken, I am limited in my human ability to carry out the divine plan.

In all this I have yet to relinquish idealism in itself and I don’t plan to for as long as I have breath. I have only put it into the hands of One who is greater than I- the One who fights on my own behalf- for the fulfillment of my joy and peace. I can only hope that my personal idealism can be steeped in reality and rooted in God’s willingness to carry out his will for his own name’s sake. Through the years and seasons may he never find me lacking in zeal, but may I be resolved to forget about what is behind and press on towards the upward calling that Jesus has given me. By his sustaining grace may he lead me through every failure, every disappointment, every glory and every blessing. Cheers to 2009.

Lead Me to the Rock
Psalm 63: 1-5
Of David

1Hear my cry, O God,
listen to my prayer;
2from the end of the earth I call to you
when my heart is faint.
Lead me to the rock
that is higher than I,
3for you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against the enemy.
4Let me dwell in your tent forever!
Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings!
Selah
5 For you, O God, have heard my vows;
you have given me the heritage of those who fear your name.

A Fish out of Water

***narrative journal***

Time: 2:30 am Bangkok time just after I was dropped off by the Jabba guy

The creaky elevator labored its way up to the eighth floor of the building. It gave a slight ding and the doors grinded itself open. As I stepped into the expansive white-tiled hallway, the fluorescent lights cast an ominous mood. Down the long hallway, sets of shoes were placed neatly just outside most of the doors. My steps echoed as I made my way to the second to last room. Room 824.

My room was bare but spacious (a bed, two tables, and a dresser). It was actually larger than what I was used to. The air conditioning hummed silently as I leaned my luggage against the wall. It wasn’t exactly Motel 6,but it was accommodating. I even had a balcony. The view was breathtaking. I could see the entire Bangkok City skyline. It was beautiful.

My first night in Bangkok I couldn’t sleep because of jet lag. Instead I practiced taking pictures with my camera on my balcony. Eventually, the sun began to creep up over the skyline. Flashes of light broke through as the clouds began to emerge behind the city buildings. The sky began to bleed a faint pink. It was a surreal moment for me- my first morning on the other side of the world, and one of the most beautiful sceneries I had ever seen in my life. In that breathtaking moment I couldn’t help feeling like God always knew that I'd be standing right there. On that balcony. Thousands of miles from home. I don’t remember what I prayed, but I know I thanked Him for the life I left behind and the life he had in store for me. With my tripod, I took a panoramic picture [It’s posted on my blog].

Hours later I already began to feel edgy in my room. The air conditioner had only one temperature. Ice cold. When it was off it felt too humid. I decided to try to be adventurous and venture out of my room. So I made my way down to the lobby. A glass security door separated the elevators and the lobby. I tried to open it three or four times but it wouldn’t budge. From the other side of the glass the security guard shouted out directions to me in Thai, but I couldn’t understand him so I kept trying to yank the door open. There was actually a button next to the door that unlocked it. Oops. I guess I was just a little nervous.

I walked up and down the lobby hallway a few times. On one end there was a salon, a furniture store and a market. The opposite way led to a pool hall, a Laundromat and a worn down gymnasium.

Just past the Laundromat there were steps that led outside where a dozen motorbikes were parked. It was an underpass for cars to pass thru to the other side of the building. Part of the underpass was cordoned off with a wall and a sign that said “Rompo Gym”. There were pictures of dozens of Muay Thai fighters pasted to the wall. The sign said:

“Training time: 4-6pm If you want to train and look at gym call…”

Hmmm. I peaked inside and saw a gym that looked like something out of Bloodsport. There were two rings on either side with about 7 or 8 punching bags scattered throughout. Concrete floors, dirty mirrors, puddles of water, and rusted weights. On the walls were old photos of boxers holding up belts. It smelled like the sweat had dried onto the walls. A gargantuan man in Thai boxing shorts was kicking the stuffing out of one of the bags. Two others were sparring in the ring.

“Huup! Huup!” He let out a yell every time he unleashed one of his kicks. I thought of that no neck guy in Bloodsport who could take a man’s life with his bare hands. One of the guys started speaking to me in Thai and started making his way towards me.

I smiled and turned around back to the hotel.

***

In my room I picked up the receiver and for the fourth time, tried to dial the number of my boss Mary **names have been changed for the safety of believers**. It was still Friday morning and I hadn’t slept the whole night (jet lag) since I arrived around 3 am. I guess I was too excited. I didn’t know that in Thailand you were required to dial “0” whenever making a call to a cell phone. But the paper that my ***- USA contact gave me said “02”. So every time I pressed the wrong number the phone kept sending me to the front desk of my building and a soft-spoken Thai woman would answer. She kept trying to give me instructions, but I couldn’t understand a word she said. Oops again. I did this a number of times before I finally got thru to Mary at ***.

“Good morning Tita Mary!”

“Good morning EJ. Are you awake now?”

“Yes. I have been trying to call but it was not working…”

Mary said she would send someone to pick me up and I hung up the phone. 30 minutes later a skinny, scraggly Laotian showed up in front of the hotel. John had a wide smile and teeth that pointed out in at least 3 or 4 directions. His face reminded me of a Southeast Asian version of Alfred E. Neuman, that fictional character on the cover of MAD magazines. He had a leathery complexion.

“Hello I am EJ.” Like a dummy I put my hands together and bowed my head. I had read a book on Thailand before I left and it said that's how people say hello. He wasn’t even Thai! Oops again.

“Ookay.” John said as he turned and walked down the street to hail a cab.[I learned later that John was actually the pastor of a Laotian church. He is a well-traveled believer who does a lot for the kingdom.]

It was now daylight and this was my first chance to see Bangkok from the street level. As we rode the 1-kilo over to the *** office, a couple times I almost screamed. Apparently in Bangkok there is no right of way. People drive like they’re playing bumper cars at Knott’s Berry Farm. Except somehow, one person knows to stop right before impact. In addition over half the people are fearless motor bikers who pummel through traffic with no discernable regard for their own lives. I almost had a heart attack. At the office I opened the creaky blue gate and stepped into the driveway. There was an old van with a sticker that said “Christ to Thailand” and a rusted badminton net stood against the wall. I was greeted immediately by hoarse barking.The dog, named Ping-an (Peace in English), was a lot uglier than my puppy back home.

“He’s just saying hello,” John said.

The offices are actually two adjacent homes, which mirror each other perfectly. The house furthest from the gate uses the second floor to house 6 or 7 missionaries. I planned to move from my building into the house. It would be cheaper and I could get to know the workers.

I slid open the glass door...

(a video log from September 9)