And then school was over

"My Utmost for His Highest"
Oswald Chambers
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We are apt to imagine that Jesus Christ constrains us and when we obey Him, He will lead us to great success. We must never put our dreams of success as God's purpose for us; His purpose may be exactly the opposite. We have an idea that God is leading us to a particular end, a desired end; He is not. The question of getting to a particular end is a mere incident. What we call the process , God calls the end.

What is my dream of God's purpose? His purpose is that I depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay in the middle of the turmoil calm and unperplexed, that is the end the purpose of God. God is not working toward a particular finish; His end is the process-- That I see Him walking on the waves, no shore in sight, no success, no goal, just the absolute certainty that it is all right because I see Him walking on the sea. It is the process, not the end, which is glorifying to God.

God's training is for now, not presently. His purpose is for this minute, not for sometime in the future. We have nothing to do with the afterwards of obedience; we get wrong when we think of the afterward. What men call training and preparation, God calls the end.

God's end is to enable me to see that He can walk on the chaos of my life just now. If we have a further end in view, we do not pay sufficient attention to the immediate present: if we realize that obedience is the end, then each moment as it comes is precious.

Benefits of Off-Campus Life

None of the roommates has class on MWF mornings, so this morning all of us (Wilson, Dan, James, and myself) got up at 7:30 and ran a few miles. And by a few I mean 2; it's a start. After cooling down we all hung out in the kitchen and made bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Which almost certainly offset all the health benefits of the run. All together, though, it made for a great morning. I'm not usually a morning person, but it always feels good to get an early start to the day.

In other news, I should hear this week from both ECHO in Florida and (potentially) the organization in Nairobi that has my resume. I'm probably equally excited about both opportunities: if I get a "yes" from both organizations I will have a tough decision ahead of me. On the other hand, if I get a "no" from both organizations I'm not sure where I'll turn to.

David Scott called me a couple of nights ago to say that he was looking into moving into an immigrant area of downtown Atlanta, and either working for a non-profit in the city or just getting a normal job and focusing on cross-cultural relationships for about a year. He suggested that if I don't have any plans, I should live with him. I'm thinking about it. If Kenya and ECHO both fall through, I will think about it even harder.

Still here... biding time...

"...he is, of course, absurdly young--not twenty-one--and he will be engaged to be married at twenty-three. He has no knowledge of the world; for example, he thinks that if you do not want money you can give it to friends who do. He believes in humanity because he knows a dozen decent people. He believes in women because he has loved his mother. And his friends are as young and as ignorant as himself. They are full of the wine of life. But they have not tasted the cup--let us call it the teacup--of experience, which has made men of Mr. Pembroke's type what they are. Oh, that teacup! To be taken at prayers, at friendship, at love, till we are quite sane, quite efficient, quite experienced, and quite useless to God or man. We must drink it, or we shall die. But we need not drink it always. Here is our problem and our salvation. There comes a moment--God knows when--at which we can say, 'I will experience no longer. I will create. I will be an experience.' But to do this we must be both acute and heroic. For it is not easy, after accepting six cups of tea, to throw the seventh in the face of the hostess."
~E.M. Forster, The Longest Journey

For all his oft-times muddy social critiques, I cannot seem to get enough of E.M. Forster. Which is unfortunate, because if Wikipedia is to be trusted (and indubitably it is) I have now read almost everything he ever published.

This is becoming a difficult semester, due not to an abundance of work but to a complete lack of motivation. It's not that I want to be lazy, but rather that other things feel so much more important than my classwork. The people I see daily now but mayn't see again after May; the Lookout Mountain moonlight dripping through heavy fog is more enticing by far than the desk covered in work sheets that stands between tonight and graduation. Even the collection of Dostoevsky short stories that has, unopened, adorned my desk these past weeks feels more urgent than my daily reading for Science class and my looming research papers.

On the other hand, I'm in no hurry to graduate and leave this place. It's a dangerous business, going out your door. And it's almost time for my class to step out onto the road and see where it sweeps us off to.

Better late...

Tuggy has tagged me, meaning I am required to answer this quiz tonight rather than write that China and Japan paper I have been procrastinating on. First though, I'm supposed to post

The Rules:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules. (if you don’t have a blog, email me)
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read their blog.

8 random things:

1. This one echoes Joel P., but it is true of me as well... when I was a kid, I was so enamoured with Star Wars that when nobody was looking I would reach my hand out toward objects and try to pull them to me with the Force. And I was always pretty disappointed when it didn't work. Secretly, I think I still believe that if I just concentrate hard enough...

2. I have only once shed tears in a movie theater, and that was when Wilson the volleyball floated away in Cast Away.

3. I often cry in church. Although that doesn't bother me anymore.

4. As a child I had a recurring nightmare that a flying whale was coming through the window next to my bed. I would sit there on the bed, paralyzed from fright, and watch it draw steadily closer through the night air. Still gives me chills.

5. I have a close-held but unlikely dream of one day writing a novel.

6. As a kid, I remember whenever missionaries spoke in church I would become terrified that my parents would pack us off to Uzbekistan or something. I am now an International Community Development major.

7. For most of my life I have made friends only with those who pursue friendship with me, and I am not good at faithfully pursuing others. I didn't realize that until this year but I'm trying, with God's grace, to reverse it.

8. I love fairy tales, mythology, and fantasy. Even the lame stuff. I recently rediscovered the variously colored fairy books edited by Andrew Lang, and have been tearing through them.

Okay, and I'm tagging... Wilson, Heather, Hannah, J-Ho (reading your SIP, by the way), Faith... my friends seemed to have dropped off Xanga like I did...

Homecoming

"It is hardly possible to overrate the value, for the improvement of human beings, of things which bring them into contact with persons dissimilar to themselves, and with modes of thought and action unlike those with which they are familiar... "
~John Stuart Mill

"The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page."
~St. Augustine

"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow."
~Lin Yutang


I am once again enjoying the old, familiar pillow, even if that pillow currently rests in a house on Lookout Mountain. I'm not sure how often I will write here, or whether anyone is still checking this dusty corner of the internet. I've enabled comments now that I'm home as well...

Cultural Differences, Yek?

I have tried to write this post several times, but I keep getting interrupted. The interruption yesterday was a pleasant one, however, as a Moroccan friend called to tell me he was in the neighborhood. He is blind but gets around well and speaks English. He's also a Fulbright scholar, and he has been unemployed since he returned to Morocco. There are not many opportunities for those with special needs here, even when they are brilliant. Anyway, we met and set in a cafe for two and a half hours, where we discussed obesity in America, rituals in Morocco, and I tried my best to explain to a blind North African what a set of bagpipes looks like.

This past Friday I went for dinner at the house of my Moroccan language instructor. My French language class lasts from 6:30 to 9:30pm, so when he invited me for dinner I assumed he meant before our class: he even told me "I eat very early." In reality, when he said we would be eating "early" he meant that the food was on the table by midnight. The food, however, was incredible (It always is here), and the famous Moroccan hospitality ensured I was wonderfully stuffed and not back to my apartment until 3am. I was still full when I crawled out of bed at 8. Heck, I was even full when I got out of bed the second time... at 2pm.

I have witnessed an interesting thing the past several days. July is considered the most propitious month for ritual celebrations: marriages, engagements and so forth. Over the last three evenings I have seen numerous groups exactly like this one (pictured) pass under my apartment window. Though I already suspected the reason, I asked my blind friend to explain the phenomena... you may have to click to see...

The mounted men with their decorative rifles are fathers, and the important people are the boys riding in front of them. This is the earliest stages of a circumcision party. And the boys, as you an see in the picture, must be at least five or six. Probably older. They march through the streets of the neighborhood playing trumpets and drums and shouting, and then the entire party returns to the home. Some metropolitan Moroccans have the operation done in a hospital, but most do it in their home with a pair of scissors... you know, so all the guests can watch.

Also a quick update on the research... things are still, for better or worse, moving very slowly and not according to plan. At least, not according to my plan =). However, we recently were allowed to meet the training instructor at a major MFI, and he told us that he will give us permission to finally observe a group-lending meeting and talk with the clients (the first time in 9 weeks). No word from him yet, but I'm pretty ecstatic about the possibility. There's very little time left to learn from the experience. I could use some Help. That is something for you to think about...

Anyway, here are some final pictures to close:

In spite of the locale, we did take some time to celebrate July 4th. We grilled out, ate potato salad, and drank Moroccan mint tea (because the latter is basically obligatory here). In the picture you can see the immaculately beautiful burgers that we grilled. Ah, the taste of home. You also might notice the suspicious-looking turkey burger we cooked for Intern Valerie. *shudder*.


This is a Moroccan garbage disposal system. And in case you can't see it because of the small picture size: this is not a cow, it's a bull. These walking trash cans with horns can be found all over Hay Hassani.

Nus-nus?

As I listen to the violins and haunting vocals of "Cathedrals" I can't help but imagine that this is the first time that the band Jump, Little Children has ever been heard in Morocco. But then, who knows? Stranger things have happened...
Such as, for example, yesterday when my flatmate and I witnessed a police car chase; except that the getaway vehicle was a horse-drawn cart at full gallop. The cart and it's frenzied driver were attempting to escape down the wrong side of the road, and the police vehicle squealed its tires noisily as it sped after. They vanished around the corner and I didn't see the conclusion. But my money is on the car.

Nus-nus is the name that Casablancans give to the half-coffee, half-milk variation of their cafe espresso. In the ubiquitous cafes of this city there is only one coffee option: strong, thick espresso. There must be dozens of different ways to order your espresso though; cafe nus-nus, creme, au lait, noir, beida, and several other French or Arabic words that denote exactly this or that ratio of coffee to milk. All, of course, sweetened to unsafe levels. And all wonderful.

Anyway, this internship has now reached nus-nus: halfway finished.

I had the opportunity this past weekend to see Marrakech with some of the other staff. We spent significant time in the Djemaa El Fna, which is a large square known for its entertainments. Starting in the afternoon and going long into the night, the square becomes something straight out of The Thousand and One Arabian Nights. Monkey-handlers show off and sell their chimps, Arabic storytellers (who made me really wish I spoke Arabic) recite folklore, tumblers flip across the pavement, snake charmers play to cobras, veiled women paint henna, magicians sell medicines and reagents, and traditional musicians sip mint tea and strum their lutes. Unfortunately, everybody demands payment if you take a picture, and I was short on change!!! I did get a few pictures of the outer ring, however, where food, OJ, and spices are sold from wheeled carts. This may all sound like a tourist trap to you (and there are a growing number of tourists in Marrakech), but in fact the Djemaa El Fna has been operating in much the same way for decades, and is equally frequented by Moroccans.


My favorite part of the experience was in the evening. Wade and I were eating cous-cous at one of the carts when the Maghrib sounded (the call to prayer at the setting of the sun). Immediately the cacophony of instrument and voice stopped, perhaps for the only time all afternoon and evening. An eerie silence falls and the wail of the adhan can be heard clearly as it comes from three separate muezzins on different sides of the Djemaa El Fna. As the call comes to a close, all the carts turn on their powerful electric bulbs and the reverie explodes once again to welcome the night.

Finally, on the research side of things... the going is still very slow, but I have had some interesting interviews and talked with a growing number of people. A lot of what happens in the coming weeks is riding on meetings with the local Microfinance Institutions (MFIs). We have had to pull some strings to get an opportunity to meet with them, and I hope they'll give permission for me to observe some group lending meetings and talk with the clients. If this happens it could open up new avenues for the study; it's definitely something to think about.

Well, I'll close with some more pictures:

This is one of many tables selling fruit, spices, or olives and nuts in the Djemaa El Fna. This, obviously, is one of the latter. A man stands in the crevice at the top center on a stool, and uses a really long-handled scoop to retrieve your purchase. If you're considering buying, it's perfectly okay to just grab a few with your fingers and try the wares.







This marabout is in Casablanca near the popular beach area. A marabout, or saint's tomb, is thought to contain "baraka" (blessing). The idea isn't orthodox, but is widely held nonetheless. A witch lives in the marabout who is often sought out for problems that need a supernatural cure, especially infertility in women. If you click on the picture, you should be able to get a clearer view.