17 pages in an hour for her. 17 hours by the radio for them.

i remember it clearly, the second week on outreach, most poignantly on the 27th and 28th of December, my friend borrowing my AM radio, sitting in a small hut on the outskirts of Mwanza, Tanzania.

two major events occurred on the 27th of December, 2007. it was a day that rocked my world.

Kenyans voted for a president, the election being rigged to favor the incumbent. the next 30-odd days awash with blood in a nation heralded as Africa's most peaceful. near 1000 deaths triggered by the lies of the rulers.






Pakistanis lost and began mourning for one of the most prominent women in southern Asian politics.




Benazir Bhutto, the former twice-run Prime Minister, recently returned from Exile, was shot in the back of the head and then blown up by a suicide bomber.

i spent the next several months of my life engrossed entirely in news and updates concerning these two events. i spent countless hours with my friend Joy, from Kenya, listening to my radio for any news of change and peace in her homeland.

i spent nearly an hour in a Barnes & Noble stateside a month later, reading Benazir's book, 'Reconciliation'. the final draft of this manuscript was handed to her friend and editor the morning before her assassination. i read the whole first chapter, all 17 pages, trembling in the plush chair.

tomorrow marks the first anniversary of both of these monumental events.

some great change has come to these two nations, while yet another crisis looms for one and progress has been slow in another. tomorrow i will likely sit, trembling, reading the headlines commemorating such tragic loss of life.

only this time there's still hope for things to get better.

Freedom of Speech... French Style!

when upset about a government policy or action there is but one thing to do to voice your anger:


burn a car.

-/-/---

France, though they are often insulted in ways that would make any national of any such country bristle and buckle, is seemingly a more impressively democratic nation than the United States, or Great Britain.

the French seem to take to the streets at the slightest hint of unfairness within government policies.

but then, who says there's anything slight about racism, unemployment, homelessness, and ghetto-style poverty?



i know why they did it then in 2005.
i know why they continue to fight back.
i know that they are not alone in their anger.

what if i stumble, what if i fall?

as Rob Bell has pointed out in one of his sermon's i've watched, everything is spiritual. there is to be no separation between our spirits and our bodies.

if that be the case then why do i struggle to stand so often?

i have many close friends whom i look to for guidance in life, people i imagine to be more strongly in touch with the Father. i look to them when i am weak in my walk. i look to them when i don't feel weak even (which may be when i am truly weakest, at times) and i see their example to be almost unattainable.

as many have struggled with over the years, i wonder if i am no longer simply IN the world, and if i've not become, somewhere along my self-infatuated path, OF the world.

in my efforts to be relevant i've only weakened the message and power of the Gospel.

each time i think i'm starting to get back on track i see that a friend is so much MORE excited about God than i am, and that they broadcast it more publicly than i. and i crumple, for i do not wish to be like them. i do not want to be known simply for shouting on and on of how much i'm in love with Jesus. i don't want to look to people like Jesus is all that i think about, though he most often is EXACTLY what i wish i could be channeled into 100% of the time. i just don't want to come across as though i'm saying i am "holier than thou". which is perhaps what i feel like when i look at others so seemingly in love with Jesus and at peace for it.

and this is the part in the story where i realize it is incredibly likely i am frankly OF the world.

and i don't know how to regain my stance of being in, and not of...

i see now that i am avoiding exactly what i want because i hate the idea of being titled and labeled and named as "one of them". it is not fear of association, as much as it is fear of being stuck, dependent under one title, one label alone.
and yet as much as i know my only real claim to any identity comes through Christ's claim on me, as a human trying to make an impact, and avoid stereotypes, i try to outrun his grace, love, and possession of my heart that i absolutely want him alone to have.

i am a stupid mule who is ignoring the call of the only farmer who will give me rest from the cold, tired world, just because i don't want to be seen as the one who wimped out and couldn't make it on his own. even though i know it is the best possible thing in this world for me, and maybe there's not even enough people watching me to see me "wimp out."

a strange place indeed, Watson.

"breathing through fear"

two days ago i walked outside during my break in the middle of my math class in order to step into the warm, breezy, dark afternoon sphere that captivated my attention in every waking moment that day until i stood in it.

i had been reading a moving, strange poem written in 1968 by a man named Juan Gelman of Argentina, entitled "Conversations."

centered around the author's feelings in relation to the recent loss in the hero named Ernesto 'Che' Guevara, the words stirred in me a desire to write verse.

and after my walk, barefoot through the mud around a new building site on campus, i sat down in the classroom in the moments before we reinitiated the lecture and put pen to the paper, finding within me, these words:

"Breathing Through Fear"
[Archer. 22 July 2008]

it's funny to me the heads that turn
the eyes that burn into me, my jacket,
my beloved Esther alive in earth tones,
ensconced in warm dirt and clay.

i walk unshod
the sole figure
an embraced soul
the bleedings soles
through the mud
and burning sand
spirit in hand
the wind dies
to just a whisper
i tread through treads
of yellow beasts far bigger than i
holding my own
breathing through fear
thick in the air
He in my ear
He, the wind, and my warm feet
what else could i need?



.PAX.
-Archer