Reflections from the kayak ~

I went kayaking today … alone. I put in at a local park and floated through town on a little river, having no idea where it actually flowed. Okay, I knew eventually it would lead to a lake three towns away, and I heard something about there being a landing somewhere near a trailer park. I never found that. I really had no idea where I was going or how, when, or where I was going to get out.

The tiny river flowed at a nice pace and it wasn’t without its perils – fallen trees, shallow waters, and what counts as rapids. I got rather excited when I heard the rapids (okay, that term is something of a delusion of grandeur), and I rushed towards them. The tiny river smelled foul in some spots and other spots brought surprising beauty –- patches of wildflowers growing on high banks. The air was fresh and skies brilliantly blue. It was warm but there was breeze and parts of the trip were in the shade. Gorgeous! I’d forgotten sunscreen, and if you know anything about kayaking, you can imagine the unfortunate sunburn pattern I have on my shins. The river winded back and forth, and I was never sure exactly what direction I was going. The sun didn’t help as it seemed to be directly overhead the entire trip. I stepped out of the water a couple times to get my bearings and see if I was someplace where someone could pick me up. I wasn’t.

Eventually, I saw a bridge and decided to get out there. That was easier said than done. There was no solid landing, only a deep, thick, heavy sludge. I stepped out of my kayak and into the sludge. I sunk into it with both feet, and as I pulled out one foot to take another step, I lost my shoe. It was an expensive shoe (and a gift from a friend). I wanted that shoe, so I reached into the sludge and pulled it slowly to the surface. I made my way up the bank, pulling my kayak with one hand and holding my shoe in the other. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, withdrew it from it’s protective ziplock baggie, and called my friend to pick me up.

It was curious, too, to travel this particular river. I’ve been in this town for nearly thirteen years, and I’ve seen the body of water in various areas. After a certain point, as I’ve already said, I didn’t know where it went. There’s a difference between traveling around an area and traveling inside of it.

I was quite reflective on the water today. I couldn’t help but think of my upcoming trip to Central America. I will voluntarily enter CA, not unlike the tiny river, but unlike my travels today, I know when, where, and how I’ll get out of CA. Very much like the trip down the river (up the river is a different thing), there will be perils, some of which will come with warning and others that won’t. I imagine some of the experiences won’t smell so great, and I’m certain that beauty will abound. The trip will leave marks on my body and my spirit, longer lasting, I bet, than a sunburn. I hope I embrace the challenges as eagerly as I sought the “rapids,” and I hope the joy at having done that is as palpable. There will be times I won’t know where I’m going, and all I can hope for is a son (or daughter, brother or sister) to guide the way. I imagine there will be things I’ll be in danger of losing, and I’ll have to decide to what lengths I’ll go to keep or find them. And eventually, I will arrive at the place that will take me out of Central America and take me to that place where friends can pick me up once again.

I’ve been on another journey of late, and my time on the water gave me some insight (and hope!) into that as well. I’ve wandered around my life and relationships and psyche for quite a few years. It’s been the benefit of my psych degree and years of working in the field. Recently (although it seems like an eternity already!) I’ve wandered deeper inside my life, relationships, and psyche. I don’t know where it leads. Okay, I know at some point I’ll come out of the brush and marshes to wide open waters. I believe that with my whole heart, because God is where God is leading us. I don’t know how long the journey will take and how much work it will require. I wonder if I have the stamina for it, even as I realize I’ve been on the journey too long to turn back now … not to mention, turning around requires more strength and perseverance, which seem to be in short supply for me these days.
Parts of this personal journey stink, and I’m very aware of the perils – things in my way, things going too fast, others not going fast enough, and far too many places to get stuck. I’m traveling alone. People know I’m on this journey. They’re mindful of my need to make the trip, and they remind me that they will be home when I’m ready to return. I have no choice but to go with the flow, but it’s my inclination to want to hurry things along, and that almost never makes the navigation any easier. Getting out of this particular journey will involve a bit of sludge, too, I think, and I’m likely to lose something in it. I will again have to decide if what is getting lost in the sludge is worth rescuing and what is better left in the sludge.

I heard recently that references to the “sea” in scripture indicate chaos (Thank you, Dr. Bonting) and that God’s ability to subdue and restrain the sea are reminders that God is greater than the chaos. Generalizing the “sea” beyond all bodies of water and comparing those waters to the life I have constructed, I take great relief and pleasure placing my chaos in God’s hands. I take great comfort in the truth that I will get of out of the water and that there will indeed be someone there to greet me.

Here’s to the God of all Creation. Here’s to the God who envisions for us all a unique journey that leads us to God. And here’s to the God who manages the chaos well. Amen.

Packing ... and "Why on earth ..."

66 days until I take off. Not that I'm counting ... or have been for months. I'm aware of my departure date and my return date, and it's curious to think that in just five months I'll be back home and sleeping in my own bed. That is if I'm able to leave Craig and Julie's house. They wouldn't hold me hostage. I'm just not sure how eager I'll be to leave. But it's a little too early to be writing about coming home. Time now to write about preparing to leave.

I’ve often been asked how I'm going to pack for three months. That's been asked by people who have travelled with me and know the challenge for me personally (it’s more about books and not wanting ever to be cold) and by people who haven't travelled with me and are just curious how one does that when the plan is to be touring 200,000 square miles in seven countries. My answer is that I have no idea. I read one suggestion on the Internet: spread on the floor everything I think I'll need ... and take half of that. That sounds good. I do have a couple thoughts, though. First is that I don’t have a lot of clothes just in general, and even here in the States I tend to wear the same few outfits. No reason to change that. The second thought is that I can buy what I need in Central America and do my part for the local economy. I’m going there to learn the language, and going prepared for every possible contingency doesn’t give me much cause to engage with the locals.

Why I’m going has been another question I hear often. People generally ask if I’m going with a group from church and what I’ll be doing. I get mixed reactions when I say that I’m not going to do anything. I don’t have real transferable skills. What I do best is learn and reflect and analyze. I’ll have ample opportunity to do that, I imagine, and yet it won’t contribute much to the people I meet. I’m going there to be … be formed, informed, and transformed … and to just be. I’m going with some eye and ear for servant leadership and how perhaps to be a deacon to those whose cultures and lifestyles are so different from mine. I’m going, too, with a heart toward the people’s faith and theology. But really, I’m just going to “be with” … maybe to receive but not “give to” and certainly not “do for.” I don’t want to be an ugly arrogant American going somewhere with the mindset that “these people” need to be ministered to or lifted up. It’s me, I think, who needs ministering and lifting up.

I also say that I’m going because it’s what love does. I talked with a friend last night about the idea that sometimes people of faith don’t have a lot of options. That trickled into material for another entry. Stay tuned.