Where I am.

"I dig my toes into the sand
The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds
Strewn across a blue blanket
I lean against the wind
Pretend that I am weightless
And in this moment I am happy...happy"

"I wish you were here
I wish you were here"

That about says it.

The Collective Groan of God's Land.

It's crazy to think I spent the past week walking in the footsteps of Jesus. It's eerie even. The places they say we was born, the mount of Olives where he prayed the night before the crucifixion, to the proposed burial site where he rose again. It's absurd really. It's deep. Very deep.
Old Jerusalem is one of the most interesting places I have ever been (I'm sorry if I say that about everywhere I go). Just walking around the tiny city enclosed by ancient walls I was shocked to see the sudden changes from quarter to quarter. Each section (Muslim, Christian, Jewish, and Armenain) has a very distinct edge and flavor to itself. It's something hard to explain, you walk around one corner and you have changed from an entirely Jewish community to an entirely Muslin one. All within a tiny perimeter. At the same time there seems to be a harmony that connects them all, it's really hard to explain.
We arrived 5 or so days ago directly from Tel Aviv airport to Jerusalem, where we went to the hostel we had booked (Citadel Hostel). To our surprise, on arrival we were informed that the room we had booked was in fact not even a room. It was a mattress on top of the roof! A little surprised we weren't sure if we wanted to stay, but regardless went up to see the roof top. All I can say is that it was stunning. It overlooked the the entire old city. Breathtaking scenery. It was shared with about 20 other people, and before you knew it we had been accepted into their family. We all ate together, traveled around together, and slept under the stars and over the city lights together. It was beautiful. An experience of a lifetime.
The city has calls to prayer 4 times a day where the churched would get on their loudspeakers and lead everyone within the walls in prayer. Those moments where the type that sent shivers down my spine. It would start with the Rabbi or whoever would start it, and before long the entire city was moaning in prayer together. From our rooftop, it sounded as if the city stopped to collectively groan to God. Again one of those things that needs to be experienced.
The trip was filled with amazing conversation, under the stars at Citadel, floating in the Dead Sea, wandering the streets in Bethlaham, everyone wanted to talk. Never have I sat down in such a respectful conversation with such a diversity of people, everything from Jewish, christian, athiest, Muslim, and everything else between sitting, eating, and exploring each others world views. We even as a group celebrated shabbat (Jewish Sabbath), with dinner and a visit to the Wailing wall. Moments like these that make a world surrounded in darkness, war and tragedy seem Okay. It's the kind of thing that gives a person like me hope for the nations. All of them. There are hopes and dreams and ideas that we all share, we just haven't been on the same path.
I have so much to say about Israel, but no time. It's hard because I don't feel that I have even scrapped the surface of what I expereinced here. There is too much history. Too many current events. Too many sights to see. And Beauty all around.
Please ask me about it if you care to hear.
These past two days we have spent sitting on the beach in Tel Aviv, Which lies on the most beautiful mediterian sea. I have had a lot of time to sit back and ponder my time in Romania and Jerusalem here. The only major conclusion that I have come to is that I am filled with thanksgiving for the places and people I have met and will miss them all greatly. I have definatly left a part of myself in each of our stops so far, so I can only imagine that there are equally amazing things in store for South Africa in t-minus 2 days. Goodness me.
My prayers are with all of you. And I have a feeling I will be seeing many of you in the near future.
My love from Tel Aviv, Israel.

Give some light, take some.

As I sit in this seedy basement internet cafe in Bucharest 12 hours before heading to Greece on our way to Israel, I try and pull together my experience in Eastern Europe. I have loved my time here, absolutely loved it, every minute. Every second. But the more time I spend, the harder it seems it gets to piece this whole experience together, make proper sense out of it.
The last few days have been spent in Bucharest, enjoying the city here, which happens to be far more beautiful and interesting than I would have ever expected. I am thankful I got a chance to see it, but in all honesty it is not what I will remember about Eastern Europe, or Romania for that matter.
Despite this, the last couple days have been a good chance for me to reset myself. I got a few simple reminders from different people and events to center myself around who I am, and not to worry about the other stuff. I found myself eager to get out and explore, and to move, to search, and to find beauty in the smallest of things. I started to cherish the moment, the person, and the place a little bit more.
But there was a lot more to Romania than all of this. I have to flat out say that my time spent with the Romania Project was some of the most positive time I have had in a long time. For some reason it felt as if it fell into perfect harmony with my time in Calcutta. Certain thoughts, hopes, dreams, and convictions were all confirmed, as well as light being spread on others. To think that I was not even excited to come here in the first place...
As I mentioned in the post before this, we spent most of our time in orphanages and schools in both Cluj-Napoca, and Beclean. My heart lies most in Beclean, a small town in mid west Romania. Beclean in flat out beautiful. Some of my favorite times were just walking the country road, casting smiles on the elderly folk who would sit on benches outside their homes in the afternoon. The rolling mountains, the extraordinary skies, the small houses and farms, the simplicity. It's a place I would love to live for 6 months or a year, and just escape from the rest of the world. It's amazing that places like these still exist. Thank the Lord.
But the vast scenery of Beclean is still not what will resonate with me long after I leave this place. What will stick with me are the amazing people and moments I had while I stayed there. The one to one conversations, the group chats, the sharing of stories that often brought tears to the eyes of everyone listening. There was brutal honesty, unimaginable trust given, and some incredible bonds made. Sounds cheesy, but the truth can't be avoided.
I am thankful for everyone whom I met there. The Canadian team was beyond expectations (which were already high), the Romanians, even though an equal part of the team, served and treated as though we were family. You guys lit up the room with your vibrant antics and shared truth with all of us foreigners. It was an amazing feeling. So first I want to thank you to all of you guys, you all did wonders over there, believe me.
However the thing I will remember most about the trip to Cluj and Beclean, will be the children. The children who when saw love, ate it up with a desperation I had not seen before. The children who would beg you to play with them until every ounce of you energy was exhausted, and then would beg for more. The children who wanted to be held and kissed and cherished. There were so many of them, so many it's hard to think about. But there are a few who made impacts on me specifically. Andrea, the tiny 5 year old girl, whom I only spent one afternoon with, but was possibly the funniest kid I have ever met. She and I had fun to no end. Raul, who latched on to me from the moment I met him and never let go. Him for giving me some of the firmest, most honest hugs I have ever had. Bogdan, for stealing my stuff, then pawning it off on other kids. For being hilarious. And probably most of all, Rezvan, who taught me forgiveness. Who showed me what it really means to love your enemy. I will never forget that googly-eyed, crooked-toothed boy. I love him.
These are the things I saw and learned in Romania. I went to Romania understanding that I was there to be a light to them, I didn't know that by the time I left they would be the ones brightening up my life.
As in most of the lessons of my life, these things are unexpected, and untimely, but always perfect. I just hope I can keep my eyes open long enough to see them all.

Cluj to Baclean

Hello friends.
I don't have a ton of time so this will be quick. I just want to update you on what has been going on. Adam and I have just spent the last two weeks with the Romania Project, working in several orphanges and school in Cluj and Baclean. It was an amazing experience that for me was both and unexpected and needed one. I don't have the time to fully explain and shed light on the beautiful people and children I have met, and the gorgeous country I have surveyed. I will try and write something soon for you all, but you may have to wait until I arrive in Israel, which is in about 5 or so days. Until then, I think of and pray for you, and hope that you are more than fine.

Yours,

Mike.

Number 49.

It's hard to believe, as I sit here on a Thursday morning, hands wrapped around a hot mug of green tea, discussing the state of the church with Adam, that only days ago I was in the sultry heat of Calcutta, India. It's hard to believe that as I eat my slightly burned toast, that I am only heartbeats removed from Kalighat, a place that is a house for the dying, a house that I began to feel at home.

I was warned over and over that the only shock worst then going to Calcutta, and volunteering at Kali, would be the one that I received once I returned home. However, I am not sure if it's fair to define my state, post India, as one of "shock". I prefer to label it as "Sober". I have found many of the intense emotions that I experienced during my stay there have subsided. They have evaporated and left a film behind, one of startling realism.

It is hard to describe to someone what such a place, or time, can mean to you. How it can change your perspective. How it can force you to understand the simple things. The things that God has laid out right in front of you. The ones he begs you to embrace. I don't think it would be fair for me, to you or to myself, to try and make sense of these things in a logical, or theological statement. There isn't a way, that I can conceive or imagine that would allow me to accurately portray that.

The only thing I can do, is tell stories. But then again, story telling is fairly biblical, isn't it.

I am not going to try and teach through any of these stories, I just want to share with you the kind of things that we did in Kalighat. And maybe, through some stretch of the imagination, with some sort of luck, you could see why I feel the way I do about the place, and the people. Or maybe not, but I'll leave that to you.

One of the first things we saw upon our arrival at Kali was the carting out of a dead body. For me it was stunning. It was the first time I had seen one. I suddenly realized where I actually was.

A regular day there was quite straightforward. You arrived around 8 am and handed out the food, that had been previously lain by the sisters, to the inmates (that's what they call the patients). We would then clean their dishes, wash their clothes and lay them to dry on the roof. Once finished we would join the sisters in the men's ward and administer medicine and water to everyone. When this was finished it was about 9 30. That left us an hour to serve the inmates however they needed. We would wash them, help them go to the toilet, help bandage their wounds, massage them, and just talk with them. At 10 30 we would all head up and have lunch on the roof. By 11 we would serve the inmates their lunch, helping feed those who could not feed themselves. Do the dishes, say our good-byes and head off at noon.

It doesn't sound too difficult, and really it's not, once you are over the shock of some of the things that go down. You also have to be prepared to do things that will almost certainly make you throw up.

It took me a week to really begin to be able to fully serve the inmates. Everything was such a shock it was tough. Rather than finding myself present in a conversation with an inmate, I would be thinking about how gross the last thing I just did was, or dreading what I would have to do next. Once I got over these things, the time there became beautiful. I kept my head in the moment, and witnessed some amazing thing, that I would have otherwise probably missed.

However, on my second final day I once again found myself in a similar state. And rightfully so. There had been quite a few deaths on the male side that week and I had seen bodies being carried out on the regular. But to my surprise one of the regular guys at Kalighat came up to and asked me to help him carry out a body. I without much hesitation agreed. Placed on a stretcher we carried him out to the truck which would take him to crematory. I started to head back inside, when the same man yelled at me in his heavy Bengali accent that I wasn't done yet. And he told me to get in the truck. I was to sit in the back and hold onto the body so that it would not move around during the ride. I grabbed his ankle and we went. Once we arrived at the crematory we carried him inside and placed him in front of a large oven. The man uncovered some of his cloth so that we could see his face. He was one of the patients that I had cared for on several occasions. It was one of the strangest feelings. Then the man left me alone there to sit with the body in front on the oven. I spent most of that time in prayer, mostly for myself. He returned 20 minutes later with another man and a large bamboo stretcher. We moved the body onto the bamboo and the two men opened the over. I was told to push. I had to be asked twice. It was almost like I didn't understand, but I did. So I bent over and pushed the body into the flames. I admit, I felt ill. It was one of the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

There was not much that I took from that situation. I couldn't find much silver lining. It was only saddening. There were other bodies there with large families who sat and said their goodbyes. And then there was the man from Mother Teresa's home, who had no one. Just a white, foreigner, who didn't even know his name. It broke my heart, that I had to be the one that payed him his final respects. It broke my heart even more that there will be so many more like him.

One of those men, was number 49. Each inmate was assigned a number as it aided in administering meds and also the fact that we didn't know the names of many of them. Number 49 held a special place in my heart. I tried my best to be impartial and love all the inmates the same, but there is so many, and I guess it's in human nature to want to be close to someone. I never found out what this man suffered from, but I assumed it was stomach cancer or something like that. He could not keep food down. He would eat breakfast, or lunch and then puke it up 20 minutes later. Every time. He was so skinny at first it was painful for me to look at him. He was so weak that he could not even speak, I never heard a word come from his mouth. But somewhere we connected. Everyday, I would keep an eye out for him, because he was often left for up to a half hour to lay in his own vomit or piss. I would shower him and and dress him in fresh clothing, clean his bead and lay him back down.
I spent a lot of time with that man. I would sit with him for as long as I could and talk to him about anything. I doubt he understood anything I said, but he sat and he listened. I could tell by the way his eyes connected to mine he was happy to listen. He would almost never respond though, it was too much effort for him to even nod his head. I would often sit and massage his back or just rub his head. I loved the guy,
On my last day, I spent almost an hour with him after I had cleaned him (he had peed the bed). We sat. And I talked. He listened. And Looked at my eyes. As usual, there was no response. And with only minutes left before I would leave Kali for the last time, I asked him if I could pray for him. He nodded for the first time. It almost brought tears to my eyes.
Once I had prayed for him, I said my good byes. I had already explained to him that I was leaving. I hugged him and stood up to leave. As I left I overheard the doctor say that he would live no more than 2 days. It broke my heart to leave. Number 49 gave me that glimpse of God that I spoke about in my last entry. He has left footprints on my life. And he never spoke a word.

There are hundred of other stories I could tell you about Calcutta. Everyday had many.

But now, I head to Romania. I leave in a couple hours. So It's time to move forward.

Please pray for the team that has already headed there. I really believe beautiful things are going to happen. Because they happen everywhere, we just need to look for them.