A time for mourning.

On Sunday, four of my friends from the youth ministry I work at were in a car accident. The driver died, the passenger almost died, and the two in the back were fine.

I spoke at the driver's funeral on Friday. At least two hundred teenagers took off school to attend. I've been visiting the passenger in the hospital every day.

It's been real hard for everyone, of course. Nonetheless, I am seeing Jesus' love show up everywhere in this situation. It's been an excellent opportunity for me to love on the boy who was in the passenger seat. He broke two vertebrae in his neck, lost half of his left-index finger, broke his ankle, bruised his lung, and has plenty of stitches, but he is alive. I sit with him, read to him, bring his family food--it's been a real relational time, and although it has made my already busy life nearly impossible, I can't convince myself that there is anything better to do than go show that boy Christ's love. He does after all have a long road ahead of him.

Here's my plug for Regent: being an online student, I have been able to take my computer to the hospital many times this week. When Aaron (the kid) fell asleep, I'd type away, and when he woke up, I would talk to him. I love the flexibility of learning online, even though I sometimes wish I had more interaction with other intellectuals.

Oh yeah, it's been quite a week. The Lord gives me strength, of this I have zero doubt. Even when my legs give way, I don't fall. His plan is for me to be able right now, and so I am.

Romania

I worked at a boys school called Fundatia Crestina Ioan (The Christian John Foundation.) FCI takes in around 20 boys ages 16-18 (or thereabouts) that come from orphanages or hard economic situations. The program is two years, and they teach the boys carving, carpentry, English, a few computer basics, etc. Life skills. Furthermore, they show the boys the love of Jesus Christ, and they share his gospel with them. The ministry is just large enough to do everything well, and just small enough for the staff to be very personal with the boys.

After the harrowing adventure getting there (which turned out to be a long story) I was able to spend two weeks with the boys. For the most part I did what they did. I woke early, ate, did chores, learned to carve, played soccer, etc. I also taught them lots of games, through occasional hot-chocolate-and-cookies parties, did some driving for them in their stick-shift mini-bus, bought them boxing gloves and a few other items, led some bible studies, and loved on them as much as I possibly could every waking minute I had.

A spoonful of chaos helps the medicine go down. There is simply nothing better than getting a group of Romanian guys my age all riled up and excited to do crazy things, all with an underlying message of Christ's love. And a little bit of blood from that nice left hook while boxing.

Power is a joke. Love always wins in the end, but it requires a lot of meekness to love at all times, and sometimes meekness feels like weakness, and sometimes others perceive meekness as weakness, but nonetheless, love always wins in the end. You just have to trust that, because Jesus said to, above all else, love him and love others. Love doesn't always look like we expect it to, but it never looks like selfishness, arrogance, or social competition.

Fresh air, baby. That's all.

So, Thursday I leave for Romania. I have far too many things to get done before then. But my Lord is always faithful to me. Which is good, because it's moments like these that bring painful clarity to my incompetence.

So, I was telling my dad about my plan of attack:

I get off the plane in Bucharest, try and find a bus to the train station, find a train to the city I'm going to, try to find the bus station there to get a bus to the little village I'm going to, try to remember which direction to walk for two miles once I get into the village in order to find FCI (the ministry I'll be working at). I am fairly confident in my plan, but there is of course much room for logistical failure due to traveling delays, and the occasional railway strikes. Besides the fact that I'm going to be weeping tired after a full day of traveling, and I'm going to have to manage all of it with my extremely limited knowledge of Romanian.

"Wow, son, you're really manly, just going out on your own like that." - my dad.

Mmhm. I love my dad. :)

FCI is a two-year school for boys ages 16-20 (or so). It is a very smart ministry. They bring hope to the boys' lives by teaching them useful trades, who in turn bring hope to the country by supporting its economy. The school is large enough that it is run well, but small enough that the handful of staff are able to be very personal in sharing the good new of Jesus Christ with the boys. Love it.

Flat

I've been thinking a lot recently about how pain and suffering give definition to joy and hope.

Our forefathers shed their blood to make this nation free; they were very alive, and their lives had meaning because of the cause they fought for and the brotherhood it brought about.

Today we live in a free nation. Old veterans always complain that young people take their freedom for granted. Young people, though few articulate it, feel at a loss for meaning. In a culture where suffering is rare, complancency has grown dominate, and life has become superficial.

Realistically, those who have neither experienced personal suffering, nor sacrificed to alleviate another's suffering, have no ability to feel true joy. Nor do they know what it feels like to be really alive.

Maybe pain and discomfort aren't the enemies afterall.