Memories

From and absentee blogger - I am beginning my Masters in Christian studies this fall, consequently the frequency of sitting down to blog has plummeted. What to do??? Post assignments :) Here is one I thought worked as a blog. It is a reflective paper on my life:

A narrative about me ought not to be divorced from my memories. Therefore, I have chosen to articulate my life through a series of specific memories. Each of these moments acts as a pericope of a larger embodied narrative. Within these snapshots, the themes of growth, change, and movement act as the fluid constants within the story.

           

            “Adrian”, I call, “check this out!” I have found a new bike jump in the park. Life as a five year old is serene. Adrian is consistent, I see him at church, at school, on camping trips. Blond and blue eyed, we are often mistaken as brothers. I guess that is the “hardship” of growing up in an enmeshed Christian Reformed community, located within the greater bounds of Calgary, Alberta.

            It is early, the streetlights glow yellow. Off I walk, down the block around the corner. The cold bites at my face. The sound grates on my ears. The shovel catches a crack in the pavement; I am jolted awake. The snow continues to fall; I know I will be out here again after school repeating the same monotonous exercise later this afternoon. The up side - today is payday. I will be receiving $40 for shoveling my neighbour’s snow for a month. To my eight-year-old mind, I am rich. Even though I will only see half of it, the other half disappears into university savings. Responsibility, my parents say, is something I am old enough to understand.

***

            It is Friday afternoon; Dad enters the kitchen after work. As we sit, enjoying a cup of tea, I am asked if I want to go to England. My stomach lurches within my twelve-year-old frame. This day forever shakes me from my comfortable community life. Friday, the impetus of the next year, a year spent living in Northern England with my family as part of a teacher exchange.

            Standing on a beach along the French Riviera, I turn thirteen. Tomorrow I get to ski for the first time this season, but the Alps will be nothing like the local ski hill near Calgary. Six months into the exchange, life continues to have surreal moments. These instants seem to redeem the onslaught of tough experiences, most of which occur at school. Beyond specific challenges, I am experiencing general confusion, a result of being unceremoniously dropped into the middle of another worldview. As we drive away from the beach towards the Alps, I open Harry Potter. Harry is quickly becoming a good friend, one who has stays with me through thick-and-thin.

***

            “Silas”, Adrian has a serious tone in his voice, as we leave another college party, “We really need to get out of Calgary! I have been looking and I found a fun program at a Bible college in BC, want to come?”

            “BC has good skiing!” I respond. “I am coming.” Little did I know this snap decision would forever alter the course of my life.

***

            Bedouin chi is so very different from Himalayan chi, and Wadi Rum is so very stark when compared to the grand vistas of Northern India. However, the welcoming disposition of the people could not be more similar, I muse. As I melt in the Jordanian sun, I reflect on how I never thought attending a Bible College would lead to these opportunities.

***

            All aboard?” I call back to the students taking their seats in the van I am driving. It was no less then two years before I was in their position, beginning a one-year discipleship program. This year I have the privilege of being an intern for the same program.

            As I watch Costa Rica disappear beneath the wing of the plane, I reflect on a wild year. The students I met no more then eight months ago are now flying home. We have hiked, skied, rock climbed, sailed, canoed, and lived together. We have learning from one another, and now we are parting ways. As I drift into the dream world, I smile nervously. The anticipation of spending the next four months in East Africa with no itinerary, acts as a double-edge sword. Both hope and fear describe my mood.

            The feet again, those old familiar boots, my friend Aron is still right in front of me. I have followed those boots many Kilometers down winding trails and up vast mountains, but none quite like this. As I wheeze my head pounds, yet I regain cognitive ability. The sun crests over the Tanzanian horizon. It is before seven in the morning that Aron and I reach the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. What an incredible way to finish my time in Africa! It makes the depression, the hopelessness, and the anger I have experienced over the past months seem to fade just a little. Here on the mountain I feel worlds away from the slums, the villages, and the cities where I have spent the majority of the last four months.

***

            I look at the clock for the third time. I must force myself to get out of bed. It is a dreary existence. It has been raining for three months. The prospect of moving couches for another day seems unbearable. Thought of the e-mail I received last night, a rejection letter from another graduate school, compounds my morose disposition. This year is not turning out as I had planned. I loath the path I have chosen. How could I have been so stupid? A degree in Biblical studies with a minor in Community Development, what was I thinking? How am I ever going to be employable? The joy of reading Karen Armstrong, N.T. Wright, J.H. Yoder, and the classics, seems like a feeble memory when placed beside the reality of the year after. Even the thrilling theological discussions seem utterly disconnected from my experience of reality. I kick myself for not being more practical.

***

            I cannot believe it slipped my mind! This morning it the meeting with the permanent representative of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea to the United Nations. It is nothing but surprises and excitement when interning at the Mennonite Central Committee’s office at the United Nations. As I run to the store on the corner it crosses my mind how incredibly different this month has been from the one which preceded it.

***

            “Adrian, how is China? What is the best part so far?” I ask over Skype...“Ya, I am doing well too, I just started at Regent. It is busy. I really like one of my courses!”

           

            Where is God in all of these memories? Prevalent throughout. One need only see the gifts used, the enjoyment had, the tough times gone through, and the life lived to see the weaving together of a far grander story then I alone could have dreamed to tell.  

            What of my Family? My family has since spread and diversified. My father still teaches, acting as the consistent beat in our family. My mother works as an employment advisor for low-literacy women. She finished her Masters in Political Science and founded the Justice Film Festival in Calgary. My older brother moved to Edmonton to study, completing his Masters of Electrical Engineering. He is now works in micro-engineering, while competing at the highest levels of road cycling in Alberta. My younger brother is an action sports photographer living in Whistler, BC. His photos appear in publications all over the world. We continue to wonder how we all turned out so different! It is part of the human experience I think I will never quite understand.