It Was Worth It

3 August, 2014

I have been asked whether our stay in Spain was worth all the trouble. It's a valid question; one that I have asked myself many times over. We gave up so much to come here:

• Comfortable home, recently renovated
• Church of 20 years, which we helped to build
• Friends
• Family
• Good job
• Predictable life (mostly)
• Cookout milkshakes
• Chick-Fil-A, home of the blessed chicken

After one year of living in another culture, however, I can say unequivocally, emphatically, that yes it was worth it. What we all discovered is that we did not give up many of the things on my list. Some, obviously, are deferred, but others stayed with us the whole time. Our friendships and family ties deepened with the distance. What is more, we developed some real relationships in Spain that we expect to nurture well into the future.

We have made a deposit into our daughters that will accrue interest for the rest of their lives. Opportunities have opened up, even now, for them to follow their passions in ways they never knew were possible before living in another culture. They are no longer shackled by language, nationality or cultural ignorance. 

The question I now ask myself is how can I bring this ethos back home with me? Nothing is more annoying than to hear an ex-expat say how much better everything is over there. My friends have chided me about it a time or two. The comparisons are inevitable, but they are superficial. Debating about who has the best cheese is not what matters. Opening people's minds to the possibility that other cultures are valid, good, even desirable, is the goal I am pursuing. Someone once said that one third of the people in the world eat with forks and call themselves civilized. One third eats with chopsticks and call themselves civilized. One third eats with their hands and call themselves civilized. Perhaps we need to listen to what people say about themselves, instead of forcing our own arbitrary labels upon them. 

I have no idea where God will lead me next, beyond the fact that it will be Hartsville, South Carolina. I do know that whatever does happens will be informed by whatever has already transpired, and for that my heart is full.

Farewell Dinner

3 August, 2014

The other night we held a celebration dinner at Restaurante Victoria. It is one of our favorite places. The family that owns it has adopted us as their own. We wanted to say thank you to some of the people who have marked our lives here in Spain. This isn't the first time we have done this.

Barely one year into our marriage, Susan and I decided to build a house in Pinehurst, NC. Our builder ended up being totally incompetent, so we fired him after four months. Abraham Lincoln was faced with replacing U.S. Grant as general in the middle of a bloody campaign against Robert E. Lee. Lincoln said, "It's not a good idea to switch horses in the middle of a stream." I know what he meant.

Instead of finding a new contractor, we decided to be the G.C. ourselves. Thus commenced a year of hell. Finally we finished the house. We thought it only appropriate to christen it and to say thanks to our friends and family that supported us during the ordeal. Thus began our famous pig-pickin' tradition with 100 of our closest friends.

The dinner at Restaurante Victoria was a somewhat smaller affair. We only had about 30 people. Luckily for our bank account, most of our friends had already cleared town for their vacations. We could have easily filled the plaza, and for that we are truly thankful.

Happy Birthday Katherine

Happy 13^th Birthday to

an amazing teenager who is:

Honorable


Artist and Athletic


Pretty


Passionate


Young


Beautiful


Insightful and Imaginative


Right


Thoughtful


Humorous


Drop dead gorgeous


Amazing


You-nique

I love you,

Mommy

How about that?

Another year has passed.

Perhaps you thought it would never come.

Pain and agony have been a part of your journey, but…

You have also experienced joy and incredible growth.

Believe in yourself.

I have witnessed your incredible gifts.

Remember that we love you to the moon and back.

Things that seem like challenges today are preparing you for     victories tomorrow.

Hold on to those parts of your “girl-hood”, as you pass into “woman-hood”.

Dig a little deeper everyday to find the gold in your life.

Act on your passions, without holding back.

You are my daughter, and I am so happy to say that.

Pictoro-phobia

24 July, 2014

When Katherine was younger, she hated having her picture taken. We still don't know why. Some Africans, upon first seeing a photograph, thought that their souls had been stolen. Perhaps Katherine had the same fears. At any rate, there are several family photos with me trying to get Katherine to raise her head, while she does "the turtle". Since that time, she has slowly allowed the world to see her face. The ultimate was a photo shoot by Tina Wrona in Southern Pines. Tina is a professional photographer and actually teachers other photographers how to shoot the perfect picture. She asked if our girls could be models for one of her lessons. Hmmm...Let me think about it for a minute. OK!!!

This was the first, and only time, that Katherine has said that she looked beautiful. We have often used that moment as a way of reinforcing some positive things in Katherine's life. Thank you, Tina, for that precious gift.

Tonight, over dinner, we were all laughing about a series of photos I took of a "Roman soldier" at the Colosseum. Evidently they are not even sanctioned by the authorities, but they will happily allow you to take a picture with them for €3-4. We spotted several of these Photo Soldiers the other day. One in particular was somewhat camera shy. He would actively seek to avoid the camera, unless you were willing to pay for a picture. As a consequence, he seldom had any customers. While the other centurions were scooping up the moolah, he was playing Sean Penn with the paparazzi. That just tickled me to no end. I saw an opportunity for another adventure.

The Great White Hunter stalks his prey, the ever elusive Centurionis Romanas. Seldom has man seen, much less photographed this magnificent creature. The male is resplendent with green plumage and a beautiful green cape. Notice his authentic faux leather boots and slightly shorter than normal sword. This could prove a significant disadvantage when attracting a suitable mate. Great White Hunter moves warily toward the left. Egads! The beast has spotted us. Taking a photo now will prove most difficult. See his protective maneuver.

Ahhh, an opportunity lost. Patience will win the day, however. The Great White Hunter stalks along behind Centurionis Romanas, ostensibly taking photos of the Colosseum, the natural mating grounds for C.R.

Spooked, the highly intelligent animal maintains a wary eye upon the hunter, who keeps a respectful distance, for fear of a frontal assault.

What's this? A group of girls asks the hunter to take their photograph? Ahh, yes! Of course! A diversion will do nicely here, won't it? As the GWH happily snaps away in feigned nonchalance, the beast is confronted with a bona fide customer, a little girl who wants a photo. What stupendous luck!

The Great White Hunter moves in for the kill. See the determination in the soldier's eyes. He is defeated, but not without his measure of pride.

Another successful safari in the wilds of Rome.

What good fortune! At the ruins of the famed Pantheon, we find yet another fine example of the species. This one is anachronistically talking on his cell phone, no doubt communicating with his Colosseum brethren, who are giving fair warning. Alas, too late for him.

These photos will hang as trophies in the Great White Hunter's library.

Travel Tips

16 July, 2014

One of the big benefits of living in Spain has been cheap travel to all the cool spots in Europe. Now that we are heading home, we felt the need to cram in as much travel as possible into the final six weeks of our time here. In addition, the Kjellgren family, my in-laws, like to travel every year to a different destination in Europe. This was a perfect storm.

The fruit is almost ripe (Look for the girls)

Firenze

A local belt maker. He cut the belts to size and gave the girls leather bookmarks as well.

Hangin' with Chairman Mao.

Here is our itinerary:

Naples and Amalfi Coast
Athens
Greek Islands cruise
Milan
Lucern
Bern
Florence and Tuscany
Cinque Terre
Rome
Sicily

As of today, we are in the middle of Florence and Tuscany. It ain't easy being me.

Here's my take on traveling, in case you're interested.

• Meet and Greet
• When traveling to any foreign destination, which includes something as mundane as the next town over, try to focus at least part of the trip on actually meeting and interacting with a local. Too often we treat people like they are just part of the scenery. I cannot recount the number of times I have seen and overheard travelers gawking and making disparaging comments about locals. Before I seem to righteous, I must admit to being something of a white-washed sepulchre. Perhaps this is why I am so attuned to the behavior. We always seem to notice our faults in others more than in ourselves.
• Get off Main Street
• If everybody in the restaurant or shop is speaking your language, leave. Today we walked through Florence with a true blue local. He took us to his house for a cooking class. As we walked away from the tourist areas, he began to point out shops run by true artisans--shoes, purses, metal-working, book-binding. We were the only English speakers around. We found better deals and interacted with true craftsmen.
• Eat Treats (or sometimes tricks)
• Ordering in a foreign country is easy. Either order the craziest thing on the menu or whatever is the special of the day. My theory is that restaurants only put things on the menu that taste good, since that is what generates a profit. Therefore, the risk in trying new things is fairly minimal. So go ahead and be a little adventurous. Even better is to shop in a local market and actually cook a meal. My ultimate goal is to meet a stranger and get invited to their house for dinner. It hasn't happened yet, but I just know that I am getting closer all the time.
• Beat feet
• I try to never come home the same way. If I get lost, it's a bonus. Many times I have found a special little restaurant, shop or vista. We tend to be so afraid of traveling off the beaten track, but it is most often without merit. Obviously it is not a good idea to walk down an alley, when you see a pimp or drug dealer hawking their wares.
• Speak
• Speaking the language is a balm. Even just a little phrase can change the attitude of a salesman in a shop or waiter in a restaurant. Really, we have no excuses anymore. With Google Translate, you can speak, or at least write, any language you want. I downloaded Italian, so that I can even speak when offline. 

Traveling is an incredible privilege. We should avail ourselves of every opportunity to interact with other cultures. Be aware, however, that merely visiting another place does not necessarily equate with actually interacting, anymore than visiting McDonald's makes you a Big Mac. Get out there and do something different.

To Infinity and Beyond

14 July, 2014

Danger Askins and his crew have been in the deepest reaches of outer space, fighting the dread school break fever. Emerging from his self-imposed slumber and languor, Danger is ready for the next challenge--Vacation to Italy and Beyond!

For all of June, we packed all our worldly belongings or gave them away to new-found friends, in preparation for a six week tour of Italy, Greece and Switzerland, after which we will be moving back to Hartsville, South Carolina, the town of my birth and seat of my ancestry.

Sadly this means the coming end of the Redneck's life in Europe. For now. Many people have asked us whether it was worth it to trade the known and comfortable existence we enjoyed for the decidedly unknown and discomfiting life in another country. My reply, and Susan's, has always been the same. Absolutely. The girls, too, have slowly come around to the reality that their journey to Hell and back left more than just some scorch marks on their souls. They have even started to see that La Alberca, Spain is actually a pretty nice place to live.

Katherine was invited to go swimming with some of her friends about a week before we left for vacation. When she arrived, she found her entire class waiting for her. Her friends had planned a going away party for Katherine. That's when it hit her. She later told me that I was breaking her heart for the second time in a year. The first was coming to Spain. The second would be leaving it. A few limbs broke off and all the leaves blew away in the year-long hurricane of emotions and anxiety. Her trunk will show some wear, perhaps a knot or two. However for all her sufferings over the past year, and there have been many, Katherine is blossoming into a beautiful young woman. When she looks back over her life, Katherine will see the stoutest parts of her trunk came at those moments when she faced the greatest adversity. Those rings will be close together and tightly wound, giving her the strength she will need to endure harsher storms. We are gently pruning her in preparation for bountiful harvests. The fruit will be all the sweeter.

Elizabeth is already seeing some benefits. Spain served as a cocoon out of which she was forced to emerge under her own power. As her wings unfold and dry out, she will be flying to places of her own choosing. Butterflies seem to have no pattern or path as they flit about, yet they always land at their destination. Her scope is focusing and her destination is becoming international, like a monarch. From this point forward, we will be giving less direct intervention and more guidance. She will be flying away soon, only three more years. We will be left to watch the wonderful display.

What's in Your Toolbox?

9 April, 2014

The other day I went out by myself on a hike. When I go with a friend, I don't feel the need to take anything with me, but when I go solo, all of sudden, I have a compulsion to take a backpack full of stuff:

• Long Pants
• Jacket
• Hat
• Water bottle
• Wallet
• Keys
• ID
• Leatherman

The Boy Scout in me comes out, and I need to carry stuff, just in case. Be prepared. I forgot a flashlight, however, so my total trek time was only about 1 hour. I also failed to bring along anything resembling a first aid kit. Looking back, I was not prepared for much more than what I actually accomplished--a fairly easy uphill stroll. The wallet came in handy, however, because I stopped at a new restaurant and enjoyed a few tapas and a couple of cervezas. Mission accomplished.

The only tool I brought along, my Leatherman, is really just a multi-faceted pacifier. I feel better having it strapped to my side. To be sure, I could find some uses for it on the trail, if pressed, but in truth, I am not much of an outdoorsman. I love being in the wild, but I don't know how long I would actually survive on my own. Going to a survival camp is on my Bucket List. (Hint for Christmas)

Tools and I go together like barbed wire and bare feet. No matter how careful I am, I always end up getting hurt. At this very moment, I am typing with a band-aid on my right thumb, after almost severing it with an apple slicer. I just am not safe around tools. Don't even get me started on anything with electricity.

This lack of dexterity weighs heavy on my soul. My entire family is handy. Everybody can make stuff, whether it's food, houses, robots, art, etc. I can make a mess, usually with some amount of blood loss in the mix. So what can I do to supplement my obvious lack? I am not really sure, but I think the answer is somewhere between resignation and perspiration.

On the one hand, I need to admit and accept my obvious shortcomings. Where my brother and sister can design, build and repair anything, I will just have to pay somebody else to do it. This is not such a bad way to go, however, as I get things done and then move on, perhaps a little poorer, but not nearly as tired.

On the other hand, I need to learn, grow and development. Like a muscle, I have allowed whatever shred of coordination I inherited to atrophy. It is time to bulk up. Living in Spain has actually helped a great deal with this, because I don't have a rolodex of available subcontractors at my disposal. I do however, have a Leatherman.

To date, I have successfully, more or less, repaired or replaced the following:

• Shower enclosure. Dismantled, caulked, reassembled. Still leaks, but the door opens better.
• Toilet guts. Removed and replaced. Toilet no longer runs constantly and flushes well.
• Ikea furniture. Okay, I actually helped Susan do this, so I only get partial credit.
• Art. I completed a 30 Day Challenge and drew some interesting things

That's not a very impressive list, but it is far more than I accomplished in the previous year. We all carry blindspots and weaknesses. Recognizing and working to overcome them is the challenge. 

Mosiacs and Restaurants

12 May, 2014

We have traveled extensively over the past year, which is an incredible privilege. One of the challenges, however, is finding a way to engage our daughters, who have become somewhat saturated with "another cathedral" or "another museum". It makes me a little angry to even say that. I mean, they should be more appreciative of what they're getting, right? Whatever. Teenagers are the same all over the world.

One way of combatting teenage boredom on our vacations is to engage them in some family activity. Lately it has been art. In Barcelona, we attended a workshop with artist Martin Brown. He is actually British, but has been living in Spain for several years. He is a full time artist and has amazing talent. You can see pictures of some of his work on this post. I will also link to his website.

Martin creates incredible mosaics and hosts classes right in his little apartment. It was a real treat to be able to sit down with him and design a mosaic, while he watched over the process. Each person worked independently, using a box full of tile shards of various shapes and sizes.

We all hunkered down to our tasks and chatted with Martin along the way. He is an amiable guy who fell into mosaics after a pretty successful career as a textile designer in the fashion world.

After two hours, that felt like two minutes, we each had a little mosaic to take home with us. Of course, Susan and Katherine made some incredible pieces. Elizabeth's was very nice as well. Mine? Well, I completed the project. In the "everybody gets a medal" kind of way, I'm a winner too.

Truthfully, it was one of the funnest things we did in Barcelona, along with taking pictures of funny sounding restaurants, which has become another staple of our travels. Really the two go together in a weird, mosaic kind of way. All the experiences we have shared have served to shape and define our family. Each moment together is another piece that combines to make a whole. Our lives are nothing more than a composite of tiny little seconds. We must choose wisely how we place them in the framework of time.

Who wants a plate of pipin' hot dukey?

Bugs. It's what's for dinner.

I'll have the barf on brie, please. Oh and a wedge of vomit, if you don't mind.

United Nations In My Belly

6 May, 2014

Now it's no secret to those who know me that I love to eat. It is with great joy that I thank God above for endowing me with an unreasonably high metabolism, enabling me to burn off more than I consume. This allows me to eat at will. In addition, my palette is incredibly wide. I will eat anything. Spicy, gross, hot, cold. I even recycled a piece of chewing gum off a roller coaster. It was mint flavored.

You can only imagine my sentiments when we visited the Camden Lock Market and other sites around London. Each location was awash with culinary treats from around the globe. It was a meeting to make the United Nations jealous.

India made the first presentation, a fiery fusillade of flavors that promised to overpower other, weaker nations. Brazil provided some modicum of peace, proclaiming a meat and potatoes message to appeal to the "Everyman". Thailand created a bridge between the hot words of India and the sweet language of diplomacy emanating from the Italian gelato. Germany preferred to stay rather neutral with its fare, but promised to come back tomorrow with more excitement. The Turks soothed with their creamy words of consolation, without sacrificing the flavor of their offerings.

Everything moved along apace, until the countries met in narrow confines, without borders, deep in the bowels of diplomacy. The Indian contingent set fire to the whole structure, which caused a mass exodus of blazing chaos. Not to worry, however, as this only cleared the way for fresh negotiations with other countries. Vietnam and Peru kept asking for a conference, while China insisted on a private meeting in its own section of London.

After four days of intense negotiations, we arrived at an accord.

• All agreed that London was the perfect place to hold a conference of nations, since the English have nothing to offer as far as food is concerned. This allowed each nation to have an equal voice, without competing for attention with the host country. 
• India is only allowed one meeting per visit, due to heightened fire safety concerns.
• Smaller countries should receive the first meetings, to ensure they have a voice.
• As a matter of practice, we must have more negotiations and more often. 

Perhaps my calling is as a diplomat, a gustatory ambassador of goodwill. Move over Dennis Rodman. Korea is calling my name.

Street Performers

20 April, 2014

Our family is in Madrid on Spring Break. It's payment for the girls' hard work in school and also an opportunity to hang out with my mama, sister and niece. Our cup runneth over.

Over the past couple of days, I have noticed several street performers on Plaza Mayor. They have always fascinated me. You can separate them into a few categories:

• Musicians
• Contortionists
• Artists
• Hip Hop Dancers
• Magicians

The musicians seem to be driven more by passion than money. I am sure they are hoping to rake in a big haul, like everybody else, but quite often they don't even acknowledge the crowd. The musician just needs an outlet. I met a band yesterday. They were all young and sang 80's rock covers with a weird kind of Spanish/British accent. They drew a decent crowd every time, but didn't generate a lot of money. All the guys were friendly and excited about their upcoming CD. They told me their main purpose for being on the Plaza was to be close to the fans. If that's true, they succeeded.

The other day, we visited a street market in Madrid and I came upon a guy playing a set of wine glasses. I was excited to see him, because I had just demonstrated how to make that distinctive sound to Katherine on a wine glass at home. He was talented, but lacked an ability to engage the audience.

That same day we encountered a group of classical musicians that included a singer. He had a rich baritone, and possessed obvious talent. A crowd of 50 or so people gathered around. He captured all of us and held us in spellbound attention. Money flowed out of our pockets like water over the Niagara Falls. A little bit later, a woman joined the group and sang in a beautiful soprano. They were definitely professional singers.

Contortionists come in all shapes and sizes, literally. The big thing these days is levitation. Even Jesus got into the act.

The really good ones will generate €150/night. That's not bad for just hanging around. Francesca, the ghost bride, is an aspiring actress. She is new to the street performance business and only makes between €30-70/night for five nights a week. That's not a great living, but enough to pay the bills, and she has most of the day to hunt for other work.

Street Artists make those caricatures that everybody has somewhere in their closet or proudly hanging on the wall. Katherine had been begging for one, and we finally found one in Plaza Mayor. It was hard for Katherine to sit still while the guy was drawing her. She was dying to know what it looked like. I showed him some of Katherine's work, and he was really impressed. It's a great picture, and I think it will bolster Katherine's growing love of art. 

Hip Hop Dancers fascinate me. This is an art form that literally started in the streets. Perhaps it is the lovechild of Contortionists and Musicians. Michael Jackson supposedly first saw the "Moonwalk" on the street. As this art form ages, it has begun to attract and retain an older, read richer, audience. All the dancers have worked hard at smiling and engaging the crowds. Many times, they have a "plant" in the audience, usually a little kid, that they will "beg" to come inside the ring and dance a little bit. Of course the kid is a prodigy and the audience goes wild.

Magicians are definitely the top of the food chain. It makes sense, because illusions transcend language and culture and don't require a lot of props. All the successful magicians are great at involving the audience. They select an older guy, a good looking woman and a child, often reaching into the second or third tier for "volunteers". Rubén has been performing street magic for a couple of years now, and he makes about €200/night, four nights a week. That's about $55,000 per year. Not bad for a 20 hour work week. He also performs for private parties, and I am sure he practices ad nauseum to hone his skills and work on his delivery. His whole performance was with a set of magic ropes that got longer and shorter, while twin brother passed the hat.

All the acts work hard for their money. It's not easy performing in front of a big crowd that is constantly looking for other diversions. Quite often we watch with amusement and then saunter off to the next thing, without ever dropping a coin in the hat. I would suggest you support the arts, in whatever form and location you find it. One day you may find yourself on the street and need a little magic yourself.

Pablo Picasso

22 April, 2014

Today we toured more of Barcelona, as part of our Tour of Spain, over the Easter holidays. The highlight for me was the Picasso Museum, which showcased some of his earlier works.

Pablo Picasso's father was a painter and started training him at age 3. He was a child star, the Michael Jackson of painting. By the time he was 12, young Pablo was being compared to the classic painters of antiquity. He said of himself, "It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child."

Science and Charity--Picasso Age 15, Picasso Barcelona

Prior to studying some of his work, I had never appreciated Picasso's paintings, due mostly to my vast ignorance of art. He's still not my favorite, but I do have a much deeper respect for his talent.

Picasso's cubist style allowed him to take apart a picture and reassemble it, transforming people and things into shapes and colors. Once deconstructed, he could play around with the images like pieces of a puzzle. One of my favorite exhibits was Las Ménines. This was actually a Velázquez painting from 1656, which we saw at the Prado in Madrid. Picasso disassembled it and changed the colors several times. Each version took your eye to a different focal point, which was fascinating. Velázquez, as a realist, wanted to create an image that closely approximated life. Picasso, as a cubist, wanted to give the picture a life of its own, separate from the original figures.

Les Ménines--Velázquez, Prado Madrid

Les Ménines-Picasso, Picasso Museum Barcelona

We also saw Guernica at the Reina Sofia in Madrid, which depicts the horrors of war. Germany practiced blitzkrieg in April, 1937 on several Spanish towns as part of the Spanish Civil War. Guernica was one of the unfortunate targets of death and destruction. The painting was unveiled at the Paris World's Fair in 1937 and caused an instant sensation. Rich in symbolism, Picasso used his cubist technique to throw together several disjointed images into one collage of Hell. Everyone and everything suffers during war. The painting is massive, over 28 feet long and 11 feet high, commanding your attention. You cannot escape. The color and light reflect misery and pain, while the images convey true horror. I have not read anything about the name of the painting, but guerra means "war" in Spanish, so maybe there is a cruel irony in the fact that the Germans chose that city to bomb. Picasso dictated in his will that the painting would not reside on Spanish soil until democracy returned to the nation. The painting finally arrived home in Madrid in 1981, just in time to celebrate what would have been Picasso's 100th birthday.

Guernica--Reina Sofia, Madrid

Pablo Picasso used his art as a voice to speak about a variety of subjects. The true beauty of his art is that it still speaks today, even to a simple Redneck in Europe.

I Need a Bigger Sack

10 April, 2014

I have rightly earned the reputation for being a gorron, or mooch, both here and in the USA. It is a gift. Somehow I am able to position myself to receive free stuff that other people happily gather on my behalf. It would be sinful for me to turn down their hospitality, so I humbly accept whatever comes my way. Evidence of this fact is that we have driven a car here in Spain for 7 months. Free of charge. We neither asked for it nor expected it, but there it is. What was I supposed to do? 

The same goes for fruits and vegetables. Sure we buy things at the market, but almost on a routine basis, somebody gives us a sack of something. Quite often, it's oranges.

Murcianos are very proud of their agriculture. They will tell you, without a shred of doubt, that their fruits and vegetables are better than anywhere else in the world. After living here for seven months, I am inclined to believe them. Two of their most ardent passions are lemons and oranges. Orchards stretch as far as the eye can see. Anyone with more than a postage stamp of dirt will have a tree, bursting forth with great globules of juicy sweetness. Every morning Susan drinks two oranges, fresh-squeezed. She has made some incredible lemon squares as well. The locals even sprinkle lemon juice on their potato chips and sliced ham. You just have to try it. 

Yesterday, a friend of mine gave me a big sack of oranges. I asked where he got them, and he said they came from an abandoned orchard. This blew me away, so I told him I wanted to go on the next procurement mission. And another adventure begins.

When we arrived at the orchard, I saw about 200 trees, full of oranges. Gonzalo asked me what I brought for a bag. My plan was to fill my backpack, and I also had a shopping bag. He chuckled and told me I didn't bring a big enough sack. Luckily he furnished one for me.

We picked oranges for about half an hour, and I came away with about 70 pounds of oranges and lemons, all there for the taking. Thousands of oranges lay on the ground. Many more still hung in the trees. The season is coming to an end, so they will probably just rot away.

The scene left an indelible mark on me. I started thinking about how God doles out blessings. My family is incredibly blessed, beyond measure. We have so much for which to give thanks. I am not speaking about material possessions. We gave up many of our "things" before we came to Spain, and we are better for it. I am speaking about intangible blessings like:

• Friends 
• Family
• Health
• Opportunities
• Mercy
• Peace

God has an infinitely large orchard and tells us to take all we can carry. I think he laughs sometimes at our bags. They are so puny, compared to the abundant harvest that awaits us. 

The tragedy is that most people don't know about the orchard and starve just outside its borders. I have a bag that is stuffed to overflowing, much more than my family can consume, so I am left with the happy task of finding other people who would like to share in the bounty. I am an orange/blessing missionary.

The truth is that the trees would produce even more fruit, if they were pruned and cared for. They actually respond better to being picked than to being left alone. The oranges need to be taken for the health and well-being of the tree. If we could see God's blessings rotting on the ground, due to our neglect and unwillingness to pick the fruit for others, I wonder if we would be more inclined to do the work. 

Of course the greatest blessing of all is salvation. I have neglected that part of the harvest while here in Spain, to my discredit and shame, choosing instead to keep all the fruit to myself. 

These were his instructions to them: "The harvest is great, but the workers are few. So pray to the Lord who is in charge of the harvest; ask him to send more workers into his fields. (Jesus. Luke 10:2)

I'd better get a bigger sack.

Working Out the Worries

7 April, 2014

Exercise to me is the best way to untangle the knots within. I remember a few years ago, when my boss reamed me out for something that he had just given me the green light to do. He questioned my integrity and work ethic. Nobody calls me lazy, except my wife, and lives to tell about it. 

I ran 5 miles that night, as if it were a lazy stroll around the block. The anger and indignation seeped out of my pores. The contempt for his ham-fisted, bi-polar management style pounded into the pavement. When I got home, I felt at peace. The next day I went back to work. He apologized. I did not kill him. We had an accord.

The other day I went hiking up the mountain to a destination unknown. I was by myself, since all my friends crapped out on me, but I was determined to go anyway, demonstrating my incredible resolve and iron will. Or perhaps I was just really bored. Either way, I went. Into the void. Off the beaten path. The road less travelled. Boldly going where no man has gone before. Okay, so it was almost entirely on paved roads, but since you're not here to see them, and I since I selectively shoot pictures, you will never know the difference. 

Actually my main purpose in walking up the hill was to clear my mind a little bit. 

Katherine, and for that matter, Elizabeth, inherited their stubborn, stiff-necked dispositions straight from me. This is a fact that I have shared with both of them quite often, usually after a brazen display of genetic lineage. We share a conspiratorial chuckle and take sheepish glances at Susan, knowing she bears the brunt of our furies.


Lately we have been struggling with Katherine, desperately trying to bring her to a place of peace within herself. She will get there, on her own terms, in her own time, with her own ways. We simply have to surrender and beg for lenient terms. I think she will be benevolent toward us. Not being sure, however, I have forbid her to read any accounts of biblical kings, who cut off the thumbs of the defeated kings and left them to beg scraps from the table, like so many mongrel dogs. (Read Judges 1, if you dare.)

I trudged up the mountain, backpack in tow, full of whatever I might need for an extended mission, except a flashlight, ensuring a relatively early return. Intentionally taking paths that were totally new to me, I scaled the heights for a good 30 minutes and eventually ended up exactly where I had been many times before. At first I was little disappointed. I really wanted a cool adventure. Then I was reassured. Maybe a little familiarity was exactly what I needed.

I found a convenient tree to lean against, dropped my cushy backpack on the ground and broke open my phone to read The Problem of Pain, by C.S. Lewis. I love his writing style and ability to make incredibly complex things clear and easy to understand, even for a Redneck. The premise is that pain and suffering only make sense in the context of a biblical worldview. Otherwise it is all random, meaningless and fruitless. 

Things have to make sense, even when they don't. I have crawled up many paths in my life, seeking to know truth. Every time I think I am on some brand new trail, I end up at the same place. The irony for me is that there is always an easy, paved road to get there, but I always seem to take the path that is full of briars, slippery rocks and unsure ground. 

God will make sense of this crazy path we call Spain. Perhaps it was meant to bring out some issues for all of us that would have remained hidden back in the States. At any rate, I know where the trail ends and who will meet me there, with a cold glass of water and a pig pickin'. 

"But his father said to the servants, ‘Quick! Bring the finest robe in the house and put it on him. Get a ring for his finger and sandals for his feet. And kill the calf we have been fattening. We must celebrate with a feast, for this son of mine was dead and has now returned to life. He was lost, but now he is found.’ 


So the party began." (Luke 15)