If it ain't one thing, it's another.

This week has been, physically, pretty sorry. Sunday I found that what I thought was a zit on my forehead was actually more likely a spider bite, since it had swollen, turned red, and had a fever in it. Monday morning the swelling had moved over into my eye and so had the color, giving me the appearance of someone who had just caught a strong left hook. That afternoon I started to feel a little nauseated, so I took a nice afternoon nap. Tuesday morning I woke up with my eye looking better, but with the slightly queasy feeling still lingering. I laid around the house until the early afternoon when I went to play basketball with the boys. I broke out into a nice cold sweet, which usually helps me snap out of this stuff. I came home with a headache, but I knew it would pass and that I'd be feeling better today, which I am. But the thing I hadn't foreseen was the jamming of my pointer finger. I reached in to knock a pass away and jammed my finger up good. It's not as bad as it could be, but it's definitely swollen and slightly discolored. But as soon as that goes away, assuming nothing new comes along, I'll be back to normal.

Some people would say at a time like this, "When it rains, it pours." I think it'd be more appropriate to say that, "When it rains, it's a slow and steady, uncomfortable drizzle that lasts for days with no foreseeable end in sight."

Like sand through an hour glass...

So go the days of our lives. Yesterday was a sad milestone for me. For seven months now I have been making friends. I'm always meeting someone new, getting together with somebody I don't really know, or just walking around aimlessly hoping someone wants a white friend. But yesterday I actually had to do the exact opposite. I had to tell a friend "Goodbye" for the first time.

The Doner Dude is leaving. He speaks English (hence our friendship) and is going to work in a tourist town along the coast for the summer. It's a great opportunity for him to make some money and spend the summer in an awesome place. I was tempted to ask him if he could hook me up with a job too. The really sad thing is, I probably won't see him again. When his summer employment is over, he will go into the military. All men in this country have to do a short stint with the army and his time has come. He'll still be in the army when I am scheduled to go home.

It was a sad event. I went to the doner shop and took him a small book of Jesus' life and the history of the first church (the Gospel of Luke, Acts, and Romans, joined in a small book). It was actually very saddening to tell him bye. He said he could tell that I looked sad and he was visibly a little down himself. Out of all the people that have come into my life since I have been here, he's really the first one to leave it. So even though it is a sad one, it is a milestone in my life here.

Happy π Day Everybody!!!

What? You forgot? Today is March 14th. 3.14! And in about ten minutes, it will be 1:59, or 3.14159. If you still don't know what I'm talking about, then let me explain. (This is where I push my glasses back up my nose and pull out the portable keyboard.)

π, or the mathematical oddity formerly known as pi, is the ratio between the diameter of a circle and it's circumference. You can multiply any circle's diameter by π and get it's circumference. No big deal right? Not really. That is until you learn that it is a never ending and never repeating number. What I mean is, computers have calculated it to over a trillion decimal places and have yet to find where it ends nor have they found any sort of pattern to the number. It's amazing actually. So amazing that I have actually heard the existence of pi used as a proof of God (since it is seemingly infinite and infinitely complex) and on the other hand, proof that God doesn't exist (since it is completely random, and the existence of God would mean order in all things).

But either way you look at it, I think we can all agree that today is a great day to remember our wonderful friend π. Maybe you can celebrate it with Chao Lu, a Chinese chemistry student who, over a 24 hour period, recited the first 67,890 decimal places of π in 2005. Or maybe you can write a "piem," a poem who's word lengths correspond to the digits of π (see http://users.aol.com/s6sj7gt/cadtext.htm for one that's 4000 words long by a man named Mike Keith). Or maybe you can just order up a nice piece of apple pie, pull out your graphing calculator (you know you still have it from high school), and see what all the fuss is really about.

Happy π Day to all!

Long Time, No Blog

I apologize for the long delay in an update to the blog. I spent five days in London last week. I got to take in two incredible Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds concerts, the sites and sounds of England, some time with a good friend, and all the Dr. Pepper, pork, and Starbucks coffee a man could ever want. It was a great week, but it's just too much to try and write about. If you want to hear the details, you'll have to run me down in çarşı or catch me on Skype.

But that week in London is over, and that reality has set in. I saw a great quote today from Philip K. Dick, a science fiction writer from the 50s up until his death in 1982 and who is seen as one of the most influential in his genre. He says, "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."

I guess I had stopped believing that Turkish was a hard language to learn. Maybe I had stopped believing that this was a hard place spiritually. Maybe I had stopped believing that life was hard and sometimes lonely. If I had, then I must confess that they are reality, because they still exist here. I'm still struggling in this language. I'm still struggling to make friends. And I'm still struggling to be a joyful person in a place that is still very foreign to me.

With all these realities I must acknowledge, I don't want to leave out the greatest. Our God is a mighty God and worthy to be praised. He left Heaven, which is a billion times better than London, to come to this grummy earth. He lived with people that hated him worse than any Muslim has ever hated Bush. He died to save the same people that I claim make my life difficult. Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice so that I could be here. Not "here" in Turkey, but "here" in his grace and in fellowship with him. That is something I can not stop believing in, because it is reality. A reality I would like to make known to the people I am about to go visit.

Top 10 Reasons Why They *Heart* Me

I may come back later and post an actual picture of my Valentine's Day card once I figure out how to black out the names.

But here they are, in order, according to Miss Kitty and the Anti-Girlfriend:

10. You make us feel like Darling's Day darlings everyday.
9. Well, let's just say Arturo and the Harp.
8. You say, mış mış, Miss Kitty cooks better than Mrs. Yates.
7. We think your blog might win a Pulitzer some day.
6. You know we women love a lacquered rose.
5. You can live on 5 lira a week.
4. You have a poster of Turkish fish on your wall.
3. You cook better than Chinese take-out. Do you deliver?
2. You smell like a Turk.

And finally...

1. Because you're a Turkish boy in a Turkish world.

Number 9 is a great story that I'll have to tell you all in person some day. It won't do to just read it. Number 5 may be an exaggeration. It's really only like 3 lira a week. Number 2 is the one that really worries me. I mean, is smelling like a Turk really a good thing? But Number 1 is just flat wrong. I'm not a Turkish boy, I'm a Turkish MAN!

Thanks for the reciprocation ladies. It is much appreciated!

Stats for Sat. Feb 17th

4 Fouls, 3 Steals, 3 Blocks, 14 Rebounds, 22 Assists, and 5,348,792 points in 92 minutes played.

Oh, and one tackle.

Those are very rough estimates, but should be close. We played BBall with the same boys yesterday morning. And yes, again, they wanted to meet at 8:30. Incredible. But this week was a little better in that they brought more people and we had Crack back, so we had a full court, five on five game going on. It really felt good to run. And we did some running. It became clear to us that if we would just run the court that we could get some easy baskets and wear down the older guys on the opposing team. It worked. I still say we won the game, though the Turkish scoring system seems to be a little off at times, if you know what I mean. It was in this first game that I had a chance to dunk it. I mean, the chance was there, just not the ability. Also, I had a nasty block. I was caught on the short end of a two on one, but it takes more than superior numbers to frighten me. The ball handler drove and went for the lay up. The ball never left his hand. Nothing is more fulfilling than rejecting a shot in basketball. The final game is when I did my scoring, stealing, and tackling. The guy I was guarding was a little reckless with his dribbling and allowed me to take it from him a couple times. He also didn't play a whole lot of defense, leaving me open around the free throw line on numerous occassions. I wish I could say I shot a high percentage, but I'm still working to get the J back. I did knock down a fair number of them though, and probably was among the scoring leaders. The tackle came on a loose ball. It was rolling towards half court and me and their biggest player were running neck and neck trying to get to it. There was a little bumping, trading of paint for all you NASCAR fans. I started to lose my footing, but instead of just giving him the ball and a man advantage, I decided to slide on the ground and grab it. I knew it'd be traveling and that I'd end up out of bounds anyways, but it was better than giving him the ball with me sprawled out on the ground at half court. So I hit the deck and apparently the big man isn't agile enough to avoid a 6'3" guy doing a perfect slide into second and keep his balance at the same time. He ate it, but, thankfully, was okay. Thankfully because even on a broken ankle, he would've been a hand full in a fight. All in all it was my best performance of my budding Turkish basketball career.

I haven't been feeling good physically the last two days, so if you could, just say a quick prayer for that. But if you're going to take the time to pray for me, I'd rather you take a few minutes and pray for a friend of mine who is also sick, and much worse so than me. It is hindering God's work in another country and needs a lot of prayer. Thank you.

10 Days and Counting

Now, I know what some of you are thinking already. C-Love hasn't showered in a week and a half. While that may or may not be true, that is not the point of this post. The point is, today marked the 10th day in a row that I have been up at or before 9 AM. Amazing. Simply amazing. I'd like to think it is a sign of my increased discipline, something that I have been working on recently. But I have to give credit where credit is due. Mrs. V prayed that I would get up for a prayer meeting and every since then I've been inexplicably waking up at the crack of dawn (it's relative). Mrs. V can you start praying for me to learn Turkish and to be able to dunk from the free throw line?

But that's not all the exciting news this week. Valentine's Day was yesterday!!! The one day a year when C-Love really gets to shine. And remember, they don't call me C-Love for nothing!



Miss Kitty's husband is out of town on business and since the Anti-Girlfriend is actually part of "the Unit," I felt the need to do something to let these ladies know that they are loved on V-Day. So I put together a nice lunch of General C's Chicken Fried Kung Pow Wanton Rice, cute bottled Cokes, and Reese's cups (a little sweet for the sweets of the team, if you will). On the table were two of the finest, freshest, and most heavily lacquered roses you can buy from the creepy guy on the street corner, bundled with some wild grasses and weeds picked that very morning from the ally behind the grocery store. And to set the mood, I put together an iTunes playlist of the greatest love songs of yesterday and today, complete with Chicago, Journey, Edwin McCain, and my hometown heros, Hootie and the Blowfish. It was a setting that even Delilah (the radio host, not the temptress and traitor) would've been proud of.

I hope everyone enjoyed their Valentine's Day as much as I did, and that you were awake before 9 to enjoy it.

Basketball at what time?

If it hadn't have been written out in a text message, I don't think I would've believed it. But when me and Chris Mullins decided to meet two Turks to play basketball, they told us to be ready to go at 8:30! Yes, 8:30 in the morning. That was a hard pill to swallow for two reasons. First of all, it was a Saturday. No one, for any reason other than fly fishing or duck hunting, should be awake at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. Since Saturday morning cartoons lost their widespread appeal roughly 15 years ago, I don't think I've been up before 9 on a Saturday for anything. The second reason it was hard to hear is because this past week I have had to wake up at or before 7:30 everyday. I don't like it, but I can handle it when it is work related. But when you start talking about playing basketball with a couple of Turks, it's hard. But, I told myself, I'll regret it if I don't go. And I was right.

We played at a nice indoor court at the local university. Mullins is by far the best player around and I just look silly shooting at the same basket as him. But I will take solace in the fact that I was better than the two Turks. We ended up playing some four on four with some other guys that were there. They play by a whole new set of rules here and at times it was frustrating. But we had fun and headed into town to grab a milkshake (I know, pretty random for a post basketball snack in Feb.) and some lunch. It was on the way home from lunch that things got interesting.

The fact that my church meets in the basement of a rundown mall brought it up, and somewhere between lunch and my house we started talking about God. We covered everything you can imagine over the next two hours. Like Mullins would say later, life doesn't get much better than sitting down with two Muslims, drinking tea, and laying out the plan of salvation directly across the street from a very large Mosque. We hammered on the love of God, the sacrifice Jesus made for us, and our need to put our faith in that in order to be saved. The guy who seemed most interested made the claim that this idea was "the Great Unfairness." Men should be held responsible for their own sins. You are correct my friend. There is nothing fair about it. But God still chose, out of his great love for us, to bear our sins on our behalf. It's not fair and really, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but that's the truth. That's the Gospel.

I think it will take time, but this man seems open. He seems hopeless and sad. He has a very downcast air about him. He needs joy, he needs life, he needs Christ. Whether or not he will ever accept is out of my hands, but I know that he will hear the story again. That is in my control. And, luckily, he wants to get together for basketball again next week.

Rex, you are awful, and the Baker.

First of all, I'd like to say that Peyton Manning was not the most valuable player on that football field. He had a decent game, granted, but he was not the reason that Indianapolis won the Super Bowl. Rex Grossman is. He's awful. I know his completion percentage was actually pretty good. But please people, 20 completions for 165 yards? 2 Interceptions? 2 fumbled snaps? The worst part about having Rex Grossman at quarterback is that you can't "mix it up" much. You're constantly afraid of throwing the ball. The Bears were predictable because they have a handicap at QB. And when the game was still in reach, early in the 4th quarter and only down by 5, Rex made the play of the game for the Colts. He threw a horrible pass, absolutely horrible, that resulted in a 56 yard return for a touchdown and in effect, put the game out of reach. Even though Peyton's numbers were decent, I still say he needs to prove to me that he can win the big game. He threw 8 picks in the post season. 8! That's after throwing 9 during the whole regular season. I can't argue against the fact that he played good enough to win. But I have to disagree that he played good enough to be the MVP.

So with that out of the way, let me tell you about the Baker. He's a short little guy that gets really excited to see me (or any of the local foreigners) come in to the shop. He's always up for talking, which is just what I need to learn this language. Before the game last night, I was on my way to our office to do some studying. I needed to get away from the distractions of home and I needed the fast internet to make some phone calls on Skype. So I was walking to the office with my Bible in hand when the Baker called me over so he could snap a photo of me with his camera phone. I obliged and we started talking. After the usual small talk, he asked what I was carrying. I handed him my Turkish Bible and he opened it up randomly and started reading. That's where the conversation started. It didn't end for over an hour. We covered a lot of ground and he got to read a lot of Scripture. He asked good questions. I would try to give him an explanation and then I would just find some Scripture that spoke to the issue and let him read it for himself. I ask that you continue to pray for him. Ask that the Spirit would be moving in his heart so that he can see the Truth.

There were two funny things that happened last night during this share time. The first is that at one point during the discussion, the Baker told me I was "ters." I did not know this word. But, the Baker had my dictionary in his hand, so he looked it up for me. He found it and read the following definition, "excrement of an animal." You don't say. I asked to see the dictionary and sure enough, the first definition given is "excrement of an animal." BUT, the second definition is "wrong, opposite, contrary." Now, I'm going to extend some grace and give him the benefit of a doubt here and say that he was just telling me that I was wrong. At this point in my time here though, neither one would be a surprise to me.

The other funny thing was actually a thought I had as I left the Baker. The Baker and the Pants Man are the two guys in town that I have shared the most with. They have heard the fullest explanation of our Gospel and they have actually had the opportunity to read the scriptures for themselves. This is great. I love these guys. But the thought occured to me. Isn't it ironic that the two guys I have shared the most with in my brief time in this country are both named Mohammed? It made me laugh out loud as I walked down the sidewalk to the office. How funny.

Slow Down Time!

Time seems to be going so fast these days. Mainly it's because I've had so much to think about lately. Sadly, all these thoughts have really distracted me from the dual task I have here, learning language and developing relationships with nationals. It's really made me very tired spiritually and emotionally. I really need a pick me up.

So I turned to Philemon and read it. It's such a nice little letter. Paul begging Philemon to accept Onesimus as a brother, not just as a slave. There's no one verse that really jumps out to me. I didn't find some great spiritual truth that I had overlooked for years. It was just a refreshing little read. It's written with such a gentle tone. Paul says that he is "pleading" with Philemon in the letter and you can feel it when you read what he had to say. Paul cared for this guy and for all the people he worked with. I need that same love for the people I work with here.

Another thought, while I'm at it, is about time. It's a C.S. Lewis quote from a book called A Severe Mercy.

"And now, another point on wishes. A wish may lead to false beliefs, granted. But what does the existence of the wish suggest? At one time I was much impressed by Arnold's line 'Nor does the being hungry prove that we have bread.' But surely, tho' it doesn't prove that one particular man will get food, it does prove that there is such a thing as food! i.e. if we were a species that didn't normally eat, weren't designed to eat, would we feel hungry? You say the materialist universe is 'ugly.' I wonder how you discovered that! If you are really a product of a materialistic universe, how is it you don't feel at home there? Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always bee, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures? Notice how we are perpetually surprised at Time. ('How time flies! Fancy John being grown-up and married! I can hardly believe it!') In heaven's name why? Unless, indeed, there is something in us which is not temporal."

Put that in your pipe and smoke it! (Assuming your company allows such things.) I know I belong somewhere else. I know this is not my home. And as a friend of mine once said, "I can't wait to get to heaven and just kick it with Jesus." Amen.

It's here...

I just have a minute, but I thought I'd tell you guys about our new neighbor... BURGER KING!!! Yes, there are a couple other ones in town, but they're all FAR from my house. But today was the grand opening of the one almost DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET! Get behind me Satan! I couldn't let the grand opening go by without stopping in, so me and the Boss met there for lunch. Yes, it tastes just like it does in America. Praise God.

But before you go freaking out because I'm "eating unhealthy" (which I do anyways, without Burger King), you'll be glad to know that I did go to the gym today. And if that doesn't satisfy you, at least I only ate there once today. The Boss is going back for dinner! Ha!

Alright, I think my little heater has sufficiently warmed the bathroom, so I'm going to go take my icy shower and pray that it doesn't cause my cough to turn into full blown pneumonia.

Totally Wasted Day

Saturdays are usually my "days off." It's hard to really call any day a "day on" since my usual routine consists of sitting around talking and drinking tea for hours with some language study sprinkled in for good measure. But I try to take a little break on Saturdays for myself, since even my "Sabbath" is hard work (you try deciphering a sermon that's preached in Turkish!).

So that's how I justify not doing much on Saturdays. But honestly, I still feel like I should do something, at some point, even on a Saturday. So I made up my mind that since it was raining, windy, and COOOOOLD today, that I would just hang out in the house for a while during the day and then spend a little time meeting people in the gym before going to talk to the movie rental guy that has been wanting me to sit and visit for a while. The plan was working to perfection. It rained most the day and I stayed dry. I got in two Piper sermons, one being an hour and a half biography of William Cooper. I did some reading and some writing. And I was able to catch my best friend bored at work, resulting in a nice conversation about all the latest happenings in life. It was perfectly relaxing and refreshing. The rain stopped, and the clock clicked over to 5 PM, and it was time for phase two of the plan, to put my muscles and my mouth to work.

So I got changed into my fabulous workout clothes and headed to the gym. But to my surprise, the lights were off and the padlock was on the door. I knew they closed a little earlier on Saturdays, but I didn't know it was that early! That's what I get for not reading the signs well. But, no problem, that just gives me more time to sit with the film guy, Spielberg. I'm really excited about this Spielberg fella for a couple reasons. First of all, he knows that my roommate and I are both Christians, and yet continues to insist that we meet. And secondly, he teaches Turkish in school. So it gives me hope that not only can he be a valuable resource in language learning, but that he may be seeking something deeper as well. So I come home and change into more 21st century looking clothes and head to the movie store. But as I turn the corner onto their street I'm confronted with total blackness. Every building I could see looking west was blacked out, including the movie store. I looked inside and one of his workers was there sitting in the candlelight, but said that the boss had gone home already. Well poop!

But all hope wasn't lost. I could still talk to people at the grocery store, since everybody there knows my name now. I was going to buy some healthy food for dinner, have some good conversation, then come home and make myself a wholesome dinner. One out of three ain't bad. I did get to talk to a couple people for a pretty good while. Pretty much everybody that works there knows my name, since I'm the only white man that comes in and because I try my best to practice my Turkish when I'm there. So I got to talk to two different guys for a good amount of time, even with one of my new grammar rules thrown in! But unfortunately, my "healthy food" commitment fell by the waist side. First I gave in to the temptation to buy a Coke. Next I saw that they had the chocolate pudding on sale. And finally, the real dagger into the heart of my healthy living plan, was the sight of M&Ms. This is the first time I've seen them for sale in a store in this country. So, naturally, I bought a bag. I'm already through half the Coke and am about to crack open the M&Ms. I've totally blown this day in just about every sense and it's still only 7 PM. Sad.

Quick Mid-day Post

I haven't been online much during the days lately, but I needed some time to calm my shaking hands today. It's a miracle that I'm alive to write this at all, and I say that only half-jokingly.

This morning my roommate had to appear in court to testify against the kids we nabbed trying to rob a car a while back (see Sun. Nov. 5th post for background info). We went downtown and found the court. After standing around for a while, my roommate realized that he didn't bring the subpeona thing he had and therefore, we had to go back home to get it. That's where life got interesting for us all and almost came to an end on multiple occassions.

My roommate is not a good driver. In fact, he's pretty awful. This isn't just my opinion either. In what was almost some eery foreshadowing, the other guy who came to the court with us, Herman, called my roommate's car a "casket" as we were getting out of it at the court house. I mean, it was just two weeks ago when he backed into an apartment building doing a good five miles per hour in an effort to park. He's also side-swiped the curb trying to pull into our apartment building's parking lot, backed into a nice Volkswagen in the hospital parking lot, and, as he told me this morning, after stalling at a red light, allowed his car to roll back into another car as he was trying to start it back up again. Luckily for us all, these small accidents have caused no physical harm to anyone and only minimal damage to his car, other people's cars, and the various stationary objects that he has managed to strike.

There are a multitude of reasons for why my roommate is a bad driver. A few of them are: awful hand eye coordination, inability to do more than one thing at a time (ex. steer and shift gears, steer and press the gas, steer while in reverse, etc.), lack of muscle control (he slams on the brakes and stomps on the gas, there's nothing gradual about either), ignorance of steering dynamics, friction, or the general laws of physics, either a decreased field of vision or the complete loss of sight in one eye, a tendency to overreact, and poor decision making. That's a short list, but you get the idea.

So when you take all this into account, I hope you can get a good feel of the peril I was in. Because not only do you have all of the above in play here, but you also have to consider the fact that my roommate is scared (believing that these kids work for some mophia crime boss who pays them to steal phones and thus will pay someone to stab my roommate on the witness stand, and if you think I'm making that up, first take into account that he asked TWO of us to go with him, and if you still don't believe me, you can call my roommate and ask him yourself, he speaks English) and he's rushed (since it wasn't until he was called to court that he realized that he just might need the official document that summoned him there to begin with). So we went flying down the road doing well over the posted speed limit. Twice we fish tailed. TWICE! And listen, these roads aren't snow covered. There is no black ice on the bridges. It hasn't even rained here in a couple weeks. We're talking about completely dry roads at ten in the morning on a rather warm day and we're in a tank of a vehicle. How he got it to fish tail is beyond me, but to do it twice, and neither time purposefully, is quite a feat. The only thing that surpasses that in greatness is the fact that both times we regained control despite all the odds against us. We were flying both times, my roommate is a horrible driver (see above paragraph), and we were in a car not known for it's handling, braking, looks, gas mileage, well, not known for anything really. But somehow, only by the very hand of God I assume, we safely made the trip from court to house and back to court without any injury to us.

Unfortunately, the guy walking across the street in front of us wasn't so lucky. We had made it to the house and all the way back to the court, surviving both fish tail experiences, and were making the final turn into the street where we wanted to park when my roommate really fouled up. He was making a sharp left turn and was watching some mopeds parked on the corner. I had just said, "Take it slow," when we hit the guy. Luckily, the guy was walking away from us and we just clipped one of his legs with the bumper. It didn't knock him over, which, again, was lucky, because he was an older, frail looking gentleman. But as old and frail as his body looked, his mouth was young and full of spunk. He let into my roommate pretty hard through the window and my roommate did his best to look sorry even though he admitted to being more worried about hitting the mopeds. Classy.

Needless to say, I took the bus home. I got something to eat, studied some new grammar rules (thanks Caesar), and am finally calm enough to venture back out into the world again. It's off to the gym first, and then, after that, I may go try to find someone to practice these new grammar rules on. But you can rest assured, wherever I go, I will be watching for that flying casket on wheels!

Ah, the Turkish bath!

Just sitting here thinking about it makes me feel more relaxed, happier, and sweatier...



So here's the run down on how this whole Turkish bath thing works. We showed up and paid our dues. They gave us each a key for a little locker off to the side. There, we undressed. I think going nude was an option, but the three of us opted to keep the boxers. Then, you grab yourself a pair of the house slippers to wear and a little cloth thing to wrap around your waste, and it's off you go.

Once inside, you have a wide range of things to choose from, but I think what we did was pretty typical. The room is large, with a high, domed ceiling, with the light being provided by small holes in the dome of the ceiling. The method of lighting the room gives it a strange ambience. In the middle of the room is a large octagonal rock. The room is very hot and humid. We went it and sat around on the large rock in the middle to start with. Not only is the room hot, but we found out very quickly that the big rock is hot too! But, we unwrapped the cloth from around our wastes, used it as a little blanket, and got comfortable on the rock. You just sit or lay there and sweat, allowing your muscles to relax and unwind. After being in for a while, an old man started calling us over one by one to a wooden plank on one side of the rock. There he would put a mitten thing on his hand and rub your whole body. And when I say "whole body," I mean your WHOLE body. From there I was directed to a man sitting by a fountain with a big bucket. There were these fountains spaced around the big room at intervals. They had a hot and a cold water faucet with a large marble sink to catch the water in. At this one, the man had a seperate bucket of suds. Here he washed my hair for me. He did a great job, it was the best scalp rub, and maybe the only scalp rub, I have ever had. Once he had rinsed me out, he pulled this huge sponge thing out of his bucket. It was scratchier than a normal sponge and was roughly the size of my entire back. He used it to wash my back, my chest and stomach, then my legs and arms. After a good rinse, I was free to roam the hot room again. So I started to look around and noticed that there were four rooms that you could go into from the big room. Three of the rooms were private bath rooms where people would go to continue washing themselves at a fountain. But the fourth room had a sign next to it that said "Sauna." Seeing as how I was already sweating profusely, I didn't see that going into a sauna would be much different, but I went in anyways. The room was small and very dimly light. They used the same lighting system as the big room, with just some small holes in a small dome over the center of the room, but the plexiglass that covered the holes was almost black from the charcoal heaters that kept the room warm. And boy did they keep it warm! It was oppressive heat. One of the guys that came with me couldn't stay in the room because he couldn't breath with the air so hot. I had to labor to breath myself, but it felt great. I sat in there for a while and then went out to a fountain to wash off with some luke warm water. I started to wander again and found that in the "in between" room, between the lobby and the big room, was a small pool full of ice cold water. I went back into the big room and told the other guys about it. We tried to acclimate ourselves a little by pouring some luke warm water over us but when the time came, nothing had us prepared. To say it took your breath away would be an understatement. If my body temperature hadn't already been thirty degrees above normal, my heart may have just stopped right then. But as hot as I had been for the past hour and a half, it only took five minutes in that pool to return to normal. But as shocking as it was, it really felt good. We went back out into the lobby, dried off, and changed back into our street clothes. We sat around and had a drink (I tried carrot juice for the first time and was not impressed) before venturing back out into the real world.

When I walked out of that building, I felt like a new man. It was the cleanest I had felt in years! (No showering jokes needed.) One of my buddies said he was having trouble walking his leg muscles were so relaxed and loose. It was awesome. With the cold weather set in for another month or so, I hope to make at least one more visit to the place this winter. I don't know if it'll be quite as refreshing in the middle of July. But all in all, it was one of the most relaxing and refreshing experiences of my life. If you have a chance, definitely check out your local Turkish bath. (And if you're wondering if it's really a "Turkish" bath that you've wandered into, just look to see if your masseuse is dark skinned and has a hairy back. If so, it's genuine!)

In other news, I am almost completely over my little cold. I had a fever Sat night, but slept half the day yesterday and stole a two hour nap this afternoon as well. I took the lead in one of our exercises tonight at English class and things went fairly well. The students still have a hard time seeing me as the "teacher" since I am young enough to be their child, but as I am being phased into the teaching, I think their respect for me is growing as well.

John, I have a whole carton of Akdeniz Suyu in the fridge now. It may make it to lunch tomorrow. Maybe. Gouge, I hope this doesn't bring the "sex site" lockdown again. Sex Sex Sex. And Monsieur Masson, you have my email address now. I am waiting to hear from you and/or your lovely wife.

You'll just have to wait...

I'm sorry to disappoint. There are so many great stories to tell about the week with Caesar. I can't wait to give you all the rundown on the Turkish bath, our trip to Tarsus, and all the great conversations that took place. But you know what? I will wait.

Why? Because I am sick. I kind of had a cough yesterday, but it has turned into quite a hacker and there's a fever to go along with it. I'll be honest with all of you now, as much as I'd like to be a big, strong, tough man, when I get sick, I turn into a pretty big baby.



I don't want to get up. I don't want to make myself something to drink or eat. I just want to lie in bed! It's at times like this that I wish I had a wife/mother/good friend (preferably with soft, warm hands to feel my head with and a sweet southern accent to read to me with) here to take care of me.

I hope I feel good enough to go to church tomorrow. And rest assured that as soon as I'm better, you'll get to hear all about the week that was with Caesar Augustus.

He's here!

My boy Caesar Augustus is here. He's actually a university student in another city of the country, but earned the name Caesar by beating myself and four of the V boys in a massive game of Risk, the game of global domination, a couple nights ago. He is a fair, just, and honorable ruler.



But he has come to enjoy some of his break from his university classes. I don't know if he's really getting much rest, but we're having a blast. The first night he was here, we had a big dinner with all our new co-workers over at the V house. That was when he showed his military prowess in the war to end all wars (which I would've won if it hadn't have been for West Africa who held off my offensive despite the fact that I held a 26-18 advantage going in). Then yesterday, he got to experience Turkish church for the first time. He said that he was really encouraged to see people worshipping God and doing church together in a place where it's not really all that common or accepted. After church we met one of his friends from university (yeah, he visits me and we spend time with his friends!) for dinner. We had an awesome spread, as you can only get in this city, and Caesar got to experience some of the local cuisine. We had a lot of good conversation over dinner and then we left there for some time at the pool hall. I wiped the table with these poor boys (they teamed up to play me). One game, the only one of their balls to go in was one that I sank accidentally. So to get revenge, this other guy wanted to play some ping pong. Well, he did end up beating me in three of the four games we played, but I took one from him and sent another one into quadruple overtime before he snatched it from me. It was really a ton of fun and I declared it the best day of 2007, so far! I know it's only been a week, but you got to set the bar sometime, and last night it was set pretty high.

So we came home and sat around talking and working a puzzle my roommate had gotten for his birthday. We talked about everything from life to love to the Holy Ghost. It really felt like both of us were just unloading all the thoughts and emotions we'd been storing up over the last couple months. To go this long without any meaningful conversation with someone that I feel can relate is really tough. But now that he's here, I took advantage of it. We talked LATE into the night, into the early morning. We covered every imaginable topic that had been concerning us. Time management, what our jobs are, do we "need" recreation, can you find God in the NBA or in the music Dave Matthews makes, what we're going to do after this time here is over, what it'll be like trying to readjust to life in America, learning this stinking language, how to handle awkward times with the opposite sex, what'd we'd like to see happen and change, not just around us, but in us. There was much more to it than that, but I can't recall everything we talked about in all those hours of conversation. I can just tell you that it felt great and it's such a blessing to have this guy around for a few days. He's a great friend, a friend that's as close as a brother.

And with this brother, I'm making my first trip to a Turkish bath today. I will not be posting pictures of this trip, but you can be assured it will get a blog entry. I can't wait!

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins.
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalks ends.
-Shel Silverstein

It's really late here, I can't sleep, and I was going to post this tomorrow anyways, so you're getting a good one late at night.

I love this poem, and this whole book. I randomly found it on the shelf at the little Co-Op school I help out at. It's full of fun little poems that make you laugh and a few that really make you think. This is one of those that does both. I don't know what Shel was getting at when he wrote this, but I like to think he was talking about going to heaven someday. That's where life's "sidewalk" will surely end. The walk that is "measured and slow" sounds to me a lot like walking in righteousness, and it's the type of walk I want to walk here, in this life, to bring some joy and light to the place "where the smoke blows black."

So if you get a chance pick up a copy of this book. It's really great. I'll leave you with an interesting note about Shel and a few more little poems of his. Interesting fact: Shel Silverstein actually wrote country music! He is the author of one of Johnny Cash's major hits, "A Boy Named Sue." He also did some recording with the great Jerry Reed and even greater Waylon Jennings. I never would've guessed that.

"My Beard"
My beard grows to my toes,
I never wear no clothes,
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.

"My Rules"
If you want to marry me, here's what you'll have to do:
You must learn how to make a perfect chicken-dumpling stew.
And you must sew my holey socks,
And soothe my troubled mind,
And develop the knack for scratching my back,
And keep my shoes spotlessly shined.
And while I rest you must rake up the leaves,
And when it is hailing and snowing
You must shovel the walk... and be still when I talk,
And-hey-where are you going?

Waking up at 6 AM is good for the soul.

Actually, it was before 6, but I didn't get out of bed till about five till. Why the early rise? God was calling to me.

Let me set the stage for this one. Last week was wonderful. The whole holiday season has been great. I spent a lot of good, quality time with some friends that have become as close as family here. I enjoyed hanging out with the grown ups and playing with the kids. I ate a ton of good food and was thankful that I had people to spend the holidays with. Then it happened. Everything stopped.

No more dinners, no more parties, no more friends. They were still there, they didn't go anywhere, but I was not with them. I had spent a large chunk of the last two weeks immersed in an English speaking world full of Americans. I had avoided, for a full week, almost any meaningful interaction with a Turk. So when all the celebrations were over and I was left in my apartment with no one to talk to, I slumped.

I had the moops most the day Sunday (our wonderful dinner excluded), all day Monday, and all day yesterday. I couldn't break myself out of it. I was lonely. I wanted to talk to people. I can't talk to people here. I don't know the language. I can't talk to people in America. Our lives are just too different now. (These are my thoughts, not realities.) So I was stuck. I was stuck in feelings of unrequited love and unrequited friendship. And I was stuck with these feelings in a country that doesn't want me here. So that's what I went to bed with last night.

Then I had a bad dream. It was a dream about my time in Colorado, with the Division of Wildlife. In the dream, I met with some game wardens that had heard stories about me and thought of me very highly. I showed them some things that I knew and their idea of me grew. Finally in the dream, I was sitting in an office interviewing to be rehired, only I was being interviewed by one of the people that disliked me the most while I was there. I woke up, before 6, and laid in bed thinking about second chances. Not just with this job, but in all areas of life. Sometimes we get them, sometimes we don't. But that's not what struck me.

I went to the bathroom, made myself a cup of coffee, and then came back in here and sat down. As I sat here, the silence was broken by the call of the minarets, the mornings first time of prayer. It echoes very loudly in the calm blackness of the morning here, and it echoed in my soul. God may grant me a second chance in CO someday. I may get a second chance with some beautiful girl. I may get a second chance to befriend the guys I meet randomly. But once someone dies following the teachings of Muhammed, there is no more second chance for them. They are gone. Damned to an eternity in hell, apart from the one true and glorious God.

So there is no time to be moping around, wallowing in self pity. I may feel lonely, but I am not alone. I have the Spirit of the Most High God with me at all times. That is a comfort that the people here can not rest in. As I look out my window, I see apartment buildings full of literally thousands of people lost in darkness. I have a language to learn. I have friends to make. I have truth to spread. I may get a second chance at a lot of things during my life, but I do not get a second chance at life. Once a day is gone, it is gone. There's no going back.

So I am committing myself to making the most of the time I have here. I don't want to waste days. I will work on this language. I will work on finding friends. I was work on building relationships. When I need it, I will work on resting my body and soul. But I must work while it is day, because night is fast approaching.

Judging by past experience, I am sure I will need this same pep talk in the weeks and months to come. But I am holding on to it now. God woke me up before the sun this morning so that I could hear the call to prayer, both from the minaret, and from His Spirit.

Grape Leaves, Cheeks and Ears, and Walking the Line

So I welcomed in the New Year with a family from church. My roommate and I arrived in time for dinner, a little after 8, and man, what a dinner! I felt horrible, but the poor lady put so much on my plate that I could not clear it. I was beginning to feel sick by how much I had already eaten when she asked if I wanted more. It was unbelievable. There was eggplant cooked in a tomato sauce with some sort of sausage, some other sausage things that were deep fried in breading (think small corn dog except with spicy lamb sausage), there were all types of salads (four different ones I think), homemade humus, baked chicken (of which I was given a whole quarter), rice, and finally, and by far the best, were these little grape leave things. They were the size and shape of those really big pretzel sticks. It was simply grape leaves stuffed with rice and spicy meat and I don't know if I've eaten anything in this country that tasted as good. You can see why I was feeling so sick to my stomach! I ate till I just couldn't eat anymore. Then, around 10 or so, a table of different fruits and nuts was brought into the living room (yes, they picked up the kitchen table and brought the whole thing). I had to eat again, since one of the daughters was peeling fruit and handing it to me. If it hadn't have tasted so good, I would've been miserable. As it was, it was a good miserable.

But by far the best part of the evening for me was after the fruit and nut table was finished. The little girl (I'm guessing maybe 8 years old) took the better part of an hour teaching me the Turkish word for different things in the living room, and different body parts. She was great, and honestly, I probably learned more new words in that hour than I did all last week. She is a tough teacher! More than once I had to hold out my hand so she could slap it for missing words. And surprisingly, the hardest two words for me to get right were the words for cheek and ear. They're similar enough to confuse me and different enough to make me feel like an idiot when I can't get them right. When it was all said and done, it was probably the most laid back New Year's Eve I've had in a while and by far the most I've eaten on New Year's Eve (that does not include New Year's at the Gouges, since they're dinner is on New Year's Day, not Eve).

And finally, if you haven't seen the movie "Walk the Line," go watch it. It really is a good movie. It's just a movie about life, the life of a very famous man, but a very mortal man. It'll give you a little insight into why Johnny Cash was so famous to begin with. He could relate to his fans. I am in no way saying my life has been anything like his, but I can say that if any celebrity could walk into one of my family's patented Christmas Smackdowns and not be caught off guard, it'd be a man like Johnny Cash. And though adulterous in nature, the love story between himself and June Carter is great. I love a movie with a whole lot of loving in it! Watching the movie took me back home, to Piedmont, SC, and to the nights my grandpa would get drunk and crank up his western swing eight tracks and dance with my sister in the living room. Good times.

Is this year over with yet?

Goodbye 2006. You have been nothing but a pain for me. I will always look back on you as being one of the worst of my life. There will be nothing good ever said about you. May you be a curse from generation to generation.

Why the unbridled hatred directed towards such an innocent thing as a calendar year? Because Clemson lost, again.

It was good enough for us to rise to #10 in the nation, with a 7-1 record, and then fall, miserable and pathetically, to 8-4, just missing a trip to the ACC championship game and losing to our archrivals. No, 2006 had one last kick in the groin for me. I had to watch Clemson lose to Kentucky. Yes, I am talking about football here, not basketball. KENTUCKY!!! Why? I do not know. First of all, I knew Kentucky would be able to throw the ball on us. Our defense has been a little soft as of late, our secondary is our weakest spot anyways, and on top of that, our best cornerback was arrested last week for possession of marijuana. They did. What I didn't expect was that we'd abandon the run so completely. I mean, James Davis and CJ Spiller are not called "thunder lightning" for nothing! Between them I think they ended up with just 13 carries. Why? Rob Spence, you completely baffle me at times. Oh yeah, another thing I did not expect, though looking back, I can't remember why not, is that Jad Dean missed two more field goals. Jad, you will not be missed. If that wasn't bad enough, he was pulled from the game, and after our first TD some other hack came off the bench to shank the extra point. Heaven help us all. You know who else hasn't made my Christmas card list? Will Proctor. If I had a dollar for everytime I shouted "Proctor you are awful" at the computer screen this year, I'd be a rich man. It's a two point conversion Will. You can't just run the ball out of bounds! Just throw it up for crying out loud! Give a guy a chance!

You're (speaking to the entire 2006 Clemson football team here) killing me guys. Like I didn't have enough on my plate trying to live a righteous life in a sin stained body, living in the Muslim world and trying to find God's elect that are being held captive here, trying to sort through various emotions, thoughts, and feelings that come with living in a foreign land far away from friends and family. Don't worry about me. Just throw on to all that the most disappointing Clemson football team to have ever put on those orange jerseys. I can handle it.

And way to go Houston. 1st and goal at the 8 turns into 4th and goal at the 50? That's the first time I've ever heard of someone punting on 4th and goal. The worst part? You lost by a TD, the TD you should've scored on that 1st and goal from the 8 play. Man I hate the University of South Carolina.