Gettin while the gettin's good.

That's right, I'm making a run for the border. The land of the free, the home of the brave, here I come!

Willie Nelson once sang, "Give us your tired and weak and we will make them strong." You know how they do it? Through a steady diet of Chick-fil-a, USDA Grade A Black Angus Beef, and all the Dr. Pepper a skinny little country boy can drink. I plan on gorging myself on all the pork, beef, and fast food I can stand. My blood pressure and blood sugar levels may be equal when I get back, and neither will be in the acceptable ranges for a human being.

So I hope everyone has a good week. I'll think of you as I'm driving down the road (able to read the street signs) and trying to figure out if I want ANOTHER Chick-fil-a sandwich or if I can find room for ONE MORE juicy steak.

Cheers!

What a Crappy Couple Days

Pun intended.

I haven't been my usual chipper self for about a week now. Last Thursday I was tired, Saturday I slept most of the afternoon, Sunday wore me out, and I was exhausted Tuesday. All of that came to a head Wednesday night after the Anti-Girlfriend's birthday party. Let's just say that this is the worst hang over I've ever had without the help of alcohol.

I was bad sick for about five hours Wednesday night. It was so bad that Special K asked if I needed to go to the hospital. By that time though, I told him, I couldn't have a whole lot left in me, so it should be about over. It was, about.

But I'm feeling better. I slept almost all day yesterday and then a good portion of today. I've been up since lunch time and seem to be doing fine. The little bit I've eaten has stayed in and besides a pretty bad headache and some incredible soreness in my neck and shoulders, I am good to go.

I don't know if I'll be up for basketball in the morning or not, but I'm going to try a trip to the movies tonight. Pirates of the Caribbean 3 is out and despite all the bad reviews, I feel like it'll be worth a look. I've already lowered my expectations in the hopes that it won't sting quite as bad if it's a total wash. But I need to be going. The only English showing starts at 6, so I don't have much time. The last thing I need given my current situation is to try and understand pirate talk in Turkish.

Which, speaking of Turkish pirates, I though I should note this little known fact. As some of you know, I carried the nickname of Redbeard through my time in CO due to a ill conceived plan of putting some personal ads in the Denver Post. I'll spare you the details, but let it be known that had the ads run, I would not be here alone right now. Anywho, the name Redbeard is a famous one in this country. It's actually a mispronunciation of a famous Turkish pirate's name. Oruç Reis and his brother Hızır Reis were famous pirates and in the early 16th century. Oruç captured hundreds of ships and raided dozens of towns in his time. His greatest accomplishment was taking Algiers for the Ottoman Empire. He was well known for transporting Muslims from Spain to safety in North Africa. They affectionately called him Baba Oruç, which means Father Oruç, but became mispronounced in Italian as Barbarossa, which means Redbeard. After Oruç died fighting the Spaniards, his brother inherited his position and his nickname.

King of Dodgeball and A New Vocab Word (Sort of)

Today our church had a picnic. You've probably got this nice park, with green grass, lots of shade, plenty of fried chicken, and all the fixins.



Get that junk out of your head.

Think instead of hot, dry, and dusty ground that is littered with broken glass. The beat of a drum and the high pitched whine of a Shehnai type instrument (think Indian snake charming flute) is always about you. There is no fried chicken, but instead, a pastry type thing with lamb sausage in the middle. Add in songs such in a language that I don't understand and the pinky dance that accompanies these songs and you have a little bit better understanding of a "picnic."



With all that said, let me say... I love picnics. This is only the second one we've had since I have been here, but both have been a blast. We threw a frisbee that wouldn't fly straight if Jesus himself threw it. We kicked around the soccer ball, which is quite humorous for a man as white as myself. There was a never ending game of "volleyball" going on, though we had no net and there was never a mention of actually trying to play by any rules. There was some songs sung and some prayers prayed. We danced, as only Turks (and of a charismatic nature at that) would dance. Pinky locked pinky and we danced in a circle, kicking our heels out on the third and fourth beats, for the better part of ten minutes. Then we ate, and oh what a meal! The ladies really know how to do it up right. After the meal, we had a nice sit about on the carpet to let our food settle. It was here that I "learned" my new word. I hesitate to say I learned it, because I have no idea what it means. Judging by the acting job I got, it means either "grand mal seizure" or something to effect of "I'm exhausted." Sadly, it's not in my dictionary. Next time I see someone having an epileptic episode, I'll start screaming it and see if anyone understands what I am saying.



But after our sit about, we had a killer game of dodge ball. The rules: There will be two teams. Each team is made of about 6 people. One team forms two lines on opposite sides of the street. The other team is in the middle. If the team in the middle is hit by a ball, and the ball falls to the ground, the person hit is out. If the ball is caught in the air, you win an extra soul (direct translation here). Once you are down to just one person in the middle, you only have ten throws to hit them or the entire team comes back out. Past that, it is wide open. My team was on the outside first and we got everyone out in a fairly quick manner and hit the last person on the second throw. My team was in the middle next. I won a dozen souls for my team. We don't die, we multiply baby! It was almost half an hour before our FIRST person went down. Finally, they made the rule that your extra souls can only be used by the person who won the extra soul. Therefore, I was stuck with 6 souls, the Shark had 3, and everybody else was out. Sadly, I had three souls just slip through my fingers and I went down before the Shark. He made it for seven throws, but was hit on number eight, so we went back to the outside. It was here that I really came into my own. The Shark decided to just one hop the ball to me, to catch everyone off guard and to give me an awesome chance to nail one of them. Boy did it work. Six of their eight players were gone by my seventh throw. I was 6 for my first 7. I missed one guy a couple times in a row and he said to me as the Shark was going to get an errant throw, "I won't be as easy to get." Ok, old man. The very next throw he was out. One of his teammates won a soul from our weak link to bring him back on, but the very next time I got the ball, he took a seat again. We had their entire team out in a little less than 15 minutes and the last person only made it three throws. It was a dominant performance and I was named MVP. No one ever gave me a final answer as to whether it was awarded due to my soul saving abilities or my soul taking abilities. Either way, I'm your Dodgeball MVP today!

If I Had a Boat

I'd go out on the ocean. And if I had a pony, I'd ride him on my boat. Then we could all together go out on the ocean, me upon my pony on my boat. -Lyle Lovett

Yesterday I did have a boat, and I did go out on the ocean. There were no ponies involved though.

A bunch of us went fishing yesterday out on the Med. Some guys from the local Air Force base had organized this trip and invited us to tag along. Crack, Papa V, two of the V boys, and myself took them up on the offer. All day Friday it had rained and sure enough, Saturday morning was nasty too. Rain, lightning, wind, it was awful. But we went anyway and by the time we got to the coast, it had sort of cleared up. But on the way, I noticed three things that tipped me off to the fact that we may not be in for a great day of fishing. The first thing is that we were going out on a flat bottom boat that I affectionately named, "The Party Barge." It's not a fishing boat by any stretch of the imagination. There were tables set up all over the bottom area, a grill on the back, and a large upstairs for laying out in the sun. The second thing that tipped me off was the fact that one of the guys that seemed to be heading the trip up was wearing a fishing vest with pliers attached and a fishing hat complete with fishing pins attached to it. I'm not saying that the guy didn't know what he was doing. I could tell that he had been a time or two. But it's pretty obvious that he was not expert. The true experts don't have to dress like that for people to believe they know what they're doing.
The third thing that tipped me off was that the expert kept telling people how good the fish that we were going to catch were. They have almost no bones and you can just skin them out easy, etc etc. Then he mentioned that some of the big ones could get up to 8 inches long. Great.


My fears were realized soon after we got on the boat. The first nail in the coffin for me was seeing that the hooks we were using were smaller than most bream hooks I used back in SC. Obviously, we weren't expecting to hook anything large. The second nail in the coffin was seeing us park the boat within an easy casting distance of shore. Again, it seemed that we weren't really expecting to catch anything large. The final nail in the coffin for me personally was seeing that not only were these fish so small that they could steal your bait without you knowing, but that they had bird beaks that could cut your line before you knew what happened. I had a ton of bait stolen, but when I had all three of my hooks stolen, it was time to hang it up. I had caught a few, but they had to be measured in centimeters, not kilos. It was embarrassing.

So the fishing stunk, and so did the weather, but everything else was a blast. The boys had a great time and it was fun just to watch them catching fish. Crack, Papa V, and I had some great conversations and a lot of laughs. The guys from the base were all real nice and personable. They were gracious hosts too, and brought us lunch. I'll just go ahead and say that lunch was my favorite part of the whole day. They brought Oscar Meyer hot dogs (something I have not tasted in almost 9 months now) and French's mustard (the mustard here is no where near the same). It was amazing. I had three and if there had been more, I could've eaten three more of them. It was awesome. I like hot dogs, but I don't know that I've ever been as excited about a hot dog as I was yesterday.

It was really a great day, but I must end with some words from Hank Williams.

"The horse is against the automobile. The bus is against the train
The train is against the jumbo jet, and I’m against fishing in the rain."

On a Lighter Note

Since the last few posts have been a little bit heavy, I thought that I'd let you in on another major, though maybe not quite as serious, happening here in my wonderful city. As the locals say, Summer came! Yes it did, and very suddenly. Last Monday night I took a light jacket to English class with me. There was still a bit of a nip in the air. Today I was sweating out of my fingernails.

We can argue over whether it's hotter here or in CO or in good ole SC or wherever. It doesn't really matter to me. I'm not in those other places. I'm here. I'm here and it's hot. It just saps the life right out of me. By the time I got to church, I was already tired. I know I looked spaced out throughout the whole service. It wouldn't have been so bad if there had been more than 10 or 15 people at church. But since (according to the Shark) everyone went to the beach (not a bad idea), I have reason to believe that my sleepy eyes and glazed over look was easy to spot from the pulpit. If I wasn't tired enough already, I had what ended up being an almost two hour volleyball marathon outside of the church with my 11 year old Turkish professor. After that, a dozen games of 8-ball at Layla's Billiard Salon, and a long, hot bus ride home, I am sweaty, a little smelly, and DONE.

Tiger baseball is down to Boston College in the fifth in the first game of a double header. I love and support my Tigers in every sport and in every way. But I can not stay up much longer. Go Tigers, let's get some runs!

New Life

"They say that new life makes losing life easier to understand." -Jack Johnson, "If I Could"

You know things are bad when I feel the need to preface a post like this by saying that no one has died this week, but that is the state we find ourselves in these days.

What I want to tell you about is one promising story and one disappointing story. First of all, a lady has started coming to church in the last couple weeks. It's a wonderful story about how she got here. She was given a Bible five years ago by someone. A few years ago she watched the Passion of the Christ. She has been curious for a long time. Then, a few weeks ago when our friend Mr. Shelby came to town, they had a random (read: providential) encounter. Mr. Shelby's taxi driver didn't know where to go and ended up dumping Mr. Shelby off on a street corner. Seeing a lost white man, and knowing English herself, she offered her help. In return, Mr. Shelby introduced her to Miss Kitty, Crack, and the Anti-Girlfriend. They shared the Gospel with her and told her she should come to our church to hear it from other Turks, and in Turkish. So she came and has been coming since. She claims to have "put her trust in the Lord." We can argue over the true meaning of that later because it will only be later in time that we know what it truly means (Yogi would be proud). What I mean is, I am slow to count her as part of the elect at this point. Why?

Because of the Butcher. I never really hit it off that well with the Butcher. He's always sort of been a little unreliable. Some weeks he'd be at home group and excited, other weeks we wouldn't hear anything from him. This isn't totally out of the ordinary for even the most devout believers, but for him, it was obvious he wasn't all there at times. Well, with that background, he gave a short testimony in the service Sunday. He told about how he had struggled with tithing, but that once he started giving, God had really blessed him. When he was done, everybody clapped, everybody but my roommate (his small group leader) that is. After church, a group of us went to a cafe to eat dinner and hang out. My roommate started in on the Butcher about his little testimony. You see, my roommate, as his small group leader, knew that he hadn't been tithing. So that's where the conversation started. Before it was over they were talking about whether or not the Butcher truly believed God and God's word. The Butcher admitted that even though he believed the Bible was God's word, he was not following it. He said that God just asked too much. This was especially troubling for him in regards to the fact that he had to marry a believing woman, since those are in short supply around here. So he quit. He gave up. He decided that he was not going to follow Christ anymore. Right then and there, in the cafe, the Butcher denied God.

This is the ebb and flow of the work in this country. The White Guy left, if you remember, last fall. He had not even been "following" for a year yet and it became too much for him. Ironically, it was the same desire to be married that really wore on him too. After he left, a high school aged boy started coming. He claims to believe and, so far, has shown himself to be pretty devoted. They canceled each other out. Then this new lady (no nickname yet) started coming. It seemed like we were finally getting ahead and making some progress. But then the Butcher had to go and do this. Back to zero.

Whether this new lady is for real, only time will tell. Whether the Butcher can really just walk away from Christ for the chance at a wife and kids, only time will tell. It's easy to start into the Christian life. It's hard to finish. I pray that for myself, and for the believers that I work with here, and all the new brothers and sisters that will come during my time here, that one day we will all be able to say, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."

Revelation 6:9-11

When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the Word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, "O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?" Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been.

Three men, living in the city of Malatya, in the central-eastern part of Turkey, did not come home from work Tuesday night. Wednesday morning, the police went to the Bible publishing company that the three men worked at. There they found the men being held hostage by a small and young group of terrorists. They had been "hog-tied," with their hands and feet bound. Reports say that they had been tortured all night, as evidenced by cuts on their hands and feet. Two of the three were dead when police arrived. Their throats had been slit. The third died at the hospital. To add to the pain, all three men were married, with two of them having children (3 children for one, 4 for the other).

My roommate knew two of the three men. Together we wept for them today. I have no great words for him. What do you tell a man who is crying out to God, saying, "Why must we suffer? They are slaughtering us like animals! When will it end?" It won't end in this life. God told the martyrs (a group these three men are a part of now) that it would not end until the "number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete." Only then will it end, and peace finally reign.

Until then we weep. In the words of Paul, to the Corinthians, "We are sorrowful, yet always rejoicing." There lies the heart of the Christian. Praising a Sovereign God, knowing that this was allowed and even ordained by Him. Trusting in his everlasting kindness, believing that He is working for his glory and our good, and resting in His wisdom and strength. We praise him that these men "loved not their lives, even unto death." And we weep. We pray for their families, that the "God of all comfort" would comfort them in their affliction. We pray that the small church in this country will bond together to support, uplift, and encourage one another in the faith. And again, we weep.

In the end, that's all I can do. Just cry. Evil won't be stopped with a new law, or better gun control, or the oversight of the European Union. It will only be stopped when God has seen enough and comes back, riding on the clouds, in all power and glory. So until that day, we weep. We weep and we cry out, "Come, Lord Jesus! Come!"

What happens in Atioch, stays in Antioch.

Well fortunately for you guys, that's not the case. You get to read about it all right here. A big gang of us made the trip down to Antioch this past week. If you don't know why Antioch is significant, read the book of Acts in your Bible.

So the first thing we did when we got there was eat. We had been told that the doner in Antioch would change your life. Literally, the guy who told us what restaurant to go to said, "It will change your life." Well, he was almost right. One more squeeze of mayonnaise on that bad boy and I would've been blowing chunks mid-afternoon.

Because after lunch we had a walking tour of the faiths of Antioch. We walked by the local Ulu Camii (Grand Mosque), actually went inside of an incredibly beautiful Orthodox church, a rather plain looking Protestant church (it's lead by Korean Methodists), and then saw the front door of the local Catholic Church. I have to say that I don't agree with the Catholic theology, and it's building was the least impressive, but they do have one thing right. Three hour lunches!

After the walking tour we stopped in the archaeological museum. They had a huge collection of mosaics and a room full of pottery, statues, and coins. It was neat to see, but rather unimpressive. I guess when you see 3,000 year old artifacts on a weekly basis, it kind of loses it's "wow power."

So from there we headed up to the cave known as St. Peter's Church. This is probably where all the stuff happened in Acts. It was just a small cave with a facade built on the front of it. It may have been cooler had there not been a group of hippie Italian Catholics having some sort of worship service inside. But really, there wasn't much to it until you started trying to picture it dark, with just a few lanterns of light around, and there in the front would be Peter or Paul or Barnabas speaking to a group of people that would change the world. That puts it in a little bit different perspective.

From there, we went into the caves. There are caves and tunnels in just about every hill in this country and this one was no different. Maybe a hundred feet above the church there was a long tunnel that lead you along the front side of the hill and then around to the back. When you reached the "end" of the tunnel, there was only one way to go... straight up. I'd guess it somewhere around 20 feet, straight up. Everyone, even the women with us, were troopers and just scaled right on up it. I was very impressed with everyone (including myself) because I didn't think it was doable. It's the closest thing to rock climbing I've done since the elevator was out last week and I had to walk up the stairs.

And our last site of the day was an old castle built on the pinnacle overlooking the city. It was an incredible view out over the valley that Antioch sits in. The castle itself left something to be desired. I never thought I'd be able to say that I went to a castle that was built by the Crusaders some 500 years ago, and it failed to impress. Honestly, it's probably the worst of the three castles I have seen here.

Before we left, we grabbed dinner at a local restaurant and everyone was graceful enough to give me time for a bite of kunefe (a local cuisine) before we hit the road home. All in all, it was a day to remember. Not only did we see some awesome sites, realize that there are some Christians in this country, and eat a lot of mayonnaise. But we got to share the Gospel with three young men. All three of them took a Turkish New Testament with them and promised to read it. Let's pray that they do.

Born on the Bayou

At least some of them were. Some of them seemed to have been born in Powder-Puff-ville. No more crying guys!

But seriously, this group from LA was great. They were a bunch of students that came over here to spend their spring break checking out some of the historical and biblical sites around here. We really had a blast together and I think we were mutually encouraged and challenged. The group was good about being flexible and patient. I didn't hear any complaining about having to take buses or walk long distances. They were willing to try new things and to walk around in their undies with a bunch of hairy Turks. They learned new games and new words. All in all, it was a good week.

My personal favorite memory was being able to share the Gospel with a guy at a little cafe we were at drinking tea and playing backgammon. Of course, five white guys speaking English together attracts attention in this country. Luckily this time, it was good attention. The owner came and sat with me, since he figured out I was the only one who could speak his language. We talked for a few minutes about my friends. They were going to Tarsus the next day to see Paul's old town and that steered our conversation towards spiritual matters. The guy asked me what I believed. Instead of trying to struggle through it in my broken Turkish, I just handed him a little booklet that explains it in his own language. We had a nice little conversation and then he went back to work. I think it was good for the guys to see the spiritual state of things here. Most people are more than happy to talk about things with me, but none so far have seemed open to actually entering into some sort of healthy dialogue. Just like this guy in the cafe, most people end with "I respect you," and leave. I'm not here for respect guys. I had plenty of that back home. I came in the hope of giving you a choice. No one here knows the Gospel or what the Bible truly says about Jesus. I came to give them that opportunity. To see for themselves what God has said through the Gospel.

And that's all I can do, give them the opportunity. I try to do that as much as I can and pray that the Holy Spirit has been working in someone to draw them to the Father before I get there. Because, after sharing with the cafe owner, one of the guys said, "That was cool." You know, it really is, when I think about it. But honestly, it doesn't satisfy. I'm ready to see something more. I'm ready to see a life changed. So with that in mind, I'm going out to see who I can meet today, and if maybe, just maybe, I can find those people in this city that God has set aside for himself.

Take a Breath

Okay, let's go.

That's what I feel like right now. Just after my last post we had our first tourist group show up. The group was made up of four men and a lady, all from MS. They took a tour of Tarsus, nearby Ceyhan, Yumurtalik, Konya, Lystra, and Derbe. They got to see Paul's Well, Cleopatra's Gate, and a host of other interesting Biblical and historical sites. I think they enjoyed themselves, but I doubt they enjoyed it as much as we did.

Personally, my favorite moment was when we were in Ceyhan. We were just walking down this street, meeting people, stopping into shops, and the like. We happened upon a butcher shop with some sheep hanging in the window. That alone I think would've been interesting for them to see, but to add to the experience, our butcher buddies had pulled the liver and heart out to display under the carcasses. If you're not in the mood for dark meat though, they did have the stomach hanging by the door and a coiled bit of intestine draped from the ceiling. But if you're looking for something just a little juicier (and this is where I thought my friends would lose it), they had not one, not two, but at least 8 fresh sheep heads, skin on and still bleeding, in a bucket out on the sidewalk. Honestly, it's probably better that they saw them that way rather than seeing them skinned and boiled like I see them being sold downtown. But the MS folk did real good and went right into the shop. Of course, knowing no Turkish, they let out a warm, "Hey Y'all, how y'all doing?" At that point, everybody in the shop just stopped what they were doing and stared. I explained that my friends were from America and that we were just looking around. In perfect form, the butcher offered us tea. This is my life. So the two MS folk head inside to sit and drink tea and I sit out on the sidewalk with an old man to talk and drink tea. Come to find out the old man is an Arab and is busting on Turks. When I asked him how long ago it was that he came to Turkey, he said he was born here, but that his family had come from Syria... 500 years ago! I can't tell you where my great grandma was from and this man is still calling himself an Arab after 500 years of living in Turkey. There's a cultural difference for you. It was a nice little sit at the butcher shop and then we were on our way.

They left on Wednesday and I had a couple days to recoup before another group comes on Tuesday. Luckily, I'm not responsible for a whole lot past just walking around with everybody and helping translate at times. But it still takes up a lot of time, especially when I have to teach English three days a week, in the morning and evening.

The workload of this week is looming over me. So in response to that, I bought some potatoes, green beans, and two healthy looking trout from the grocery store and I am feasting tonight. I'm listening to some relaxing music, reading a good book, and preparing myself for a full week. It'll be this time next week before I can take another breath.

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.