perched on the cosmos.

Today is crazy day. As I've written over the past few months, out-of-the-ordinary occurences are actually normal in Seattle, but today was full of an unexpectedly full amount.

Highlights include our ride home. We saw a man who didn't look insane, but was apparently so. We saw him yelling into the distance at a stoplight downtown. After realizing he was yelling to no one in particular, we tried to come up with excuses as to why he may have been doing this. Was he an actor shouting his latest soliloquey? Perhaps deliberately making a scene? While stumped about the whole situation and wondering why he was crazy and not looking crazy, someone posed the question of what crazy actually looks like. Just then, at the next intersection, an individual walked by with naught but gym shorts, an open denim jacket, and shoes and socks, dishoveled hair. Case in point; appearance wise, at least. Next, before arriving at the next intersection, we dropped off a co-worker's bag to him. While getting out of the van to hand it to him, my other co-worker stepped out, stepped down, and bit the dust next to rush hour traffic. Along comes Genuine Crazy Man yelling, "see, people are falling on the street!" She was okay, and this whole interaction made for a good laugh then and now.

Further on the commute we saw two men riding a tandem bike. Yes, there it goes, a bright blue bike with synchronized individuals pedaling away. Perhaps it was because we witnessed this at an intersection so it came as quickly as it left, but we found it quite humorous. As we went to turn, while discussing and chuckling over the sight, we noticed two other guys yelling across the street to each other, laughing over the same matter.

I could go on to describe multiple bathroom mixups, transporting port-a-johns, flying paint, and horn honking symphonies, but my battery is too close to death.

I recently saw a documentary, Stolen, with a friend. It is about modern slavery in Western Sahara. It seems that the social construct in a UN-run refugee camp is too strong to stand up to weak government rule, and some former slaves are still under the control of masters, mostly white/Arabic. (the official website) There is a lot of controversy about the legitimacy about the film. I haven't looked into this too much, but intricacies of official/unofficial, definitions of slavery, and other language intricacies seem to be in play.

What really stood out to me was a revealing moment in the main family's screen time. They were speaking to the filmmakers after getting to know them for a couple weeks. The daughter, 12 years old I believe, was discussing and describing the system of slavery going on in their refugee camp (she always lived here, it is home to her although her mother was forced to move here before her birth). The daughter turns to her mother before going further and asks, "Can we tell them about our dream to be free?" She goes on to describe how she wishes she, her mother, family, and everyone can be free from the unnecessary and unjust oppression of slavery forced upon them. Another brave, bold girl who stood out was also quite outspoken about her stance of her rights. The filmmakers told her sharing her opinions could put her in danger. She responded that she would rather be killed than raped. To have to go through this decision-making at the age of 12 is unimaginable. Bottom line, it is a film worth seeing and learning the perspective of a small group of oppressed people who usually have no voice internationally nor locally.

I like having a map up in my room. It reminds me of how large and intricate our planet is and is nice to look and always be surprised of the size and positioning of countries. For the past couple of months my map had been falling down. Sometimes just a corner, sometimes a general sag. The worst is when it falls at night and startles me. But you know, I just really like having that map up there. It's on a sloped ceiling-wall, so I can even look at it upside down if I so choose. One day not so long ago, Sunday I believe, I came into my room and found it majorly peeling from the ceiling. I had had enough at this point and took it down. Between this falling and other drawings I had put on my wall that have been falling one by one, I feel as though maybe they are telling me that it is soon time to go.

I made my map into envelopes. A friend suggested I threaten the map and give it one last chance, but it was already too late. My fit of rage turned into creative mailing devices.

I finished reading a book today called Breath of Kenya, the reflections and journal of a missionary on a short-term trip to Kodera, a small village in the country. He was a doctor/businessman/successful person from Seattle. (It was cool to get the perspective of a Seattleite!) He offered good insight, but I will share something that stood out to me. He doesn't sugar-coat or idealize this place, as it offers more heartache than fulfillment. But the beauty of it all is that he was able to look past the pain and suffering of the locals and appreciate their valuable moments. After desscribing a beautiful memory he had of talking with villagers about pleasant things by the river, with no particular agenda, he contrasts the villagers' mindset and way of life to that of Westerners:

On my way home, I finished my prayers. This time it wasn't for the people of Kodera. It was for all the people that had electricity and running water, big homes and big cars, everything. The only thing they did not have was a drought-restricted river that would draw friends to talk about nothing important. The cetner of their life was not God, it was their appetites. It was their pride. With pride you can't sit beside a weak river in a failing village and talk to unlettered people.

. . . in the U.S. I'm like everyone else, I have so much stuff, I don't need people. In fact, the last thing I dare show is that I might need people. Maybe that's what I liked most about Kenya. . . what I didn't figure out until the latter part of my stay, was that the medicine was welcome and perceived as vital but it was not the reason they always welcomed me. They just wanted another soul to talk to. Take away health, wealth, and material success and all you have is each other. Maybe that's the place we should start.

(Charles Herrick, Breath of Kenya)

I agree with this and it is widely true throughout our culture. I looked up from reading this passage and saw my coworkers talking and laughing in our van ride back from a day of working with each other, with volunteers, and it made me think that we are onto understanding this in some way.

(see, I do stuff.)

So my battery seriously is dying, I need to go to a friend's house these days to recharge it as my power cord has died. So let me leave you with a hint. Free Mighty O's doughnut coupon in Real Change newspaper. Highlight of the evening to find!

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

James 1:27.