A Soccer Ball, a Burqa, and Rocks

As I waited to be let inside a friend’s house, a group of boys were playing soccer in the street. I watched as a boy kicked the ball past his teammate, rolling it into the burqa-draped legs of a woman walking by. It wasn’t a hard kick, and could not have hurt the woman at all—the ball merely bumped into her legs! That fact didn’t deter her as she whirled around, grabbed a handful of good-sized rocks, and launched them at the boys. Verbal insults flew as did the boys, who were scattering in all directions and ducking for cover. I stood by in mute amazement, watching the entire scenario play out in front of me. So much for common social graces!

The Refuse Bin on Thanksgiving

Trash in the affluent world is looked on with disgust; it is vulgar and repulsive. It is something to be avoided at all costs, so while in Central Asia I found myself wondering why the trash wasn’t taken away from littering the streets and ditches throughout the city. Besides the obvious problem of funding such an endeavor, it suddenly dawned on me that the real issue is much greater. The refuse bins, in fact, are places of opportunity. To remove this would be to deny one last hope of sustenance. Thanksgiving looks so much different this year...

Two Worlds Juxtaposed, Part 2

Parts of the Book of Genesis seem to be a dull read, most noticeably the lists of genealogies. To the Western mind consumed with the plot, action, and story, these seem like interruptions. To the Oriental mind that is much more concerned with identity, family, and heritage, these are anything but interruptions—they are quite essential to the story. For example, while I was in Central Asia a friend reported that the topic of family heritage came up at a conference. A Western man was asked to stand up and list his ancestors as far back as he could. He was able to list his great-grandparents, but could remember no further back. A national, when asked to do the same thing, however, was able to list off the previous 10-15 generations from memory, spontaneously. Later, a village “elder” I met told me he was still peeved at the British for their part in the death of his ancestor some hundred or more years earlier. The events of the past are firmly entrenched in their minds, and their lineage is very important to who they are today.

Two Worlds Juxtaposed, Part 1

Having just completed the lecture portion of a class on Gen 12-23, it was not without irony that I stepped off the plane into a practically patriarchal environment, much closer to the biblical world than our own. One situation was particularly poignant. A national lady we met was not able to have children, which for her was a devastating blow to her already reduced status. Adding insult to injury, her husband took another wife, feeling the need to establish his family lest his status be jeopardized. Wife #2 conceived immediately, further displacing the first and filling the home with conflict. To the Western mind unfamiliar with such heartaches, stories like this add an incredible dimension to the stories of Sarah/Hagar, Hannah, or Elizabeth. These are not mere stories to them: they are living these stories.

Proliferation of Force

An interesting note about the city is the proliferation of police officers and military or security personnel. Kalishnikovs hang from countless shoulders as you stroll through the streets. But a disparity exists between actual security (or feeling thereof) and this prevalence of arms. There seems to be an inverse proportion in play where the feeling of security actually decreases with the increase of weapons. Is this how the Wild West used to be?

International Worship

Several times throughout my trip I was privileged to join together with brothers and sisters from around the globe in the spirit of Rev 7:9, “every tribe and tongue and nation.” In one meeting the list of nationalities included Canadian, Swedish, Mongolian, German, and Korean in addition to American. Each has his own idiosyncrasies, to be sure, but each one is lifting up his heart to the One True God, the Possessor of Heaven and Earth (Gen. 14). If this is a foretaste of heaven, heaven will be sweet indeed!

Beautiful Harmony

The chord changes were sloppy and slow. The rhythm wasn’t consistent. But the harmony was much greater than the sum of the parts. Jared is learning to play the guitar and hasn’t made pro status yet, so the poor chord changes are understandable. But when Sharon started to sing with Jared as he played, it was beautiful. The harmony went far beyond the words sung or notes played. Beautiful harmony!

The Luxury of Threadbare Armchairs

As I sit in the guesthouse, I note that all the furniture surrounding me qualifies as Goodwill discards. The paint is faded or worn, and the blankets have seen many years of service. Yet in this setting, comfortable only begins to describe them—they’re actually luxurious! Warm, inviting, and a haven from the tumult outside. A threadbare armchair never felt so good!

Morning Has Broken

The clock outside my room reads 5 am. It’s dark outside, and I can’t see much from my second story window. But what I can’t see, I can certainly hear. The wail of the morning call to prayer breaks unashamedly onto the morning, filling the air with its mournful sound. Adding to the din are other mosques and countless people praying in sync with them. Someone nearby (the chaokidar?) prays out of tune, yet it doesn’t seem to bother him. The noises continue well beyond the call for reasons I’m not aware of. But the morning has begun, and once again I’m reminded that I’m in an Islamic state where the darkness of the morning matches the darkness of the country’s spiritual state.

Donkeys move down the trail

A Picnic

When you read the title, you should erase any idea about an American picnic complete with sandwiches and sodas tucked neatly away in a wicker basket. Nevertheless, the NGO (Non-Government Organization) Beth is working with held their annual "picnic" the day after we arrived, so after a (mostly) good night sleep we jumped into an SUV and headed for the hills.
An hour or so later, after asking for a few directions from random "dear uncles" on the side of the road, we arrived and started "hiking" to the lodge. I use that term loosely, for it was really a leisurely stroll up a valley trail. The rugged valley was breaking out in beautiful fall colors, the sun shining brilliantly through the translucent leaves. After walking for awhile, passing an occassional goat and donkeys burdened with freight, we arrived at the lodge where the festivities began.
The men, of course, were seated in one room while the women congregated down the hall. Three musicians formed a band and the dancing began. No formal instruction was necessary, and any gyration that seemed to loosely follow the music was acceptable. After everyone had graced the room with their attempts, the food was served.
[A comment from Beth, who was in the other room: "The particular women that are working in my project are quite the women….one of the other expats described them as ‘drama queens’—which is probably true. Women are the same the world around!"]
Following the meal, several guys and I ventured farther up the mountain to a rock outcropping overlooking the lodge. Then, once a few staff photos were snapped, everyone trundled down the mountain and drove home, ending a very lovely holiday.

New sights and sounds

At one point on the flight out of Dubai, Beth turned to me and says, "I think we're flying over the mountains of Iran." I looked out the window at beautiful, rugged, snow-laced mountains, and wondered what in the world I was doing in this part of the globe. Until now, such locations were just place-holders on a world atlas or answers on a test. But there we were, flying over a part of the world where headlines are made almost daily.
New sights were not limited to those from 30,000 ft in the air, either. Once we landed, several more mental images etched themselves into my head. For starters, an old man in national outfit and turban drinking... a Red Bull, of all things. A traffic policeman frantically waving a hand-held stop sign at a roundabout, almost completely in vain. An old man forcing his way into a bustling intersection trailing a large cart laden with heavy produce. A completely veiled woman angrily tossing large rocks at school boys who had the audacity to let a soccer ball roll into her leg. We are not in Kansas anymore!

The International Terminal

On the way to Central Asia
You know when you've crossed into the international terminal. The mood changes. Turbans replace ball caps, saris replace sweaters, tribal gowns replace t-shirts. Even the language changes: the signs are no longer printed in English alone but French, Chinese, even Arabic. Questions swirl in your mind like, "Why are they traveling to _____ (fill in a country)?" The answers, of course, are as varied as the time zones the airport services.

The Point

Why start a new blog? There seems to be no end of blogs, and another one clogging bandwidth seems unnecessary. Nevertheless, there are two reasons for this blog. The first purpose is to communicate some short thoughts as life rolls along. God deals with us in many ways, and some are worth sharing (I hope you'll agree after perusing these posts).
The second is to establish a forum to share what used to be published in the Kaessner Brothers' Expeditions newsletter. This was formerly published bi-regularly, but owing to the busyness of the two Kaessner Brothers, publication ceased about the time one of them got married (Jared will remain nameless to protect his guilt). The first few entries will be dedicated to travelogues from a recent trip to Central Asia.
I trust these are ample reasons for me to publish a new blog and for you to consider spending time here.