Passing Notes

This whole blogging, Facebook, Twitter, Skype and SMS thing has got me thinking.

My friends and I passed a lot of notes to each other in high school.

A LOT of notes.

We had a lot to talk about. Boys mostly. That could fill pages.

And other things. Not many other things, though, come to think of it. Didn't all of life revolve around something that, in the end, got back to boys?

The point is: all these communication tools tell me that people still really like to stay in close contact.

It's interesting to me that my sons who are (almost) 19 and 21 have become big fans of handwritten letters. In their circle of very wired friends, the time it takes to actually write a letter and mail it is a gesture worth quite a bit. The handwritten notes are uniquely expressive and carry with them a value that cyber mail cannot duplicate.

I've produced hundreds (probably thousands) of handwritten letters in my life and received the same in return. I treasure the letters my sister and I wrote to each other during my first 15 years in Africa. I find it a bit sad that we only have email now.

I know that notes, cyber or paper, can't replace real time and I can't see there ever being a substitute for a coffee date, a shared tea or a walk together.

But since my life has carried me far away from quite a lot of people (scattered all over) that I love, I'm thankful that there are clever little ways to continue passing notes.

communion

crack open the disaster
the rich raw red flow of this soul

dark colors turning,
dancing in the night

breath!
it comes in gulps of
shattering cold

(breaking death)

crack open the disaster
the sheer shelter sham of self

tastes, heavy like the dew of heaven,
pour together

life!
it comes surging
sure, strong

(unstoppable)

crack open the disaster

Too Small, My Words

I am trying to call up the words to talk about this last week away on safari with our kids and the Wild Hope summer crew, but it's all too rich and wild and good and big to figure out which words will paint for you this most excellent time.

Plus, I'm dead tired. Dead tired but very happy :-)

I think the beauty came from the mixture of traveling through dramatically varied landscapes, having deep conversation around the issues of being whole and free, launching into adventurous exploits, cross cultural friendships, exploring Creation and discovering the bigness of God.

Were there any troubles along the way? A few. My emergency pit stops by the side of the road on the final long day of travel without "facilities" reminded me that it's not just visitors to Africa who need tummy soothing meds from time to time. But over all, it was pretty dreamy.

Our first day's (very dusty) drive delivered us to the foot of the rumbling volcano, Oldonyo Lengai, where we pitched our tents on the somewhat stable shores of the saline Lake Natron. We lost track of how many tremors we felt and wondered which part of sanity told us to make camp at the epicenter of recent quakes that are making news in East Africa.

We traveled on from the heavy heat of those prehistoric vistas (where we thought it would be fitting if a dinosaur appeared from behind a big pile of rocks) and made our way through wide open plains, up into softly rolling hills and into forests that still befuddle many a wanderer.

And that's just the geography of where we went. In community we went into honest, raw conversations and prayer times, looking together into the unspeakable love of God and finding such freedom there to become ourselves, the selves He has been dreaming of.

He dreamed us, as he made us. He dreamed us free and full and givers of grace and life to those around us.

This wild safari we call life is getting us there. These final ten days with our summer team gained us all new ground and we are grateful.

The house is quiet in a sad and restful way as Tommy, Dane, Carly, Christian, Gabby and Joel are no longer here with us.

What good traveling companions they made!

(Photos: Jesse Borden)

Tenderness of Life

I think maybe it's an age thing but I feel so tender about life these days. This morning I read in the paper about four fire fighters perishing as they struggled against the huge fire that is raging here in California. I looked at the photo of the fire chief who was the father of five and I started to cry thinking about his family's loss. Byron's cousin, Judy, was killed in a car accident last weekend. I hardly knew her but I look at her photo and read about her life and I feel this ache to know that she is gone. Jenelle has been grieving the death of a friend who took her own life and the up-coming deployment of a close friend to Iraq.

Yet it's not just loss that is making me feel so tender. I read about Kelly and April's new baby, Alleke and I feel sort of weepy. The fragile beauty of new life can put a lump in my throat!

Today I went to chapel at Heather's school because her class was leading it with a reader's theater production of the story of Noah. Very sweet. Chapel began with worship. It was the simplest thing ever--taped music playing as the kids sang along. We sang with them. We sang Chris Tomlin's How Great is Our God and I stood there in a room full of little ones and a handful of adults struggling fairly hard not to fall apart. Yes, it's a pretty song with lovely words. But I don't think that is what moved me.

Standing there singing I could only picture the faces of people we have worshipped with. Of course I always imagine myself in the midst of the Matrix , which can put me over the edge immediately. But I was seeing others from the rest of the CA family. Sophie's sweet face. Phil practically stamping his worship. Darrin with eyes closed. Deela. It wasn't just worshipping that moved me. It was the memory of worshipping in community, the feeling of being bonded with others and loving God together with them. That is such a sweet thing.

Weepy me.

To Know and to Be Known

All is going well as we begin navigating this season in the States. But last night I cried when I got into bed. I miss my community. A lot. I miss seeing people that I know (really know) and who know (really know) me.

I kept picturing Dane just back home in Malveira de Serra after a week in Cascais Hospital. Dane! I love him so much. My whole family loves him and his whole family. Dane the dancing pilgrim, the poet, the dreamer, the surfer, the singer, the smiler. Dane who sits in the back seat with Trevor and makes me laugh till great big tears roll down my cheeks and I can hardly see the road. He's been hurting! He's had a tube poked into his chest. And we didn't get to go see him in the hospital and squeeze his hand and make him laugh and pray and give him kisses on his forehead.

He didn't need us to be there. He had lots of people in and out of his hospital room. But he is very important to our family and it just felt sucky to be so far away.

But it's more than just feeling sad that someone we love was in pain. It's the whole thing of knowing others and being known. The way Carey knows I hate confrontation and would rather do almost anything else. They way Marty knows I'll sing with him if he gets out the guitar. The way Nelly knows when I'm tired even when I think I'm covering for it pretty well. The way Jasmin rings to catch us up on what's happening in her life. The way Ben comes down the stairs like he's always lived in our house. They way the world seems more beautiful when Barbara is around. The increased sense of wonder that Jesse brings. And the way we're all joined by an ache to see hope come into people's lives.

It's such a basic need, this need for community.

It's like food, water, air.

Feelings Unplugged

I'm finding myself a little reticent to write posts these days. A landslide has begun here.

I cling to Barbara on the curb by the train station as she begins her three month sojourn. I have no idea when I will ever see her again. When she gets back to Portugal, I will be in the States. From there, I will head to Tanzania.

The lump in my throat feels like a grapefruit. The tears are hot on my face.

I told Barbara on the night before that I don't know anyone in whom Jesus seems to reside so comfortably. He seems so at home in B. She is so hospitable to him. But just like in Narnia ("Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia) I figure "Once a Borden, always a Borden." Baba has become a permanent member of our family.

Still I have no idea when I will see her again.

I pull away and pick up Heather, who is sobbing beside me. We climb into the car and sit there, waving until she disappears into the cavernous station.

The landslide of emotions has begun as goodbyes gain momentum. I want to put up barriers around my heart to keep it from being crushed under the weight of what is passing over it.

But my little fences would be foolish.

I question God. "Aren't we supposed to love deeply? Then why do you ask us to part? What's wrong with you?"

I am sometimes called upon to teach on coping with this life of following God all over the world. I always speak about the difficult but better choice to live with open hearts and to love the people God brings into our lives, rather than to protect ourselves from the cycle of separation and loss by keeping folks at a distance.

"And love is not the easy thing/the only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind."

I can't leave Baba behind. And so I won't. Yes, we physically part. But our fragile human hearts are permanently intertwined.

Still, it feels like someone just tore out a great chunk of mine.

Strength for the journey. That's what I need.

The Church Gathered... The Church Scattered

This little community that we are a part of loves to gather. We love each other’s company and the company of Jesus that we find in each other. “Gathered” is us in my sitting room, or in Marty and Carey’s garden, or in the corner café, or at sunrise on the beach. We gather here and there. We’re not really picky. We just like to be together.

But we also scatter. We go out and do our jobs. We study at our universities, teach our classes, record our albums, play our gigs, prepare our seminars, align our patients! And when we’re out there doing the jobs God has given us, we are still the Church. We are the Church scattered through this city, bringing the sweetness of the fragrance of Christ.

We put a lot of emphasis on the importance of both words. We love to gather. We love to scatter. We often say we’re the Church gathered AND we’re the Church scattered.

But very soon now, some of us are going to scatter pretty far. Rachel has already left. She flew away to NASHVILLE (!!) to start her masters degree program. Nelly will be off in a couple of days to find God’s path for her to Italy. She can’t quite shake a long-time love for the place. She’ll be on a three-week prayer sojourn with friends from 24-7prayer before doing a week of language school and then heading to the States to pursue some avenues for a longer-term return.

Barbara has always been our wandering pilgrim, but in the last few years, we have enjoyed her consistent presence as she has lived a somewhat settled life here among us. But things are stirring and Baba is off on an overland journey to Palestine to be Church on the road with a group of friends. And when she does come back, she’ll be making her home base the farm up north. It’s not much more than undeveloped land and a lot of olive trees right now, but it will be a peace-filled refuge in the not too distant future.

And we’ll be heading out by the end of August to go to the States where we will be preparing for our new life in East Africa.

Maybe we shouldn’t have talked so much about following God on the wild paths he puts before us. Maybe we shouldn’t have said that we’ve got to stop talking about being missional and just start being it. I don’t know… it’s just that this scattering thing is cutting a little too close to my heart right now. I like us gathered a whole lot.

Barbara sent me the following today. Emma Cowan sent it to her from Ireland…

"We have to keep in mind that community, like solitude is primarily a quality of the heart. While it remains true that we will never know what community is if we never come together in one place, community does not necessarily mean being physically together. We can well live in community while being physically alone. In such a situation, we can act freely, speak honestly, and suffer patiently because of the intimate bond of love that unites us with the other even when time and place separate us from them. The community of love stretches out not only beyond the boundaries of countries and continents but also beyond the boundaries of decades and centuries. Not only the awareness of those who are far away, but also those who have lived long ago can lead us into a healing, sustaining, and guiding community. The space for God in community transcends all limits of time and place."

-Henri Nouwen in 'Making All Things New'


It comforts me to know that some forms of community are not bound to geographical closeness.

As we scatter, we carry the gathered with us.

Teams That Play Together...

Marty, Carey, Byron and I got in from Holland last night close to midnight. We were there with the rest of the Europe team to work.

Carey and I went a day late so that we could shorten the time we were away from our kids. On our second evening we rode side-saddle on the back of the bikes Marty and Byron were using and the four of us went off through the rain to a cute little restaurant we like to frequent when there.

We escaped during a lunch break as well, peddling happily around Den Haag.

But Friday was the best. Our team, although entirely stressed and somewhat angry by Friday morning, does love each other dearly. Friday was our play day so we took off on bicycles toward the coast. We went through busy sections of the city to pretty little neighborhoods with quiet streets, cool forests with shady green light and finally out through the grassy dunes and onto the beach. After some goofing around on the sand, we headed back into the forest to a restaurant where we ate those amazing Dutch pancakes covered in delicious things over a long lunch together.

The lunch sounds as if it should have been relaxing yet the conversation was tough. We needed to get some things talked through. It was good. And the fresh air and exercise in the midst of pleasant places was a huge benefit. I appreciated that we pushed through some difficult talks, still loving to be together.