The Lost Writings

September 27, 2008 – Gili Air, Indonesia

The sea breathes here. And in a boat perched atop her chest, we go up and down, up and down. There are geckos everywhere. They talk, too. Not to me, per say, but maybe to each other. I can’t be sure after all. Rachel says the chickens talk, too. But I’m not sure who has more to say.

The Lost Writings

September 20, 2008 – North Stradbroke Island, Australia (Adder Rock)

Climbing slowly, barefoot with sandals in hand. The rocks are sharp sloped and sandy. How far should I go? Just up and over, close to the spray but yet out of her salty reach. A flat spot for sitting is found as I pick shells off the rocks and send them flying to the sea. The tide is coming ever closer – will I be trapped? Stranded on Adder Rock with nothing but my sandals? To Hell with it. The tide and I are friends, and I am confident that it will not sacrifice me to the sea.

What to do on a rock, floating just above the waves? Sing songs, of course. Songs I haven’t sung for ages are whipped by the wind, carried off to no one in particular. I am alone, just me and the tide and my sandals – perched atop Adder Rock – quite simply, the only place in the world I want to be.

The Lost Writings

September 15, 2008 – Surfer’s Paradise, Gold Coast, Australia

I want a dream. I want a reckless desire to do something radically out of the ordinary. I’ve never stuck with a dream for very long. It has always been, sooner or later, forfeited in favor of a reality. My head in the clouds with 2 feet firmly planted on the ground. Hope and I have never gotten along. We are fair-weather friends at best, coexisting when it’s easy; no sooner the tumult of emotion comes and we throw each other to the wolves. I cannot hold onto it and it cannot carry me. We must part ways.

I wish it was different. I wish I could live in the hopeful expectation of future desires, but I can’t. My 2 firmly planted feet won’t allow me to fly. I’m stuck between knowing and hoping; between the promise of the freedom and the reality of the chains. And when my dreams fade, it is because I let them go, like a yellow balloon from a child’s hand floating up and up into a cloudless sky.

The Lost Writings

September 7, 2008 - Christchurch, New Zealand

The last few days have felt so cold. I can’t tell if it’s because of my sudden departure from a sweltering Seoul summer or the fact that I haven’t packed properly for this weather, or a combination of the two. We left Kaikoura yesterday afternoon; it rained all day Friday and it was miserably cold. I took 2 hot showers in an attempt to warm up, but neither worked very well for very long.

It was funny just how miserable I was all day. All my clothes were wet which added to the cold misery. It rained all day which made the 2K walk back to the city an impossibility. And so there I was, stranded – wet, cold and hungry.

Out the windows was the harbor, a surprisingly aqua color in the midst of the bleak rain. It was one of those days where houses, roads and people alike appeared grey and dismal. And yet – the sea. Her color could not be dulled.

It’s on days like this that I get the urge to fly. Not because I want to escape the miserable weather, but because I know that somewhere up there, it’s a beautiful day, and I’m aching to go find it. When I was younger (and I must admit that I still do now), I felt superhuman, escaping the confines of atmospheric sadness to sail high above to a place where the sun was always shining. The sun is always shining, you know, whether or not you can perceive it.

The next day I got up early in the morning to schedule my bus ticket. I happened to glance out the window as I walked into the dining room.

Overnight the rain and clouds had lifted, and across the harbor were the most beautifully majestic mountains I had ever seen. In a matter of hours they had appeared, and yet – they had always been there.

The Lost Writings

September 1st, 2008 – Wellington, New Zealand

Today we visited the Botanical Gardens. It’s August here, and that means winter. Though not as spectacular as a summer day perhaps, the walk was beautiful nonetheless.

It’s amazing to me how nature never really dies. Granted, in individual cases, yes, but think on a larger scale. Though it was winter, though the conditions seemed inhospitable, there was life. I could smell it all around – new, untouched air.

I once heard a sermon while I was in Seoul about how nature is still serving the purpose that it was created for – to glorify God, to reflect His beauty and His character; to call people to see and to know and to believe. Humans, of course, God’s prized possessions, fell from that top shelf long ago, and we no longer fulfill the purpose to which we were called. But nature remains. It still calls; it still draws out an admiration for a beauty we are unable to replicate no matter how hard we try. And even in a photograph it dulls, and falls flat.

Living in Seoul gave me a new appreciation for beauty, simply because there was none around me. I lived in the middle of a concrete wasteland, devoid of grass, lush trees and really any wildlife to speak of (save for pigeons). Next to God’s creation, our fumbling is filth. And we are filling our world with it. Slowly we are chipping away at the God-ridden gift of nature. Not only have we fallen, but we are determined to take creation down with us. In Seoul I had dreams about beautiful mountains, rivers and lakes only to wake up aching to experience that same beauty again. God is so alive there, in nature, present in every painted petal and oozing out of the trees like sap.

Maybe this is so clear to me now because I was without it for so long. I feel like there’s a meter inside of me, a rain gauge of sorts that fills with beauty of Creation. Last year I experience a drought. And now, with the small amount of rain I’m experiencing, it awakens and renews the part of me that before Seoul, I never knew was there.

While walking through the gardens today, I noticed a few things. There were some flowers in bloom that looked perfectly beautiful, as though they were not at all hindered by their hostile surroundings. There were some that looked to be on the verge of blooming, very much alive and full of potential. There were blooms that were wilting, that had perhaps seen better and easier days. And then there were the dormant creatures; not dead, but not blooming either.

I couldn’t help but think of my spiritual walk as I physically walked through this garden. I thought of my year, and how Korea had been my winter, my hostile environment, my season of discipline and learning. And I wondered which of those plants I was. Did I bloom fully in spite of my circumstances? Did I show potential and readiness to spring to life at a moment’s notice? Did I start out strong but ultimately wither and begin to show signs of defeat? Or did I go dormant altogether, not dead, but unwilling to do anything but wait out the storm?

To be completely honest, I fell into all of those stages at multiple times in Korea. There were moments I felt alive and blooming, but there were also days when all I wanted to do was close everyone out and hide from the pain. There were days I sought God’s will and there were times I wanted nothing to do with it. And there were moments I felt beautiful, but there were hours and days when I felt completely empty.