Eyes, scars and a bucket

He was a short man and only reached to the bottom of my chest. His deep brown eyes suggested that his head contained a storehouse of wisdom. They began to whisper to me about events and places I never imagined. They freaked me out a bit, but at the same time they provided me a small ounce of comfort: at least someone in the room knew something.

Deep, ancient scars were carved directly beneath both those brown eyes. His worn face suggested he was an older man who experienced a life full of pain. A dark red scab, positioned directly over his left eye, jagged upward into his hairline and then disappeared. The scars were not only facial but were all over his exposed skin. They were his tattoos and declared he was very familiar with battle wounds. Immediately I was struck with the reality that I was incapable of producing any pain he had not already tasted. This led me to silently ask someone outside of myself to make this man my friend.

Then I saw his arms. If you were there and saw those arms I'm convinced you would have been tempted to stare at them and marvel that such arms even existed. The muscles in his forearms were modest, firm and distinct, but his biceps and triceps were bulging. They looked as if they were being squeezed and suffocated by his shirt sleeve. I wasn't intending to schedule a play date between his fist and my face any time soon.

Silence...Brown eyes...Scars...Brown eyes…Huge arms…Silence.

I didn't know what to say. He was a short man that demanded respect by his scars, his confident posture and deep intimidating eyes. So, I looked at the man. Then his eyebrows furrowed with a puzzled expression. Immediately I became worried that he was disturbed by the way my eyes were sizing him up.

"What's he going to do?"

"Will you bathe?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that? Do I stink?" I took a whiff. The inside of my nostrils were scratched by the tangy smell of stale feet and a hint of something best labeled as raunchy.

"Yes. I think I will. A bath seems good."

"I fetched some water for you. Your bucket is outside the door," he informed me.

So far it was good. I assumed that only a kind, friendly man would fetch water for someone else. But then I began to wonder about where my bath should be taken, “If my bucket is outside the door, then does that mean I bathe outside?”

"Umm...where should I bathe?" Believe me; I didn’t want to ask that question.

"Anywhere, there are many places to bathe," he replied as he crouched down and began digging deeply into one of the backpacks lying on the floor. Then he stopped moving.

Not one single body part moved. Odd is the only way to explain that split second. Then slowly and mechanically his head was turned my way and his eyes shot arrows into my own. Without warning, he lunged at me and clasped my right hand and yanked me down to his level. His nose brushed my own as he stared into my eyes as if he were trying to read some foreign inscriptions scribbled on the inside back of my head.

After analyzing and calculating what he saw in my eyes, he let go and said, "They hit you powerfully. You're bad. More bad than we thought. Go and bathe. Afterwards, we talk. Before you bathe, take your bandage off. There is too much dry blood. You need a new one."

I obeyed and walked out the door in a daze. Disturbing feelings of violation and confusion sloshed all over the interior walls of my chest. His mention of my wound made my shoulder ache.

"Why did he look at me that way? What exactly did he see?"

"At least he is talking to me as a friend and not an enemy." I audibly whispered to myself hoping spoken words would bring comfort.

Then I looked down at my bucket. I needed help. I didn’t know where to bathe. All I knew was that someone had 'hit me powerfully,' and now I was having trouble taking a simple bath. I asked the bucket what I should do, but he just looked at me with that blank stare all buckets have. So, I slowly and reluctantly put one foot in front of the other and went back inside the one roomed house. I was forced yet again to ask an intelligent question.

"Where did you bathe?"

"Behind the building," he said with a chuckle while searching diligently through the bag. "Samina is beside you. Also, a towel."

I looked down and saw soap. I wondered why he called it samina. I thought that maybe samina was the dove or zest of this new world. I thought of this world as 'new' only because it was beginning to seem much different than the world with which I was familiar. At this point of my journey I thought it strange to be daily greeted by surprises. I no longer think that way. In fact, surprises can be exciting if you're looking for them, but they're completely annoying if you're not.

The man kept scrounging through the bag, laying numerous contraptions on the floor beside him. I assumed they belonged in that small bag. How he ever squeezed then in there, I'll never know. Some of those gadgets looked ancient and some looked like they would only feel comfortable on a flying saucer. Anyway, I'll deal with that latter.

I marched back outside determining to take a bath. Grabbing the bucket by the handle, I circled around the building and what do you think I found? It was a concrete stall that was barely rectangular seeming to have a length of about six feet and a breath of five. I ventured inside and began to take care of business. Then I smelled urine...Ugh.

I hate light

As it always does, day came.

What's up with this window? Last night she would only give a smidgen of light, but now without any sense of self control she is allowing the sun's rays to barge into my room. Ah!! And these rays are not sweet children at all!!  They are troublesome. They attack without any concern about me and my desires. Every time my eyelids open, those naughty rays of light take their sticky little fingers and shove them into my pupils.

I laugh. It's about all a healthy person should do when he's irritated. The laughter is not created by the stubborn children of light, but rather by my fickle attitude. Indeed, the wind blows this way and then it blows that way and picks up my attitude and carries it wherever it wishes. My emotions are like Forest Gump's feather and dance around the sky. Look at the ride I just went on: last night I craved daylight, but now that it has arrived, I long for the night and a few more moments of sleep.

My room is small and only has a bed. I see a mat rolled up in the corner sitting beside two back packs. I take a deep breath that is full of chalky dust. I realize my mind has a lot of work to do. Instead of complaining let's answer a few questions:

"Where am I?"
"How did I get here?" 
"What on earth am I supposed to be doing and where should I do it?"

My questions are as disturbing as those rays of light. I don't have any answers! Ahhh!

Then my new friend enters the room. Or maybe he's my savior, or my nurse. Why, he may even be my captor and eventually kill me! Then it hits me. I have a much more urgent question that needs to be answered:

"Who is this man and what does he want with me?"

I don't know the answer to that question, yet. But I can tell you this: his face is handsome and yet grotesque. It's unique yet frightening. Who is this man?

A Hot, Dark Room

I woke up in darkness. My eyes were wide open yet I saw nothing…that's scary. After a moment of frightful loneliness and confusion I saw a window. From that window came moon light. I didn't see the moon, but I was thankful for the light I saw.

The room was hot. No, it was sweltering hot. Humidity was definitely sitting in the room enjoying the disturbance he was causing. He then proceeded to take an eyedropper and drop several beads of sweat all over my face. I wiped it off, but only in vain. I'm sure humidity chuckled as he continued this heinous harassment. I continued this futile attempt to wipe away all sweat from my face until I was so distraught that I shouted at my sweat and rolled over in order to burry my head in the pillow. Oh, for a little breeze!

My attention then went to a bandage that was on my arm. Instantly my heart became exceedingly grateful for the one who put it there. But who was it? Who found me and tended my wounds? As I was meditating on the identity of this caregiver, I heard rustling on the floor followed by a slight groan. The groan wasn't one of pain or misery. Instead, it had the harmonious sound of an aching release. The groan told me that laying on the floor about 4 feet away were moving body parts that once lay dormant. The stilled one was now rustling.

"Ah! I see you're awake," he said.

"Yes…I think I am."

"That's good, but get more sleep. Come morning, we travel."

"Sure."

Why not? The conditions are perfect for anyone who desires sleep!!

Waking up

I had an aching head when I woke up.

"Where am I?"

"I don't know."

"I don't like that."

"Why do I feel so greasy and nasty?"

"Have I not showered in a while?"

"Ah, my head hurts."

I was surrounded by golden brown grass that had to be about four or five feet tall. My face was smothered in soft brown dirt which contained a small ounce of moisture. Lifting my head made me realize that the dirt had permanently made a home on my face. My hand naturally brushed the foreign material off and I saw clods of dirt fall to the ground where they belonged. Despite my efforts I still felt grime in the crevices of my face.

Sitting up was difficult. Practically every muscle ached. Every time I moved I groaned.

"Wow, I hurt pretty bad."

Then I looked at the ground that was my bed last night.

"Is that blood!?" 

"Why is there so much?"

"Is it mine?"  

The warmth from my shoulder suggested that I had a fresh wound. My hand, being so compassionate and caring, touched my right shoulder in an attempt to make things better. Instantly my palm was wet and army of pain surged into my shoulder.

"Ah! My hand's red!! I've been wallowing in red crud all night!"

"What happened!?"

Then I heard it. I heard a voice that I hoped to hear again. The melodic sound caused me to be extremely peaceful and calm. The ache in my body and the issue of my wet hand seemed to not matter. Pure wisdom and love was in that voice.

"I gotta find out where that's coming from..."

As I got to my knees someone started to dim the lights. Suddenly there was only darkness and I felt the ground violently attacking the left side of my skull. As I slipped into an unconscious yet extremely wonderful place that voice repeatedly said one word over and over again.

"Live."

A new direction

After much thinking and reflection, I've realized that I have been unfaithful to those of you who wanted to read about my life in a foreign land. I apologize to those few individuals who may fit that description!! With that confession I do want to alleviate that problem and begin a new project. First, let me say that I find it somewhat troublesome and difficult to honestly share my perspective of life to everyone. It is not always good and not always helpful. In fact, I believe most of my knee-jerk reactions to life and people should be reserved for my closest friends and family. Because of that I find it highly unadvisable and uncomfortable for me to regularly blog and give you a "diary view" of my day to day life. 

However, I do want to share what I've learned. I have had plenty of life experiences that I believe you can relate to and enjoy. I want to expose the filth of the human heart while at the same time displaying the unfathomable love of our Creator and God. I want you to see how great God is in comparison to how rebellious and troublesome we are. With all that said, I do not feel comfortable exposing to the world my shortcomings and those I observe in others. To me it seems improper for everyone to be able to read honest thoughts about easily identifiable people, places, and cultures. Those secret thoughts will be reserved for my close friends, family and God.  

But don't be dismayed. I do have something to share. Something I've been working on in my spare time. Perhaps now is the time to begin allowing you to read those things. I invite you into a different world. A world different from your own. A world totally inspired by my own personal experiences. A world that is mine and not yours. Perhaps those who have shared life with me at one time may be able to discern illusions to particular real events. But, I plead with you not to attempt an identification of the particular event to which I am referring. Just enjoy the story and watch how the characters interact. From this point forward I will publish fictional stories inspired by real events. Truly, each of us are "living and breathing in another world." Enjoy!  

God took six days to create, not six minutes!!

Process. Rome wasn't built in a day. But perhaps it is better to use our God and creation of the world as a better catch phrase. You know, the world and the cosmos was not created in day. In fact, it was created in six days. The infinite and all powerful God who could have spoken the entire universe into existence in only one split second decided to take six days to create. And not only that, He also decided to rest on the 7th day. Amazing!! Why? Was he too weak? Did He not plan enough before he started making light? Did He not have a clear idea of what the finished product would be? No. Process is part of life. The journey and process is just as important as the final destination. 

I like to apply this thought to my learning of the local language, Twi. Mastering the Twi language is not done in a day. It's not even done in a week or a month. Unfortunately, I will not learn the whole language before I leave Ghana. Depressing, right? No. God took six days to create when He didn't have to. He said each of the days were good. (Of course, the creation of humans was very good!!) He must be trying to tell me something: The process of learning the language isn't that bad after all. In fact, it just might be….good!!

Baptism!!