Why? WHY?

I'm not saying I don't appreciate the free WiFi at McDonald's, I'm just saying that it sucks. I need more bandwidth! Uploading pictures takes long enough, but how will I ever share more videos with you guys? This is taking so long in fact that I'm going to run out of battery power before I get all of these pictures uploaded, and blogger is practically crashing on me, so I'll just put "imagine picture here" where they should be. Bah... humbug.

So here I am, back at the MacDo, but you'd be here too if your Micky Dee's had a view like this:

And don't say you wouldn't be because you're a liar. Even if you hate McDonald's you would frequent it if it looked out on such a blue and beautiful scene. You would. These are simple facts.

Last night I went to the Arianne, I believe that's the spelling. It's the second most dangerous ghetto in the entirety of France. I'm not lying now, this is what I was told. Now why, you might be asking (particularly if you're my mother), would you go to the second most dangerous ghetto in all of France? At 9PM of all hours (you might be asking as well)? The answer, my friend, is simple.

So, poker brings people together yet again. But since I'm the resident American I had the honor of teaching everyone how to play. This is not difficult in and of itself, I've played my fair share of poker over the years. What was difficult was the fact that I had to do it in French (or most of it anyways).

This proved interesting, almost as interesting as the transvestite prostitutes that parade near my apartment. Not quite that interesting, but pretty strange nonetheless. And so, we played, and I won much. There was an extra sense of pressure on me though, being an American game I couldn't return home to Noah a loser.

So I fought hard, but sadly we quit before we finished the game. My various British, German, French, and Finish friends that I've made were fun to play with though, even if there were moments (long moments) where the betting got lost or someone forgot how to deal. There were many distractions, the adjacent game of UNO being quite possibly the worst. It wasn't really UNO, more like random screaming throw cards at each other game. I crave a real game of poker. I crave the destruction of Jon Pemberton. crave

But now, sadly, the weather is turning and my days on the beach are quickly coming to a close. I swam with Sebastian today for a bit (a German friend pictured above). He froze; not enough insulation.

I, however, am like a seal and was free to swim to my heart's content. I caught many fish and slapped my flippers together in rhythm. The Mediterranean is beautiful though, especially here. I don't know if you noticed in the pictures, but near the coast the water is a crazy bright blue, while farther out it's deep and cold. It's called azure, it's hot.

*IMAGINE PICTURE HERE*

Le Cote d'Azur. If I find a girl with eyes like this I'm gone. But for now I'll be content to fall in love with the sea. And hopefully it will be content to fall in love with me. We shall see...

*IMAGINE PICTURE HERE*

Dang McDonald's, I bet they make their chairs miserably uncomfortable on purpose too...

My new home

So I'm here in Nice, getting adjusted and settling in. I got a phone finally, and am on my way to getting a bank account. I visited my school as well, they're excited to have me and I'm excited to get started. It's about a 30 minute walk to work, not too shabby. I made a little vlog for you guys so you can see where I live. Hope you enjoy it (the opening sucks, sorry, running out of time).



To say this video is corny would be an understatement... but it at least does the trick.

I got stuck in the rain the other day, I was looking for a group of people half-way across town when a thunderstorm struck. I walked around for a bit, but eventually sought shelter in the Cathedral de Jean d'Arc. It was cool, very different from the other cathedrals and churches I've been in. I'll take pictures some time. It was scary though, reflecting on Europe's neo-paganism and wondering where America is headed. Powerful too, as the lighting knocked out half of the lights, and the thunder reverberated with a vengeance off of the walls.

The building is old, musty, dead. The only people that come and go are easily in their 60's, and the candle holders stand mostly empty.

I purchased a candle, lit it, and set it under a giant crucifix. Part of me wants to buy a ton of candles,and on some slow day go in and load up every candle holder in the place. I think Jesus deserves at least that much.

To Nice, France! Tout suite!

To Nice, France! Tout suite!

So I’ll write part 2 to my San Fran trip some day, I’m not really caring any more about that. Flying to France was quite the trip as well. I got dropped off at the airport with about 30 min to get on my flight. If you know anything about international flights, this is not good. After getting berated by the guy at the counter for being an idiot I ran to catch my plane and, literally, sat down just as they began to taxi onto the runway.

The flight was broken up by connections in Salt Lake and New York, so the longest period of time spent on any one plane was only 6.5 hours. Much shorter than the 13 hours of my last trip to Europe. As for the sign above, I’m still trying to figure it out; it was in the bathroom on the plane. The lit part on the left obviously means “promenade extravagantly to your seating receptacle,” but the one on the right escapes me. Do I push the button for a drink while I’m on the pot, or is it to alert the flight attendant that my urine sample is ready?

Once in Paris I hopped on the Metro and headed into town to try and find my hostle.

After switching trains I got off near where Google Maps had directed, and with the address in hand I proceeded to see if I could find my resting place. Unfortunately the map wasn’t zoomed in enough to show street names, so I had to ask every other person for directions. When the postman doesn’t know where to go, however, you could be in trouble.

The other problem revolved entirely around the fact that all directions, delivered lovingly in French, tended to contradict those of the previous person AND make little to no sense in the greater context of what was going on. Things like “go to the bakery and take a left because it’s on your right.” Which bakery? What?

Lugging my HUGE (thankfully wheeled) bag up the hill, I covered and back-tracked about 2 miles with my hands near-blistering as my bag has naught but a rope for a handle. I finally discovered the address on my reservation, only to be told that I wasn’t supposed to go there, I was supposed to call them when I got in and meet them across town. This upset me.

The man, friendly and very French, told me to wait for him to call ahead for me. Eventually I asked if I could get on the internet. I had by this point decided that I would skip Paris and go straight to Nice. It seemed that I’d rather not spend the money on stressing myself out in this crazy town and just get to my apartment. Freddie, a cool North African event-organizer gave me a ride to the train station, and the testing of my French continued as he too did not speak any English.

I hopped a train, which connected twice; in Lyon and Marseilles.

I saw a silver-faced clown getting his picture taken on a phone with some girl in Marseilles, it was kind of funny actually. Ironically, the girl looks like a dread-locked version of one of the girls that works at the church here.

I made it to Nice, exhausted and hungry, at about 9PM. I’d sent Noah, my room mate, numerous Emails keeping him updated as to my progress. Plus I’d had my parents send him yet another Email to tell him exactly when I would get in town, so I was hoping to be greeted at the station. I was also soberly aware of the odds that he wouldn’t be there, and was trying to figure out what I’d do if he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t; no one answered the phone back in Pullman either so I had no idea if he’d even gotten the message. I was on my own. My first impression of Nice was interesting, and I wondered for a second what I’d gotten myself into.

My rugby-loving taxi driver took me to the Church address, the only address I knew, and almost didn’t leave me there as the church is in what looks like an old garage. I wandered around for another hour, trying to figure out what I’d do since no one was at the church. I finally decided I’d have to get a hotel room as I could feel myself falling apart.

I got on the internet at “Stay Connecting,” a little phone and internet shop next to my hotel where I sent a few more messages, and then resigned myself to my fate and took a shower. My first meal in France was purchased across the street, it was terrible (but I was starving so I didn’t realize this fact until about half way through).

A very French meal indeed. And I had a consistent sensation of vertigo whenever I stood still for a moment. It was time to sleep. I finished eating to an episode of Robot Chicken and then went to bed around 11:30PM and zonked OUT. I woke, ran to the church, only to find it empty again, and then got my crap and checked out. Stay Connecting was still closed, and the name was still annoying me. They didn’t open until 4PM, so I went to a café and ate a little, ended up reading for like 4 hours. The beach here’s pretty sweet too, I read there as well.

Finally, Stay Connecting was open! Or at least it was supposed to be, they were late. I talked with the girl standing outside, and asked if she realized that “Stay Connecting” was bad English? She didn’t speak English so she had no idea, though she said everyone mentions it (I discovered she worked there). Upon getting online I discover that Noah had changed his address to 164 B, Rue de France, and it was only 4 blocks away, so I ran down the street to find it.

164 B, Rue de France, does not exist. I searched, for about 2 hours, I can tell you that it does not exist. HOWEVER, 146 B, Rue de France does in fact exist. I discovered this as a kindly French lady on vacation was helping me. Unfortunately she was too nice to let me go double-check my Email; as we were going to find 164 B for sure. A long while later, I dragged my bag back to Stay Connecting, and lo-and behold it was indeed 146 B. However, it was a bit too late to count on finding Noah, who still hadn’t replied to any Emails or Facebook messages.

I got my hotel room back, only to discover that it had free internet! This was a shock, and I’d wished I’d known it. I went upstairs, got online, and who should be on but Noah Beumer! We barely caught each other, but met at the apartment. I’d also managed to get a refund for my room (which at 53 euros a night is a bit pricey). We went to a soccer game that night, which is a story in and of itself, and then came home and went to bed. Sadly I have no pictures of the game, all the taunting, fense climbing, and object throwing would have been well worth it. Perhaps I’ll get to another one, I have a feeling it’ll be the same then too, though there may not be as many cops in riot-gear.

If nothing else, you can enjoy the sunset with me. This place is gonna be sweet. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I didn't stay at the hotel pictured. That's the Negresco, only the most famous and expensive hotel in Nice, right on the beach. I had a cool picture of it though, so I put it in. The place that I stayed in resembled the following picture more closely.

Visa Quest part 1

On the flight back from LA, after having gotten my visa for France in San Fransisco, I journaled a bit to reflect on my day. In particular I focused on the people I met. I'll copy most of that in here for you to read, and my apologies if it's a bit long.

September 12, 2007

God has been very good; no, great to me today. I flew out of Spokane this morning at 6am and it looks like I'll be getting back (from San Fran & LAX) around 11:30 PM. Talk about a long day! But at least I got my visa & I'm ready to move to France. Well, mostly ready. God has been good in many ways to me today, but I want to write about the people I met today first before my memory fails me and their faces fade into a distant blur. This morning I ran into Ruby Palmer as she left for Peru, sad to see her go but fun to talk. I then met a manager for Shell who was flying back to Houston. My flight to LAX was fairly uneventful as I say by myself (although a bout with some gassy pains made things exciting at times).

Connecting in LAX I found my way to the American Airlines terminal, making aquaintances with a woman from Oregon on the bus ride. She talked about being glad to have moved out of Seattle, and how she was visiting her brother (who doesn't fly) in New York. They haven't seen each other in four years.

Attempting to find my flight, after it had been re-routed to a different gate for boarding, I met another exec of some sort. He worked for the Bank of the West. A fairly big guy, his dread for the looming meetings was as sizable as his shoes (which were quite ridiculous). While waiting for my flight to SFO (which had been delayed an hour) I ended up sitting next to this pretty Mexican girl & her mom.


I'm convinced they were Mexican royalty, as their English was decent and they wore some very sparkling jewelery. They were nice, and her mom found my folded/destroyed pizza about as humorous as I found it precarious. It's too bad Mexico doesn't have royalty, that would really be cool.

Boarding the flight I realized with growing levels of horror that my seat, distinguished in its row with the letter "E," was not in fact a window seat. Somehow the letters go A, B, aisle, D, E, F... not cool. It wasn't just a middle seat, but a middle seat between a rather large, bald, sunglass bearing white guy and a not-so-small lady (who had my dang window seat!).

Thankfully the guy was cool, it turns out his name was Bill. Few people named Bill are all that bad. Bill, as it happens, is from San Fransisco, or at least the bay area. It also just so happens that he's the trumpet player from Santana's band. In fact, I was kind of surrounded by band members (although the lady who stole my seat certainly was not in the band). We talked politics, music, about a lot of things really. Actually, he talked mostly which may be surprising to some people. It's true though, I learned a lot about him and band-life.

He's divorced, but has been married to his current wife about as long as he's been in the band. His only daughter didn't get into music, apparently his ex-wife made sure of that. She's an army translator. His current wife just started teaching choir at a middle and high school. I guess things are going well, though she has a few 'trouble kids.' It's kind of weak though because by the time we landed in SFO I felt too buddy buddy with the guy to ask for a picture. It felt like it would kind of ruin things, make it a celebrity/fan relationship. Not that I'm really a fan, I didn't know Santana had his own band until not too long ago.

He pointed me towards the BART station (kind of like a subway), and did a pretty poor job of it too. I found it eventually though, and after getting screwed out of $5 by the ticket machine I managed to get going towards the Montgomery station, and Bush street where the French consulate resides.

Two guys sat down next to me, and if they weren't batting for the wrong team they were certainly wearing the wrong jerseys. They were my first taste of San Fransisco hospitality, super nice guys. We chatted for a while as we rode the train. David, who currently works at fisherman's warf, has lived in California for well over a year now, but is new to San Fransisco. His buddy Craig was visiting, it sounded like he's a good friend as he's called in to visit friends and help them find houses, settle in, etc. They were cool, and shook firmly when they left. The Asian guys who took their place weren't as nice.

Something I noticed, as I mention "Asian guys," was how vastly multicultural that city is. I loved it! Everywhere I went were immigrants, tourists, and people who were just strongly contrasted from their surroundings. It was awesome! It makes me even more excited for Nice.

Getting off of BART, I had some troubles with my ticket to get out of the station (more a problem with my observation skills), only to discover that it didn't work quite the way I'd expected. Making some embarrassed conversation with what very well could have been a black dwarf (he was seriously four feet tall but didn't look mis-proportioned) he proceeded to give me some bad directions to the consulate. To his credit, he was super nice and naive to how bad his directions were. Thankfully a lady behind us came up and quietly told me to follow her, as she was actually from the area.

In walking with her for a few blocks, I discovered just about everything one could in such a short span of time. Of course, we didn't exchange names of all things. But it was her kindness that put me on the right track.


We walked up Bush together, and I asked various questions. She and her husband had moved to San Fransisco almost ten years ago after she had fallen in love with it while visiting. They had lived in Hong Kong for a while before Britain had let go of her possession of the city, and during that time she had traveled to San Fran for some business and had become enamored. I asked if she was Chinese, and she said no, her mother had been from Hawaii and was Japanese. Her father was very much German. Irony? The only Japanese she learned, however, were the few expletives and commands her mother frequently used while she grew up.


We parted ways as we found the consulate, and I continued on towards a very large French flag.

I'll finish the rest of it later, turns out this is ridiculously long. I must have been writing for a long time. Thus: TO BE CONTINUED...

Seattle

I had a good trip to Seattle, got to hang out with Caleb and Dommer, see a bit of the city and hit up a pub called Fado. It was at this pub that I was scarred for life by our waitress who, though cool, could have kept her mouth shut at one point. I won't divulge the nasty details.


My time's winding down here, and seeing friends is fun. Going on a retreat with New Community (dubbed a 'training event' instead of retreat as to the dense amount of content) was really good for me. It made me sad to leave as things are exploding here, but anxious to leave and get to France, to love people over there like crazy. Probably the most impactful thing that struck me on the retreat was how my time is spent. We were singing and enjoying a time of praise, and I was wishing we could just do that all of the time and forget the worries of our lives. It was then I realized that I had all eternity to spend worshiping God, and we'd be doing it better as Rob noted. The only thing I can't do better in Heaven than I can do here is love the lost. There'll be plenty of time for pleasure and leisure in Eternity, but for now I've got to love people as Jesus would love them. I may be the only one who does.

And so, as I gear up to head to France, I'm excited. Not only for the obvious reasons of living a block from the beach (ONE BLOCK) and all the French practice I could ever want, but because there are a lot of people who need to see Jesus in a very real and practical way. I hope I can do that for them.

Transitions

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. - Romans 12:1

My life is not my own, this is something that continues to get shoved down my throat at one point or another. I hope to write this as a spiritual act of worship, to figure things out with the help of my Lord by writing. I only hope it pleases Him and brings Him glory.



The last few months have been crazy, I graduated from college, worked two new jobs and have been preparing to leave the country. During finals week of my last quarter at Eastern I took my insurance licensing course, consisting of 36 hours of class in four days. I then proceeded to work for Aflac which, though a good company, proved nearly fruitless. Thankfully I've been working for the university doing graphic design as well, a blessing for sure.



Moving into fall I look back on this summer and lament my failings before God. My inability to come to complete grips with Him. This in the sense that I had not felt His presence strongly in a long time, and still don't feel it as I used to. I struggled with why this was, often thinking that perhaps God had pulled Himself back from me as though to show me how much I needed Him. I think the quote my mom gave me applies well however, "when God seems far away, guess who moved?"



I think the obvious answer, when considering my God my Rock, my Fortress, would be me. I've given my worship to other things, my time and my energy to good things, but not to Him first and foremost. He asks so little of me... and after having given me so much.



What have I done? God has given me so much! From an education and privilege to a family that loves me, and friends who care for me. He's given me my life; I grow and continue to fly towards that for which I was created. How could I be such a fool as to throw it aside and think for even a second that I was more knowledgeable than my God, who created me? How could I even think to blame Him for my rotten state when all He wants for me is what is good, what is best. Thankfully for me He capitalizes on my mistakes and sanctifies me further in His grace.



What have I done? I'm a fool! I traded the truth of God for a lie and thought I could find satisfaction elsewhere. I doubted His promise, though He has never let me down. I have worshiped the creation instead of the Creator, and despised the name of Christ as I took it in vain by my actions. I am vile, and I am lowly.



But I am high, and created with fear and wonder. Though my sinful nature desires to destroy me, and fights against the will of the Spirit, God is present in me. Redeeming me. Saving me. The guises that sin wears are revealed for what they are in the piercing light of the cross. I am so blind to myself on my own, how glad I am for the guidance of my Lord. I am not worthless, I am no fool. I have simply made foolish decisions, but God makes me wise. God grants me strength and levels the playing field with my enemy. In fact He places my enemies under my feet.



Who am I to complain to such a loving and benevolent God? He desires honesty, and so I must reveal the weakness of my heart. I must share my doubts and the reasons by which I maintain my acts of disobedience. This is not bad, in fact it is excellent. I maintain a right view of myself. A view which proves that it is my weakness and failing that stunts my faith, not God's weakness or failings (because they do not exist). If I see this correctly, and share those places in my heart with God, He responds overwhelmingly and my doubts are removed. My fears are relieved, my anxious heart is calmed.



I feel foolish because I hardly finish my sentence in prayer before God grants me peace, and I think how silly I was to have ever feared or doubted Him to begin with! He is infinite, omniscient, omnipotent! What could possibly occur in my life that God, the creator of all things, could not deal with? I am a fool indeed; may God be praised that He can love and use fools like me. In my incompetence He is competent, in my weakness He is strong.



May God be praised, and His name honored among the nations. May I diminish in 'greatness' as God's glory shines through. I've always wondered how I could seek God's glory instead of my own, and yet understand that as His name is hallowed further, so too am I glorified by sharing His glory.



I think I found the answer while watching the Fellowship of the Ring the other night. Boromir, a major character, is so concerned with the glory of Gondor, his nation, his people. He wants his country to shine again and stand in power over her adversaries. It struck me, that though the average soldier from Gondor may be nameless, and though her captains are merely men, when they ride to battle or enter a council the name of Gondor magnifies their presence. As they represent Gondor in battle their enemies tremble at the sight. Not because they are individually renown warriors, or terrifying in appearance, but because the resplendence of their nation and her reputation precedes them.



If I am a servant of the Most High God and seek to advance His kingdom, then His glory truly is something I can affect. Perhaps the demons will shake a tiny bit harder and the nations will bow just a little bit more because of my efforts, if at all. But if I can have any effect on this world, I'd rather what little energy I have be poured into something that will last forever. This is far greater than spending my lifetime on making a name for myself which wouldn't last more than a century. If I was lucky that is.



What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised— who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written,


"For your sake we are being killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered."

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Romans 8:31-39