grace.kindness.peace.disruption.pain.processing.rinse.repeat.have a nice day.

These two questions seem to pop up a lot in life. Who am I? What am I doing [here/in life/]? They are good questions, so I guess it’s equally good that they come up often. You’ll find them many times at critical junctions in life: senior year of high school as you decide what to do afterwards; sometime during college as you feel the pressure to pick a major; senior year of college as you decide what to tell the countless people who ask “so what are you going to do after college”. I’m guessing that analogous questions go through your mind when you meet that certain special someone. They’re also at the heart of the infamous mid-life crisis.

But why do these questions hover around us throughout life? I believe they do so because we know at our core (whether it is vocalized in so many words or not) that if we live out of who we are and pursue what we are truly made to do, we will live quite fully indeed. In short, we will have more life.

Perhaps the quest to determine who I am is often hampered by the large number of parties that want to help me do so. Constant advertisements tell me that I am a consumer; my job is to purchase, use (rinse and repeat). Pop culture tells me that I should have a superb physique, trendy clothes, listen to the right music, and use the hippest language. If I do not have or do these things, then I am not “cool.” (Thankfully, smoking has fallen out of fashion – I’m back in the cool category there.) The cacophony of voices trying to tell me who I am, or who I should be and therefore who I am not, is overwhelming. All of the noise makes it difficult to hear the trustworthy voices giving me an accurate picture of who I am, let alone get time to really consider such things for myself.

The result of internalizing the abundant, asinine claims of who I am results in a marred identity (a.k.a. image). I just might spend so much time thinking about who I want to be that I never grasp who I am. And this is sad, mainly because the idea of who I want to be will continually change with new products and pop culture. In a world that continually tries to tell me who I am, leaving me with a marred identity, how can I determine what is true and who I truly am?

If a source exists to proclaim truth, it must not be self-seeking like advertisements and pop culture. It must genuinely have my well being in mind. As a Christian, I believe this source is God.

In God’s story, who I am is a matter of my relationship with God himself. I am made in God’s image (Gen 1:27). Though I had made many mistakes, removing the possibility of relationship with a perfect God that could not entertain me and thus stain his perfection, He found me valuable enough to warrant the death of his son Jesus (John 3:16) to pay the penalty for my mistakes. Seeing as justice has been served (penalty paid for a crime committed), I can again be in relationship with God. Therein lies who I truly am: I am God’s creation. It also shows my worth: I am seen as valuable enough for incredible sacrifice (Jesus’ death). These things will never change. Here must lie my image – how I answer the question “who am I”.

So if that is who I am, what am I doing here? Even after coming to the knowledge that I am a creation of God who is valuable to his Creator, I still have left to figure this out. What one is doing is typically associated with a person’s career. I’ve heard that, on average, people change careers (not jobs) seven times their lifetime. It appears that everybody (on average) continually tries to figure out what they’re doing by trying something new. Perhaps we go about things backwards¹?

What if I first figured out first what my gifts and talents (my vocation), and then figured out what to do with them (my career)? As a creation of God, I believe that I’ve been created with certain talents that I both enjoy doing, do well, and in acting them out I honor the one who gave them to me. (Think how Ralphie's mom in A Christmas Story made him wear the bunny outfit to please/honor his aunt, the gift giver … it’s a lot like that only bunny suit is something you enjoy.) By sharing such gifts/talents, I get to act out what I’ve been made to do and enjoy doing. The result is life with passion, life with purpose, life alive, life that honors God. Good stuff. If this is true (and I believe it so) then my career choices should follow my vocation. How wonderful would it be to be able to do each day (career) what you’ve been made to do (vocation)?!

So these are two things I’m learning about: healing marred images and finding correct vocations. I find that I’m still learning how my own image is marred: I tend to value myself by how I look and what I can accomplish. I’m still figuring out the gifts that God has given me as my vocation. My time here in Sierra Leone has shown me that the people here struggle with the same things. My impetus for writing this entry was simply to set the stage for you, the reader, to learn about an encounter with a friend here that lined up with what I am learning in my reading and discussions. So yeah, I hope this makes sense. I imagine that even if you don’t agree with me totally, or have never thought about such things, a bit of what I’ve attempted to say resonated with you at some level.

Who are you? What are you doing?

¹ Perhaps people change careers so many times because they are living out of their vocations. I hope so, but it doesn’t seem that this is true.

A good friend of mine recently advised me to think of all the things I wanted to do before I left … and do them. Time is ticking down after all. One of the things on my list was to get a tour of Freetown from a certain young man in our Lighthouse program. He has been special to me during these past several months. I wanted to spend some time together and to see parts of town where I’ve yet to explore. The experience was one I will not soon forget. I asked for a tour, which I received, but I also was privy to a display of history and hope.

The young man took me to a street I’d walked up my first week in town. All was as expected until he opened a door with a staircase going down to the waterfront. We stepped inside and in an instant I felt as if I was in another world. My impression was not too far from the truth. The smooth concrete staircase led down to an underworld of Freetown, complete with rough individuals, drugs, gambling, and prostitution. My friend introduced me to several of his old friends sitting on a bench with a beautiful view of the Sierra Leone River. People were a little taken aback to see an apoto (“white man”) in their territory; I was quite the spectacle. We continued down to the narrow shore, climbing down through a demolished building to get there. Once there I met several old friends of my guide as they gambled away the little money they had. They didn’t stop even as I approached. I met several young men, shook hands, and was relieved to head back up the staircase.

As a large man, I do not usually feel in danger. However, in retrospect, I probably would not have been safe in that situation if I had ventured there alone. But I was not alone, I was with my friend. Those that would have meant me harm were his old friends. This young man, many pounds and inches my lesser, was my protection. The people we saw were surprised, yet grateful to see him. He had been well known and liked. But those times were gone; this world was part of his history.

We continued on for many miles, walking outside the city and making our way back by a different route. We reentered the busy streets of town and made our way up to a small bridge. It was here, he told me, that the rebels had captured him during the war. He was 10 years old at the time. He was on his way to return a book to a friend when he was called out and made to carry a load down the hill for the rebels. Once there, amidst gunfire, he saw them light a man on fire.

He had a sheepish grin on his face as he told me these stories. He rarely leaves home without the grin, yet it seemed out of place for such a story. Such countenance is normal here when people talk about the war. Humor is an amazingly out of place coping mechanism.

As we walked out and back, I lost count of the number of times my friend waved to and shook hands with friends. His friends would look at me and explain that my friend was a brother to them. The sheer number of brothers he has must make buying Christmas presents a real chore. I couldn’t help but think that both his outgoing personality and the bonding done during wartime made him dear to many people.

I am so grateful that he would allow me this glimpse into his story. Such a glimpse allows me to realize how far this young man has come. And indeed, he has come very far. He exudes hope for the future, yet does not forget his past. I wouldn’t be surprised if he returned to the places of his past one day to bring them his hope.

A special someone forwarded me the following link from MSNBC/Washington Post. The story details a young girl's loss of her hand during the Sierra Leonean civil war. This story is all too familiar here in Freetown. Thankfully, this instance has a moderately happy ending … or at least present situation.

So I never thought I'd utter the phrase, "why don't we grab a meat pie and get you a malaria test." But I did just that earlier today. Ben was not feeling well and had similar symptoms to what he had with malaria, so we went to get him tested. The fact that getting a malaria test is a viable and prudent option when feeling achy/tired still strikes me as humorous. There's nothing quite like a tropical disease to keep life on its toes.

Hey there folks. I'm alive. Things are really going well these last couple weeks. It's hard to convey all of what I'm learning, experiencing, seeing, and thinking to you … but I'll keep trying. Thank you all for your patience in my delay and your grace in my writing. It is difficult to put into words what I really want to say, and I don't really do the drafts that I'd like to do with these blog entries. So please read, ponder, pray, and try to understand just what I'm trying to get across to you in my imperfect snapshot.