Post-Galveston

Thanks for the support as I traveled to Galveston last weekend in the wake of Hurricane Ike. It was a tough trip, primarily because I came down with the worst stomach virus of my life the first night there that ended me up in the hospital shortly after I landed home in Philly. That said, Galveston was heavily damaged, at least 60% of the city was flooded, maybe more, with many buildings right on the coast suffering structural damage or collapse. It appears, however, that a great deal of work is underway, most of the gutting has been completed and folks appear ready to rebuild. Galveston will be back. Thanks again for your support.

Hurricane Ike Texas Trip

Tomorrow I am headed to Galveston Texas to do a post Hurricane Ike disaster assessment for the Presbyterian Church in America. Hopefully this trip will yield many ministry possibilities and pave the way for volunteer response teams from across the country to come and work. Please keep my team and our productivity in your prayers.

How Soccer Explains the World

I stole the title of this post from a book I'm reading by Franklin Foer. A New York Times' best seller, Foer contrasts the worldwide love of Soccer with modern theories of globalization. While a fascinating book, it focused mainly on the primary professional football clubs and it failed to discuss the idea encompassed by its title that first drew me to it: Soccer is the only activity (besides maybe warfare) that is truly embraced by just about every culture and every demographic within culture around the world.

I took the Photo above on the fringes of the Kibera Slum in Nairobi, Kenya, in June of 2006. I had been playing with some of the school children I was working with, and despite the surroundings of one of the worst slums in Africa, excitement abounded. The 2006 soccer World Cup was in full swing, and if you followed it at all you'll remember that the West African country of Ghana was doing unexpectedly well. Kenya, and from what the media seemed to portray, all of Africa as well was ablaze with excitement and support for a fellow African nation. On a continent known for its division, I was struck by this unilateral transformation of identity. Ghana flags were being sold in the streets and flapped from the roofs of passing vehicles. They didn't make it all the way, falling to Brazil just before the Quarter finals. But their strong showing brought a talented team from Africa to the forefront of the International stage.

Fast forward to the summer and fall of 2007 when I found myself on two separate disaster response assignments in South and Central America. My first stop was Peru, where 8.0 magnitude earthquake in August had devastated several southern towns. And yet the football games were not stopped, played in refugee camps by the children or with my team of Peruvian Nationals. I came proudly home with Peru Jersey.

Then on to Nicaragua in October after the Category 5 Hurricane Felix nearly leveled the coastal communities on the Northeastern coast. I took the photo to the left one night after completing a medical clinic in the town of Tuara. Despite the destruction, the game lived on.

And thus my interest in soccer has blossomed. Reading a recent post on Ryan's Blog, I was pleased to see the passion continues in Uganda as well. While I'm not sure of Asia's interest in the game and I know the US has a lot to learn, I'm fascinated by how such a simple activity could have so much relevance in seemingly every corner of the globe. If only the gospel had the appeal of football.

Thomas Friedman is Right Again

Anxious in America

By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
Published: June 29, 2008

Just a few months ago, the consensus view was that Barack Obama would need to choose a hard-core national-security type as his vice presidential running mate to compensate for his lack of foreign policy experience and that John McCain would need a running mate who was young and sprightly to compensate for his age. Come August, though, I predict both men will be looking for a financial wizard as their running mates to help them steer America out of what could become a serious economic tailspin.
I do not believe nation-building in Iraq is going to be the issue come November — whether things get better there or worse. If they get better, we’ll ignore Iraq more; if they get worse, the next president will be under pressure to get out quicker. I think nation-building in America is going to be the issue.
It’s the state of America now that is the most gripping source of anxiety for Americans, not Al Qaeda or Iraq. Anyone who thinks they are going to win this election playing the Iraq or the terrorism card — one way or another — is, in my view, seriously deluded. Things have changed.
Up to now, the economic crisis we’ve been in has been largely a credit crisis in the capital markets, while consumer spending has kept reasonably steady, as have manufacturing and exports. But with banks still reluctant to lend even to healthy businesses, fuel and food prices soaring and home prices declining, this is starting to affect consumers, shrinking their wallets and crimping spending. Unemployment is already creeping up and manufacturing creeping down.
The straws in the wind are hard to ignore: If you visit any car dealership in America today you will see row after row of unsold S.U.V.’s. And if you own a gas guzzler already, good luck. On Thursday, The Palm Beach Post ran an article on your S.U.V. options: “Continue to spend upward of $100 for a fill-up. Sell or trade in the vehicle for a fraction of the original cost. Or hold out and park the truck in the driveway for occasional use in hopes the market will turn around.” Just be glad you don’t own a bus. Montgomery County, Md., where I live, just announced that more children were going to have to walk to school next year to save money on bus fuel.
On top of it all, our bank crisis is not over. Two weeks ago, Goldman Sachs analysts said that U.S. banks may need another $65 billion to cover more write-downs of bad mortgage-related instruments and potential new losses if consumer loans start to buckle. Since President Bush came to office, our national savings have gone from 6 percent of gross domestic product to 1 percent, and consumer debt has climbed from $8 trillion to $14 trillion.
My fellow Americans: We are a country in debt and in decline — not terminal, not irreversible, but in decline. Our political system seems incapable of producing long-range answers to big problems or big opportunities. We are the ones who need a better-functioning democracy — more than the Iraqis and Afghans. We are the ones in need of nation-building. It is our political system that is not working.
I continue to be appalled at the gap between what is clearly going to be the next great global industry — renewable energy and clean power — and the inability of Congress and the administration to put in place the bold policies we need to ensure that America leads that industry.
“America and its political leaders, after two decades of failing to come together to solve big problems, seem to have lost faith in their ability to do so,” Wall Street Journal columnist Gerald Seib noted last week. “A political system that expects failure doesn’t try very hard to produce anything else.”
We used to try harder and do better. After Sputnik, we came together as a nation and responded with a technology, infrastructure and education surge, notes Robert Hormats, vice chairman of Goldman Sachs International. After the 1973 oil crisis, we came together and made dramatic improvements in energy efficiency. After Social Security became imperiled in the early 1980s, we came together and fixed it for that moment. “But today,” added Hormats, “the political system seems incapable of producing a critical mass to support any kind of serious long-term reform.”
If the old saying — that “as General Motors goes, so goes America” — is true, then folks, we’re in a lot of trouble. General Motors’s stock-market value now stands at just $6.47 billion, compared with Toyota’s $162.6 billion. On top of it, G.M. shares sank to a 34-year low last week.
That’s us. We’re at a 34-year low. And digging out of this hole is what the next election has to be about and is going to be about — even if it is interrupted by a terrorist attack or an outbreak of war or peace in Iraq. We need nation-building at home, and we cannot wait another year to get started. Vote for the candidate who you think will do that best. Nothing else matters.

The Gimme

I'm a lousy golfer. If you get a chance to play with me, you'll understand. And while in the midst of a round you may feel inclined to have mercy on me and confidently tap my ball back to me when its too inches from the cup, don't you dare do it.

I hate the gimme. Not only does it call into question the honesty of a game based on character, but am I the only one who think it defeats the purpose? Lets look at the details. In a full game of golf, your goal is the ball to fall into 18 holes. On average, a it will take a good golfer at least four strokes to reach the objective for each hole. For me, its usually between six and ten. Anyway, starting at some points over 500 yards away, your only goal is to get the ball to fall into a four inch diameter hole. So what do so many golfers do? They get it within two inches, having come some 500 yards, and pick the ball up. At least relish the satisfaction of that simple sound. Its like leaving a baseball game in the 8th inning. You've made that far, why not stay? At least in that case there is the benefit of beating the traffic. But in golf? Knock it in the freaking hole!

If I've come that far, its going in the hole.

Philly's Emergency Preparedness

Philly is on the ball when it comes to disaster and emergency preparedness. Should you expect anything less from the greatest city on earth? Anyway, the city Office of Emergency Management has gotten really serious about this in the last few years and has put together some great material. Check out www.readyphiladelphia.org for everything from evacuation maps from every neighborhood to a sign-up to have emergency updates texted to your phone! Its really out-of-the box stuff. Check it out.

The Sound

The sound. It was only my second solo aid climb ever, but for some reason I’d felt compelled to move up overhanging, rotten rock on two body-weight placements with ground fall potential. The first, a trusty pink tri-cam placed actively in an upside down flaring pocket, had been dumb enough. The second, though, a #1 BD wire in a crack I’d had to clean the moss out of just to consider, was pure lunacy. Soloing with a grigri up a short rock in the woods I discovered for myself the dark side of my confidence.

I weighted the wire carefully, eyeing it for movement and wondering why I would consider hanging off something so small and thin in the first place, never mind its lousy placement. Committing entirely to the aiders, I moved a slow foot up and sat slowly back loading my fifi hook. It seemed solid, but if a piece was ever going to blow, it would be this one. I studied the nut closely, examining its placement in the constricting but far from solid crack. “I’m here now, better look for something to back it up on.” I felt the cracks above hoping for a small cam placement, but this funky rotten rock wasn’t biting. I put the cams back on my rack and as I did I thought I saw the nut shift.

“Must be my imagination, it still looks like it hasn’t moved.” I reached up again to feel the rock in search of holds, feeling two positive edges that may yield a solution. Only a foot from the top, maybe I could call it quits now and huff my way over, or maybe one more placement exists to finish this properly. I happened to glance at the piece for assurance. In that moment, there was none to be found.

Ping…

I don’t know, maybe it was more of a bong, or the “ugh” someone makes when they get punched in the gut. Either way, I heard a distinctive sound I’ll never forget and after a blurry instant I was dangling free by my fingertips at the top of a climb. It’s amazing how aware you become of your surroundings in a moment like that. Aware that I was very much alone. Aware that though brother pink may hold, he may not, placing me on my ass on the ground, very much alone, and very much broken. Aware that I knew that piece wasn’t going to hold so why did I trust it? Aware that maybe this aid climbing thing sucks. Aware that I was hanging by my fingertips at the top of a climb and maybe I should save all of the other awareness for latter before I’m too dead or maimed to be aware. Back to reality…

“Wow, my hands are still holding on, that’s a good thing. Can I make it over the top? Sure. Pull slack through the grigri. It’s jammed, not letting me pull it through with one hand. Screw it, just undo the grigri and go ropeless. You sure? Yes, any other ideas?”

A few grunts and scrapes later I’d belly flopped my way over the top of the climb, scrambling a few feet from the edge to bask in my new found safety. Aware of life once again, I rigged a rappel to retrieve my gear and packed my bags in silence. It was silent anyway, after all I was soloing. But it was a sober silence I’d never before felt, perhaps induced by the sound of a failed piece, a sound that demands all others pay it reverence and respect for the gravity of awaking it from its much deserved slumber. From now on, I’ll let it sleep.

Violence Continues in Kenya

http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediaselector/check/player/nol/newsid_7190000/newsid_7192000?redirect=7192077.stm&news=1&nbwm=1&bbram=1&nbram=1&bbwm=1&asb=1

http://www.bbc.co.uk/mediaselector/check/player/nol/newsid_7180000/newsid_7182000?redirect=7182057.stm&news=1&nbram=1&bbwm=1&nbwm=1&bbram=1

Please continue to pray, or start praying, for Kenya. The violence there following December's Presidential Elections has only grown worse, leaving 600-1000 people dead and causing a massive humanitarian refugee crisis in the countries western regions. Pray for peace.

The Rider on the White Horse

"Then I saw Heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of Kings and Lord of Lords." Revelation 19:11-16

The last two weeks have been hard for me. Why, you might ask, as they have included Christmas and the New Year, time with family and friends. Well, they have been two weeks where I have been reminded again of the depravity of the world. They have been stressful as I've revisited friends suffering from the effects of broken homes, divorces, parents that stayed together but did such a lousy job parenting their children suffer for years, broken relationships leaving scars of guilt and anger and insecurity, old age and the inevitability of death, alcoholism, poverty, and war, mixed in with my own sins and frustrations.

And then there is Kenya. The photos above are from demonstrations held earlier today in Nairobi in the wake of last weekend's corrupt election. Over 300 people have died in the violence that has ensued, and while things are far more complicated than the mainstream media explains, anyone should agree that political violence is lunacy. These events hit close to home for me because I spent three weeks in Kenya in 2006, working in Nairobi's Kibera slum, the center piece of the current violence. I have friends there, and despite its poverty, it was a stable environment at the time of my visit. I've been to lots of places after or during times of chaos and destruction through various disaster response trips in the the U.S. and abroad, but this is the first time I've seen a place I know that was peaceful descend into violence and chaos. Some of the kids and families I worked with may no longer have homes, or worse yet lives. So far all reports I hear from those I know have been positive, but there is no clear end in sight.

All of these things have given me a renewed slap in the face of the depravity of man and the sin I see in this world. But, there is hope, and perhaps these weeks were an appropriate holiday season as they have reminded me of who the God is that I serve and what he promises. I am thankful for a God that loves me, a God that loves me enough to kill his own son that I may I have life. I am thankful for the reality of the Crucifixion, but even more so for the reality of the Resurrection. I am thankful that despite the pain I see around me, there will be a day when this humble lamb, this baby Jesus that once slept in a manger and obeyed death that I might have life, will come again. And when he comes, he will come not as a baby, subjected to the laws and pains of this world, but as one who has conquered these things. He comes as King of the Universe.

I am thankful that he will come back for a fight. He will come not with humility but righteous anger. He will come not as a servant but as the leader of the armies of heaven. I am thankful that he will bring a sharp sword, bearing a name too wonderful to know. I am thankful that he is faithful and true. And I am thankful that he will be tattooed by his father with the most powerful name in all creation: King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.

I am thankful that this rider on the white horse will come back, and when he comes he will clean house. If it is true that he knows the hairs on our heads, then he has a clearer view of the suffering in this world than I do, and he has greater anger over this suffering than I do. And when he is through routing the false prophet behind our pain, he will restore the families, forgive the mistakes, heal the sick, pardon the guilty, bolster the insecure, clothe the impoverished, and make right all the things that have hurt me in the last two weeks.

So pray hard, knowing that you pray not to a baby Jesus anymore. No, not even to a nice guy, humble carpenter. But you pray to the King of King, the Lord of Lords. He hears our prayers, and he is sharpening his sword. He is able to do far more than we could ever ask him. And though the pain in this world will continue a little while, I have hope that I will one day stand before this rider after he has retired his sword, battles won with no pain left to be conqured. And he will look at me fondly and call me forward. "Come live with me, my beautiful bride, for in my father's house, there are many rooms."