Abandonment and Freedom: Reflections on a new Adventure. 

“Then he said to the crowd, "If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross daily, and follow me.” Luke 9:23

As I prepare to leave for India in a few weeks, I can’t help but think of one of my favorite movies, “Into the Wild.” If anyone has ever sat through this movie, you know that the 2 1/2 hour long story is not your typical thriller. I, however, saw it 3 times...in theaters! I often wonder what it is that entices me so much about Christopher’s story, but I think that what ultimately draws me to his adventure is a reckless abandonment and absolute freedom. 

When Christopher graduates from college he rejects his conventional life by destroying all of his credit cards and identification documents. Renaming himself ‘Supertramp,’ he donates nearly all of his entire savings of $24,000 to charity, abandons his car and sets out cross-country to experience life in the wilderness. 

India, while not the great wilderness of Alaska, is definitely as far in the direction of ‘unknown’ as I have ever been. If you have ever met me you know that I’m not much for solitude, so while I don’t see myself going completely rogue in the near future, there is a part of me that longs for this type of disconnect from modern society- unplugging myself from the matrix of technology, expectations and materialism that controls most of the western world. 

It is rare these days that I take time to sit down and write, that I have time to listen and reflect. Mental stillness is hard to come by in a world of Twitter, instant news and social networking. The distractions of today seem overwhelming and I can feel my heart longing for simplicity, clarity and freedom. As of late those words- reckless abandonment- seem to be saturated with freedom. 

Abandonment, in a spiritual since, is absolutely biblical. God calls us to follow him with a ‘reckless abandonment’, and as Hillsong suggests ‘with arms high and hearts abandoned.’ It sounds great but what exactly does it mean to do something with reckless abandon? What are we to abandon? Family, Home, money, success, expectations, comfort...perhaps. Some things are easy to let go..and others, harder. In order to follow God without regard for the consequences, every other earthly thing  must be worth abandoning. Every person that Jesus called to follow him had to completely abandon their old life and yet true abandonment must be driven by a wild and wonderful passion - the type of passion that drives us to do the impossible- to believe that the Kingdom truly can come.  

Abandonment does not always mean moving to India, but, whether mentally or quite physically, it is the first step of entering into the story that God has for us. When are hearts are open to God and emptied of everything else, there is great freedom to obey and great reward in his presence. 

"I'm not entirely sure you're at the right house," said Bilbo, staring at the giant wizard. How could someone so great and powerful expect a little old hobbit to go on an adventure? "No adventures, they make you late for dinner."

Bilbo promptly stormed in the house and sat down for his dinner, smiling as he tucked his napkin into his shirt. His home was just lovely. Bag End was his favorite place in all the Shire - beautiful, peaceful, and familiar.

Little did he know that by nights end, he would be arguing with a gang of dwarves and the same giant wizard, still refusing to join their quest. Even the dwarves agreed - this was no adventure for a measly little hobbit.

"The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," said one of them.

The powerful wizard retaliated, "I have chosen him. He's got a great deal to offer more than any of you know, including himself."

As the argument escalated, little Bilbo fainted with a mix of fear and inadequacy. After he awoke and rested for a bit, he was still begging "No, no, let me sit."

"Bilbo Baggins. You've been sitting quietly for far too long. When did your mother's dishes and doiles come to mean so much to you? Your stories are not in books - they're out there in the world. You'll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back, and you'll never be the same."

Despite the powerful call, the spirit of inadequacy spread past the little man with big feet through to the small dwarf army.

"We're tinkerers and toymakers - hardly the stuff of legend," said one.

The wizard would have none of it. "When I called, you answered. All I ask for is loyalty, honor, and a willing heart."

But still, their small army set out in the morning, hobbitless. As Bilbo awoke, he realized he had said no, gotten his way, and was free from the call to leave behind all he knew for the quest. But a seed had been planted in his heart. He'd tasted the possibility of a journey, an adventure. A story about more than his mother's dishes, doilies, and a quiet dinner in the Shire. So, he went. He began his story - his adventure.

And we all know the story of what happens because he made the decision to put his inadequacy behind him.
To abandon the quiet familiar. And to start his adventure.

- From “The Hobbit” 

Lumbisí

La Curli! Oye Curli! Mira, la Curli!
These are the shouts that I hear as I get off the bus each morning
Stepping off the magic green time machine that brings this
slightly out of place,
light haired, light eyed gringa
into their world.
I guess Its just as hard for them to pronounce the hard 't' in my name,
as it is for me to understand the hard truth of their existence.

I'm transported into a world that seems only to exist in the past.
Could it be that my 20 minute bus ride didn't take me 10 miles out of the city
but 10 decades backwards through time?
And every day, like the shock of realizing that you're dreaming
I realize... I'm not in the past but the present and the future
See, they all look the same here
so its hard to tell.

With every advance there seems to be a setback so
what should be a one way, paved road leading forward into development
is actually a winding dirt path dando vueltas
cycling eternally through a heritage of poverty and tradition
Maybe thats the secret of the green bus
Flying through the mountainous roads
circling past generations, loosing track of time as in arrives in the plaza
always back to the same spot where it left me the day before.

I remember thinking that first day, this pueblo smells old.
But now when I get off that bus
I breath in the town and the memories fill my lungs
fill my whole body,
this pueblo smells like Juanito, Kenner-ruscho, Quishpe, Sancancela, like home.
Mountain air, smoke, dirt, wrinkled hands and sweat.

Dirt that defies gravity to permanently rest in mid air
left there by the children who,
with a few marbles, and a warn out soccer ball
have little use for the latest ipod or video game.
Fruit was meant to be picked and trees meant to be climbed
and well, childhood is over as soon as you learn to grind out a dollar
so I stare that sweet innocence in the face just dare it to dissapear.

Sweat dripping off the faces of three generations of women
abandoned mothers caught in the merciless cycle of machismo
as they sweep the dust off their floors,
shoo the dogs out of their kitchens
stir the soup to feed their sons and daughters
daughters upon whom I wish motion sickness
dizzines that gives them the will to battle the endless circles that have left their mothers and grandmothers oblivious to abuse and injustice

Dancing and laughter linger in my head from a late night fiesta
but my smile turns dry when I see that the celebration has left its mark
Old men sprawed out on the street drunk and bloody and
Somehow, still too prideful to take the the water from my hands.
They leave it to their women to wear their shame
Strong women.
Ribbon weaved into their tight braids,
They are adorned with the pride of withstanding.
Without a word she gets him to the bed.
Head on pillow
Body covered with the cobija she made with her very own hands.
She is an expert at forgetting, swallowing, holding her head high.
Hiding the problem like she hides the scars.

Hoping to understand I follow the road, winding, twisting its way downward.
Passing house after house, cement walls,
bright colord paint faded and peeling
My sound track Reggeaton, Salsa, Meregue and Musica National
Blasting from each window comes a new rythem for my Journey
With rock in hand I pass a pack of starving dogs
Like their human counterparts they are Immune to the feel of flys on their faces or the sound of threatening words so
The rocks only purpose I realize is to feed my need for control.
The smell gets stronger the farther I go.
A heard of cattle pass by on my left.
There smell is distinct from the one that drives me on, down, farther.
Eyes catch sight of me, gently hold me with their gaze
One pair handing me off to the next, carrying me, I'm floating on their curiosity.

Downwards I walk, further further until I hear the sound
The noise a perfect fit for the puzzle peice my nose is holding.
And then sight, ironically the last of my senses to register
I see the River, deep in its basin, its movements flawless, swift and poderosos.
It is the sound of life and the smell of death intermingling
As if to tell me that they are kin.
Here exists that line I've heard about, so fine it is missed by many.
Life, it's joy and its suffering, separated from death by a mere breath of air.
A breath I now take in, gulping it down as if it were scarce.
How many lives these waters have taken,
but how many more they have nsustained
To live in recognition of death is to breath intentionally.

Time seems to laugh as I stand in awe Its greatest juxtoposition
Being and then so suddenly not being.
My mind tired from the search for
Answer that exist in such simplicity
I refuse to accept, to understand.
The fight to move forward is stilled by the river’s control
I am powerless against it and yet
I find strange comfort in such weakness, such closeness to death and to life.
This is the secret of my bus.. The story of this pueblo
Winding through the familiar, the safe, stearing clear of the unknown.

“Is crossing the road towards a beloved Other risky? Yes. Inconvenient? Terribly. Uncomfortable? Absolutely. If you leave your car parked on the other side for more than two hours, it can even get costly. And yet crossing the road to meet the stranger is the way we walk when we study and track a d trail- when we follow- the person of Jesus.”

Over the years I, like my friend Margo who wrote the book this quote comes from, have come to the conclusion that Jesus was a ‘road-crosser.’ He loved the unlovable, the neglected, the marginalized, the immigrant, the forgotten, the different and the invisible ‘others’ that live throughout our communities.

John McCain is a good friend of my dad’s. Dad and John are different. Their friendship is the perfect example of what I’m getting at here. John is a tall African American man who assists a lively Southern Baptist church right around the corner from my parent’s namely white, non-quite-so-lively- Prysbyterian church in Downtown Durham. The two men have fostered a relationship by getting meals together, taking uncomfortable yet intentional steps to visit each other’s churches and even planning a join men’s retreat that mixed the two congregations and their two cultures. When John showed up at our doorstep this morning with a few members of his congregation, two asian women and a boom-box, I could almost here God saying ‘This is going to be good. This is my kingdom.’

Lily and her daughter Sunshine are from China. They are third and fourth generation opera singers that found there way to St. John’s Baptist a few weeks ago. After hearing them sing at church on Sunday John asked them if they would mind sharing their gift with a few special friends via Caroling. They came all the way to our house- inconveniently located across town- to sing to us and tell us that God loved us. Sunshine and I are different. She is from China, I am from well, here. She speaks Manderin and Cantonese, I speak Spanish. Her culture is respectful and quite, mine is quite obnoxious and loud. What I did not expect when God brought some of his beloved ‘others’ right into my home is that despite our differences we would also become almost immediate friends! Would I have ever seen Sunshine and ‘crossed the street’ to say hello? Probably not. Would I have ever found out that we both studied Economics, we both love coffee or that she and her mom are actually blackbelt Karate instructors!? Nope.

Is loving someone who speaks a different language or eats different food or wears different clothes uncomfortable? Sometimes Awkward? Usually. Life-giving? Definitly.

Just catch this picture for a second: John McCain, my family as well as the large family of Australians that are visiting us for the holidays (Oh yea did I forget to mention that!) sitting on the couch in my living room listening to Sunshine and her mom belt out Ave Maria and songs from the Chinese Opera for their audience of 12.

I have come to love the street-crossing life and yet I am continually humbled to look out my window and see people crossing over so many levels of social boundaries to arrive on my front door step. If you're not quite sure you believe me check out this picture of sunshine's moves!