A Little Slice of Americana.

  Today I was a substitute Spanish teacher at Teays Valley High School in Ashville, Ohio.  On my lunch break, I stopped by the “Cherry Street Diner” in Downtown Ashville.   It’s a quaint little diner which still bears all the furnishings and style of the 70’s and 80’s.   The walls are decked with all sorts of random americana.  Everything from a Betty Boop imitating marilyn monroe, to a clock featuring Elvis Presley with swaying hips.   A sign hangs above the front counter reading, “Prices subject to change according to customer’s attitude.”  Beside it, is a notice from the complaint department featuring a hand grenade with a small number attached to it’s pin. Just below it it reads, “Take a number”.

  I seated myself at a small table just down from Elvis and directly below an old tin sign for Vernor’s Ginger Ale.  The simple upholstered metal chairs and wood-patterned laminate tabletop immediately brought back memories of my great-grandmother.  The steady twangy beat of the FM Country station playing in the background seemed to blend so much into the decor that I almost didn’t notice it until sometime after I had been seated.  

The diner’s one waitress was named “Kimy”; spelled K-I-M-Y, “KI..MY”--NOT Kimberly, NOT Kim, but Kimy.  She was very clear on that point.  Kimy was as classic as they come, it was as if she was one and the same with the whole downtown diner package.  She always seemed to have a coffee carafe in her hand, which she carried with her as she sped about from table to table, awing her customers with her extraordinary wit, blunt quips, and take-it-or-leave it attitude.   She’s was a real gem.   As she sped around to my table, I quickly placed an order for a real “greasy spoon” 

 

classic: Two fried eggs--over-medium, bacon, home fries, and a cup of that magically mediocre coffee sloshing around in Kimy’s pot.  The order was done and on the table in no more than two and a half shakes (give or take a quarter of a shake).    It was everything I had hoped: a salty and greasy goodness that slid straight down, fulfilling a deep longing for a classic kind of Americana that I had nearl

 

y forgotten.   

  I have never been here before, but somehow, I feel like I know everyone.  This is truly one of those places that knows no strangers--or maybe its just Flo.  I just watched her fish through a big bow

 

l of candy Valentine hearts sitting on the front counter for Valentine’s day.  As she dug through, she would read allowed each heart in an attempt to award her customer with a heart that is most like him.  She claims to be an excellent judge of character and she didn’t even hesitate to tell this man exactly who she perceived him to be.  “He likes the ladies” she announced to the woman sitting beside him--a comment which I am certain was given plenty of attention on the couple’s ride home. 

 As a went up to pay and I handed my card to an obvious “new hire”.   At the mere scent of unconfidence, Kimy burst through the pivoting cafe door and seized her golden opportunity   to take the young fledgeling under her wing.  The three of us walked through the painstaking process of processing a credit card--the right way.   This, of course, lead to several fiery stories of countless run-ins that she has had with customers who have had their cards handled the wrong way.   Slightly ruffled, and with eyes that looked as if they had just witnessed a furious hurricane, the new hire delicately handed me back the card as Kimy continued the force of her story.  After batting back and forth a few playful quips with the seasoned waitress.  I sat back down and finish off that mediocre cup of downtown diner goodness, reflecting on the rich slice of americana that lay before me. 

 

Pondering in Pampanga

I am presently sitting outside of the Diosdado Macapagal International Airport, in Pampanga (Philippines). (I am presently sitting under the tent in the picture to the left.) There is actually a bit of history to this airport. It was formerly a part of the United States air base in the Philippines, which was heavily used during World War II. Entering in here on the bus this morning, I had the opportunity to see a nice collection of Old US fighter jets, which are now decorating a large park outside of the Airfield. I arrived three hours before check in and a full five before my flight--I have a lot of waiting to do; however, this wait is providing me with some much needed time to think about the many, complicated steps ahead.

I am about to begin a very long and ambiguous journey. This present trip is on behalf of APNTS and the School of World Mission, but it is also counting as a part of a cross-cultural internship for me. The current plan is that I will be traveling through various destinations in india (backpacking, really) to meet with Nazarenes and Holiness Missionaries, listening to their stories in order to learn a little but about how they serve and minister and see in what ways we might be able to partner and assist one another in the future. This is the rough plan; however, the details have still yet ti be worked out. By "details", I mean "where I am going to stay" and "who I am going to meet." So far, all I have is a list of several names and email addresses of people in Chennai, Danishpet, Bangalore, and Mumbay (Bombay) who are serving in ministry. Finding these people and getting from place to place--- those are plans that have yet to me made.

I am excited about the steps ahead, but I'll have to admit, I would feel a lot better if I knew a few more details. I have decided that if I do not hear back from any of my contacts by Tuesday evening, I will just find the Cheapest hostel available, and bed there for the night. Tonight should a bit more predictable. I will be in Singapore through the night on a 13-hour layover. I am hoping to meet up with Doug Flemming and possibly some of the people from the Asia Pacific Region Church of the Nazarene. I'm told there is a free ride to the Metro from the Air terminal that I will be arriving at. My hope is to see as much of the city as possible--without paying any money! I'm going to try to see just how far this blind ambition can go.

Throughout my trip, I will be (hopefully) blogging here on a daily basis (I told my Mom that I would do so). So far it is working to my advantage-- this little blogging endeavor has brought me up to 9:16AM, I will be allowed to enter the building in 44 minutes! I'll update in a bit...

"I Just Want Your Approval!"

A while ago, I wrote in a somewhat "tongue-in-cheek" blog entitled, "Ode to bureaucracy". In it I described my vision of hell. It was not the classic vision of hell in which there is fire and a evil man dressed in red with a pitch fork. For me, Hell was a line that weaves back and forth in a narrow hallway, filled with people whom you do not know, and with whom you cannot communicate. The real torture of this hell was that ideas of hope seemed to dance somewhere in the distance. However, at the end of the line is a teller who gives you a new set of bureaucratic tasks, and yes, a new line to stand in. And this is eternity.

This was the story of how finally attained a Student Visa here in the Philippines. For a short time this past week, flashes of this torturous scene flashed in my mind once again; but, I need not fear, for the Lord is Gracious and Compassionate. I will tell you why:

For the second time this week, I have found myself waiting in line at the Indian Embassy, here in Manila. The last time that I was here, I left in disappointment with a blank form and a laundry list of things that I needed of information that I needed to provide to prove to the Indian government that I wasn't a terrorist or wild religious fanatic.

Today I returned to the Indian Embassy with papers in hand, together with my passport, ID pictures, copies of confirmed flight itineraries, and 1,100 Pesos (~$20) to pay for a "Transit Visa," which was supposedly required to get me into the country. After waiting for an hour and a half for my number to be called, I finally made it to the window and was promptly told that the Visa that I was applying for was incorrect. I needed the much more expensive one which actually allowed me to leave the Airport in India. I saw that there were three prices for the particular Visa that I needed: One for Filipinos, one for everyone else in the world, and One for Americans--which was (of course) the most expensive and four times more than what I had budgeted.

Beyond this, the lady at the counter asked what I was doing in the Philippines. When I told her that I was a student, she asked to see my I-card. My heart sank, knowing that I didn't HAVE my I-Card due to an entirely separate bureaucratic battle with Philippine immigration, which I will not go into at this time!

All I could do was provide her with a bank card and my student ID. I thought to myself, that this was a futile attempt--a pointless venture--I would no doubt be rejected immediately, and I would have to come back and do the whole thing over again, if they would even let me do that! So, with what information I had, the lady left the room walked down the hall and placed my papers on the Indian Consulate General's desk (--and this is the cool part!) When the papers arrived at the desk of the Consulate, I was told later that the consulate was on the phone with an Indian Expatriate in the Philippines. Her name was Stella Bokare. Stella is a friend and classmate of mine who is also studying at APNTS, and she happens to be very good friends with the Consulate General. Beyond that, this particular man, on whose desk my papers had landed, was a Christian and had even visited APNTS a time or two. Upon seeing my name, papers, and APNTS Student ID, I was quickly approved with only a few questions asked.

What should have been a bureaucratic nightmare, turned out to be a reminder of God's grace and the ridiculously small and interconnected world in which we live. I still never cease to be amazed at God's ability to place the right people, in the right places, at the most perfect times.

New Horizons... and a call for prayer.

The last few weeks have been a roller-coaster of events. After long meetings with my advisor, we have decided to push forward and finish my degree in the next few months. (WHEW! It's hard to believe!) Thus, this summer will be filled with a tri-athalon of academics and projects that will hopefully bring me to the end of this particular chapter of my life.

This means three things need to happen this summer. 1.) An intensive three-week course in Apocalyptic Literature. 2.) A directed study in Biblical Hermeneutics. 3.) A Cross-cultural ministry-based internship in a different culture than the one that I am presently in. The first and second of this list are presently underway. The third, my internship, is coming and will require some further explanation.

On June 7th, I will be flying to Channai, India and then taking a train to several strategic cities along the indian continent. The purpose of my trip will be to make some important connections for Donald Owen's School of World Mission and building relationships with regional mission centers. In addition to this, I will be speaking with several of these centers about a program called "Step-up" which works to combat Human Trafficking in Southeast Asia. I will be sure to go into greater detail about all of this in later posts.

This internship has two sides. It is being completed as a part of the course requirements for my degree-- that's one side. The other side is that I will be helping the Seminary to develop some of it potentials for ministry and outreach in Southeast Asia. There is more--much more, but most of it is still being discussed, so I can't be sure about it just yet. Needless to say, I'm excited about what the next few months will hold for me. I am hoping to not only finish--but start using my Master's degree here in the Asia-Pacific.

This brings me to the important part, I am greatly in need of great prayer.

For one , I need prayer for my decisions. I want to follow the Lord's will and I want what is best for both his plan and my life. I don't want to stay here if it is not what the Lord would have. However, I can't deny the amazing opportunities that he seems to be laying before me. It seems that this is where I need to be, but I need assurance. Either way, I want to walk in the way that will keep me closest to him.

Secondly, I need prayer to be able to financially sustain myself--particularly through the next few months as I finish my studies, and complete my internship. So far, the school has provided me with a small scholarship because I have kept high grades, and I have been tutoring a few students in spoken English, which provides a small income. However, eating three meals a day, managing Immigration expenses, as well as housing are posing significant financial issues.

For these things, I am needing a great deal of prayer. Especially, for my faith, my attitude, my outlook, and my unconditional trust that God will provide a way for me. I pray that the road ahead will draw me closer to him, and give me a renewed vision and strength. There is much to be prayed for.

I can't wait for some of the come details to be worked out so that I can share them with you all. All I can say is that, I believe there are exciting things in store, and great potential for new ministries and growth in the Asia Pacific.

In addition to your prayers, if you would like to help out financially, that would be greatly appreciated. You can do so quickly and securely by clicking the "donate" link below. You can also specify the amount and what you would like it to be used for.

As we pray, I will do my best to keep you all updated with stories and pictures of what the Lord is doing.

I love you all,

Jarrett

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A Little About Jazz and Coffee...

Earlier today I had the chance to sit down with a few friends, enjoy a cup of coffee, and listen to some "smooth jazz" music in the background. I know... stereotypical, right? But there is something about coffee and jazz that really excites me. They are two things that are somehow foundational to my belief system. Let me explain:

Jazz is free form. It is built on the concept that real musical expression exudes from ones being. It is not something that is learned by rote, nor is it somehow encased in a particular form or style. Music is only alive in as much as the musician is alive. This being said, Jazz should not properly be called a style of music... it is a kind of philosophy. Jazz is not music itself, rather Jazz is the potential for music. The REAL music is from deep within the musician.

Something similar is true with coffee (at least as far as my biases--and addictions--are concerned). Coffee is not so much an end as it is a means. For me, indulging in a hot, black cup of bitter, roasted, bean water is not about the drink itself, rather it is what the coffee brings about. In other words, coffee is not about coffee. Coffee is a catalyst for conversation, and an impetus for imagination. This is historically true. Rousseau, Voltaire, and the other minds of the enlightenment were fond of setting down before piping-hot cups of this magical black liquid. One french Coffeehouse in particular, Café Procope, was arguably the birthplace of the encyclopedie--the first modern encyclopedia. (Thanks, Wikipedia) It could be argued that coffeehouses brewed not only coffee, but perhaps the enlightenment period itself. Coffee is not about coffee. Coffee is about something BEYOND the coffee. Much in the same way that Jazz is not really about the music, form, notes, or what have you. It's about something deeper.

Perhaps many would argue that I am over-interpreting jazz and coffee. But I would beg to differ. The reason that Jazz and coffee excites me so much... is that both of these realities are not about themselves. Jazz is more than music, and coffee is more than a drink. One could say that both Jazz and coffee hinge on the idea of potentiality. It's not about what coffee and jazz ARE... is about who we are as we participate with them.

--And now, the part where I make spiritual application-- This is a beautiful metaphor for our spiritual lives--I think. Christ says that the christian gospel rests upon three things: Faith, Hope, and love--and the greatest of these is love, right? So tell me. What is the form of love? - What does hope look like? How about faith? -- Any ideas? This is beautiful to me, because they can look like anything. No doubt each of us can think of many different forms or manifestations of faith, hope, and love. And they can all be true. These three concepts move and change. In essence, they are free form.

Ask 20 people to draw a picture of faith, hope, and love--I mean, the something real-- not little hearts and doves, but what does it look like--really--to them. Chances are you will find a multiplicity of things. Jesus gave us many prime examples of what it might look like in his particular paradigm and he left it to us to continue to figure out what his radical brand of faith, hope, and love looks like in each of our very diverse contexts.

Faith, hope, and love are not about themselves... they are about somthing deeper--perhaps even infinite. Christ is about something deeper than form. He regularly reminds us in the scriptures that the greatness that we see in him (the human him) is not about him... but about his father who sent him. Jesus is greater than his form. He is great in as much as he is connected to that which is beyond him--his father. We also are invited to this kind of reality of faith, hope, and love. But what does it look like? Honestly, WHAT does it look like?!? How can we package it? I love these questions, because they can't be answered. Faith can look like many things--because it is potentiality. We can't package it--to do that would be an insult to its beauty and complexity.

See? And you thought this post was about Jazz and coffee. Well... it is. But, you see, Jazz and Coffee are much more than just Jazz and Coffee.

So...what is the black and white, practical application of this blog-post? That is for you to figure out. You see, this blog-post was not written to have an end, because...

A short... Pause.

I feel like I should say something, however, I haven't the slightest idea what to say, honestly. Or maybe... I just don't know where I start. These past few days have been surreal in many ways. I've come back home from the other side of the planet and reentered my stateside life. This simple act , coupled with the staggering reality of "reentry shock" and having to adapt to old customs and ways of speaking and acting can be confusing and unsettling to say the least.

All this aside, I have recently watched my little sister walk down the isle... arm in arm with my father. I stood on the stage in support of her and her new husband. I watched both of my parents endure the emotional roller-coaster that events such as these inspire. I watched my sister, Leah Davis, return down that same isle as Leah Wadlington. I watched her greet and embrace full-grown, adult friends of ours, who--last I remember--were little kids playing at our house. I then watched Leah Wadlington walk through the foyer of my childhood church, get into a Limousine with a wonderful man who I am getting to know, and watch the both of them ride off together for their honeymoon.

Back at home, I have noticed a close childhood friend of mine has become very, very old. The 14-pound, white and brown Shih-tzu who watched me grow up, who played with me in the backyard and threw his hip out trying to go down our slide, now simply lays on the floor, wearing his little OSU sweater trying to keep himself warm, since his blood doesn't circulate as well as it used to.

My little brother, on the other hand, is, well... no longer little. When I first left for the Philippines, I could accurately call that small, farming-obsessed, little boy with the high-pitched voice, my "little brother." Now, he sounds like my dad and weighs nearly as much as I do. "Little" doesn't really do him justice any longer.

So much has happened in one-and-a-half years. A lot has changed. A lot has changed even with me. I live over 9,000 miles away. I straddle the lines of two very different worlds, and have left bits of my emotions and myself strung out somewhere in-between.

So here I sit. Alone in my living room in Ohio, after another Christmas, full from another Christmas dinner, listening to my Mom put away the left-overs and explain to the dog one more time why he can't have any more turkey. In many ways this scene is incredibly familiar, but in other ways... especially on the inside, its a scene that is new and a little scary. Its scary because I have been given a new realization of the passing of time, and the unrelenting process of change in my life. This is both wonderful and terrible. I have always loved and embraced change and transition, but there is also the frightening realization that it is, among many things, absolutely unstoppable. All I can do is pause, breathe, and remember the value of savoring every moment in life, taking nothing as mundane or meaningless.

Typhoon Ondoy: My Story

It was about Noontime on Saturday, September 26th when the wedding reception had just come to an end and we received the call. I had been in Baguio with several other students, our Academic Dean and our Dean of Students. The message passed quickly from person to person, “Manila is flooded. APNTS is in the state of emergency and they are seeking approval to serve as a refugee camp for some 200-500 persons.” Many of us from APNTS quickly convened and discussed our options. Pastora Luz Tamayo and her family along with Janary Suyat and a few others from school decided to leave immediately for Manila and started down the mountain on the 7 hour drive to the watery National Capitol Region.

Meanwhile, we returned to the Luzon Nazarene Bible College, where we had been staying. Entering the missions house, we convened in what I imagined to be a war-time briefing for the UN head council. Immediately, out on the table there was a simultaneous unpacking and opening of laptop computers and cell phones. Academic Dean, Dr. Lee San Young and Dean of Students, Beverly Gruver scrambled to convey the appropriate approvals back to Manila to get the refugees into a safe place on campus. Keys were another issue. With the President of the school in the states and the two Deans in Baguio with us, and other pertinent people dealing with the flooding of their own homes in Manila, access to campus buildings were limited.

They need access to the key box” responded one, reading a text message.

“Tell them to break the lock,” Dr. Lee quickly returned.

As text messages bounced back and forth, I quickly searched for radar images, new briefs, traffic reports, and webcams shots from Manila, while talking online to whoever I could in Manila to ascertain how bad the situation was for the surrounding area, and how passible the roads would be if we left immediately. I found that water was chest-deep in the downtown area of Taytay, and up to 10-12 feet in other areas. World Mission Communications, located on APNTS Campus was flooding but controllable. Others on campus relayed that water pipes on campus had broken and clean drinking water had to be purchased for both the refugees and the campus residents.

After a few hours, we heard word from Jana and Pastora Luz that getting home would be impossible tonight as they were stranded on the highway due to high water, and unable to get to even get near Manila. Other text messages quickly following relaying equally dark news for our return to Manila.

We were told that people continued to pour into campus seeking shelter from the encroaching waters. Saturday night, a text message read that 289 people had registered and were being housed in campus buildings at APNTS. Most of the refugees came from Rowenas, a squatter community located behind APNTS on the banks of the creek which flowed through campus. We later learned that at least two children from the community had lost their lives in the flood.

The next morning, Sunday, we spent time together in prayer and worship, and then started out for Manila. Reports came back from Janary and the Tamayos saying that they has only made it as far as Marikina (a municipality about 4 miles away from APNTS) and they were stranded with limited food and water supplies. We were told that local markets had ran out of food and standing water still remained 10 feet high in many areas. We were warned not to come near the Marikina area, but we were still determined to get as close as we could to Manila and APNTS. We continued down the mountain and along the highway toward Manila. As we drew nearer, standing water and heavy cloud-cover met us causing us to question whether or not we should continue.

We had arranged to stay at Angeles Church of the Nazarene with Rev. Agbuya, but as Manila came closer we began to notice charter busses which we knew originated from the Cubao area in Manila. We decided that we would at least try to make it to Central Church of the Nazarene in Cubao. From there we could at least rest for the night and try again in the morning.

Through whispered prayers and with a firestorm of reassuring text messages back and forth from Manila to our van, we made it not only to Cubao but through a large portion of Metro-Manila before encountering the stalled cars and rescuers carrying life-boats. We wove in and out of the small Barangays and winding city streets navigating through higher ground. With paramedics and rescue teams moving in one direction and evacuees moving in the other, we made our way to the opposite side of Taytay, where APNTS was located. Driving through about .5 miles of only 2.5 feet of water we made it to familiar ground and wound our way back to APNTS Campus where work with refugees was well in progress.

It was about 7pm and dinner had just been served to the students and refugees. We arrived, dropped our bags, and immediately began work. Glen and several others worked on setting up a projector to watch a movie with a room full of children. It was amazing to see how willing the kids were to laugh and play in spite of losing homes and many of their possessions to the typhoon. Among the kids, I found a few of the “street kids” that I had known from around the Kaytikling area. We were able to sit and talk a bit of what had happened the day of the typhoon. “sira ang bahay ko” (my house is damaged) he reported and told of his other friends who had no home at all.

Others updated us on some of the unforgettable events of Saturday afternoon. We were told of one man was actually swept away by the currents just in front of campus, and was nearly dropped from the bridge into the raging creek below, however, he was able to grab the side of a building just in time and pull himself to safety. Elsewhere on campus, several landslides and rushing waters caused some shifting in some barrier walls, and entirely destroyed segments of others. One landslide took down a large tree, dropping it some 100 ft into the creek washing it outside of campus and lodging it under a bridge down the street.

We worked the next day from 2am until about 10am watching the refugee site and then distributing crisis relief goods as the refugees returned to rebuild and repair their homes. The rest of the day and week began with prayer together and then quickly turned to the great task at hand, rebuilding, repairing and providing whatever we could to the community around us.