The Hope of Superheroes

As a little kid I always wanted to be a superhero.  I use to have Batman and Robin costumes. They were the ones with the plush abdominal and pectoral muscles, and I would constantly wear them under my clothes. One Halloween, I wore a homemade Robin costume based off of Robin in the Teen Titans, and my younger brother wore a little Batman suit. (I won’t comment on the fact that I was the sidekick to my younger brother of five years). I used to beg my dad to let me watch the Justice League during half time of football games, and my favorite action figures were all the different Batman characters. I loved superheroes, and I always wanted to be a superhero.

            As I got older, the possibility of being a superhero got smaller and smaller. There wasn’t any radioactive goo in small town East Tennessee. There weren’t any tall buildings for me to jump from, nor were there any super villains trying to take over. But, while the reality of being superhero quickly faded, my love for superheroes kept growing. I loved the stories, the rescues, and the fights, and the movies helped grow that love in me. Every time a new superhero movie was released, I had to go see it. I remember seeing the first X-Men, and then spending a long season time putting knives between my fingers. The Sam Rami Spider-Man movies were my daydreams, and in college, the Avengers was one of the highlights of my freshman year. Superheroes have always been a staple in my life.

            And this is true today. I still get overly excited for each new superhero movie. Right now, my mind is set on Deadpool in February. Then I am cautiously optimistic about Batman v Superman, and I am beyond excited for Captain America: Civil War. But, at the same time, superheroes have started to become overwhelming. Through 2020, we are expected to get almost 30 new superhero movies. Even for an avid superhero fan, that is a plethora of movies. There are now talks of superhero fatigue, and there appears to be this expectation that the genre will fail. It is almost if people feel like there is no need for the superhero genre anymore. The stories are the same, and the characters are boring. They have run their course.

            And honestly, if I think like the adult I have become, then I have a tendency to agree with people. Comic books are for children, and my rational, educated mind believes the tropes and stories are done. My cynical mind knows that it all is just a cash grab anyways. It is what I read on a regular basis, and it is what I am being taught by society.

            But then, I remember my childhood, and I remember my love for superheroes. I remember why I loved them. I remember the hope they gave me. The hope that I could be a hero every time I put on the muscle suit and the cape. The hope that there are always good guys that always beat bad guys and save the day. That is what Superhero films provide. They provide hope. They provide hope to little kids everywhere. Hope that there are heroes in the world, and bad guys will always get beat up. They provide hope to adults. Hope that good can conquer evil. They provide hope to those hurting that everything will be okay. The provide hope in the form of escape, even just for a few hours. They provide hope.

            And I know, this might be written off as an over simplification and cheesy, but, I truly believe that when we walk into a movie theater, just for a few hours, there is hope. There, the world stops, and just for a moment, we are guaranteed that good will conquer evil. It is this hope that keeps me excited for the heroes still to come. It is this hope that gets my heart racing every time I see the Marvel logo. It is this hope that I want to share with my future kids one day. It is hope that keeps me excited in the midst of superhero fatigue, and it is hope that I believe we will always need.

"He that hath a beard..." (A Theory)

Beards. They have been a part of society since the beginning of time. From Jesus to Abraham Lincoln to Ron Swanson, beards are a timeless staple of mankind. And, with the recent rise of the hipster, beards are more popular than ever. You see them everywhere. They are on your baristas and tattoo artists. They are on your professors and famous actors. There is even beards on superhero’s. Beards are trendy. There are beard competitions, beard envy, beard styles, and beard oils. There are yeards, tweards, and terminal beards. Beards are the in right now, and they don’t plan on going anywhere.

With all the beards, I have a theory. Let’s call it the beard theory. It might be a radical theory, but it’s a theory nonetheless. The theory is this: if you have the ability to grow a nice beard, you are obligated to all male kind to grow your beard. It doesn’t have to be big, burly, and bushy. You don’t have to look like a dwarf from middle earth, nor do you have to be able to hide secret things in your beard. It can simply be neat and trimmed. But, if you are physically and biologically able to grow a full beard on you face, you are obligated to all other men to grow that beard.

            Here is why. Have you ever met someone with incredible talent? You know, the person in high school with all the athletic talent in the world, or that friend of yours with an incredible singing voice? Just think of someone with incredible talent. Now imagine that they don’t do anything with that talent. The athlete refuses to play sports, or the singer decides never to sing. Maybe you’ve known someone like that in your life. They probably drove you insane. They were wasting their talent. They refused to use it, and you’ve probably thought: if only you had that talent, you would have used it to do something amazing. You would probably argue that someone born with amazing talent, whether athletic, musical, or physical, is obligated to use that talent in society.

            This same logic applies to beards. If you have the biological ability to grow a beard, you have been born with an incredible talent. And you, like the athlete or the singer, are obligated to use that talent in the world. There are poor souls out there who cannot grow facial hair. There are poor chaps who can only grow chain hair or beards in patches. And these people would love to have your talent. They would give anything to have the ability to grow a beard, to have a full, lush face full of hair to show to the world.  Therefore, you, with all of your facial hair talent, are obligated to grow your beard. You are obligated to all the beardless men in the world to proudly wear your beard.

            And I know, I know, there are always excuses. The beard is too hot or too scratchy. The beard is not professional, or your lady friend doesn’t find it attractive. The reality is that all of those things are just excuses. Do you think LeBron James makes excuses to not play basketball? Do you think Justin Timberlake makes excuses to not sing? No. Both men understand that they have talent, and they use that talent to make a difference in the world. You could be the LeBron James of beards. Dropping buckets with your majestic fur. You could be the Justin Timberlake of beards. Serenating society with your luscious locks. There are no excuses when it comes to the talent of a beard. If you have that talent, you are obligated to all men everywhere to wear that beard.

            Therefore, as Shakespeare says, ““He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man” (Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare). Don’t be less than a man. Be more than a youth. To all men everywhere, if you have the ability and the talent to grow a beard, you are obligated to grow that beard. So grow it. Grow it proudly. Grow it loudly. Grow it boldly, and pay your dues to every man everywhere.

the Unity of the Irish

To start, I have to admit my ignorance. Before I landed in Belfast, I had no clue there was a Northern Ireland.  I didn't know it was part of the UK. It was a shock to discover that it wasn't just the northern part of Ireland, but it was a country. I had no clue what to expect, and honestly, my ignorance was fulfilling American stereotypes left and right. Needless to say (with ignorance being my best friend and all) I had absolutely no clue about "The Troubles," of Northern Ireland, even though they are a major focus of my class here in Belfast. 

For those of you who share in my ignorance, The Troubles were a period in Northern Irish history from the 1960s-1990s in which two groups of people with certain political, cultural, and religious identites fought eachother for the future of their nation.  One side, also known as the Catholics, wanted the Northern part of Ireland to be part of the Irish Republic, and another part, also known as the Protestants, wanted the Northern part of Ireland to be part of the United Kingdom.  To simplify an extremely complicated period of history: people with the same cultural, religious, and geographic roots used violence to help establish their own identity.  It is was bloody.  It was brutal.  It was complicated.  It was frustrating, and of course, upon learning more information, it immediately peaked my interest.

I have been intrigued by the Troubles for multiple reasons. One, I am a dude. In general, a lot of dudes like violence.  We are drawn to it like kids are drawn to candy stories, or crack addicts to a crackhouse.  It is why a majority of men will say they love movies like Braveheart, Gladiator, or anything else with violence.  Violence is appealing and fascinating, so clearly the Troubles intrigue me.  

I am also intrigued because the two sides, the political parties fighting here, both claim Christian identities.  One side is the Catholics; the other side is the Protestants. Both of which have roots tracing back to Jesus, and both would, hopefully, consider themselves Christians.  Therefore, somewhere in the family tree, my faith roots are connected with their background.  Both Catholics, Protestants, and myself have religious identity that supposedly stems from Jesus.  Yet, here in Northern Ireland, there are two branches of the same tree fighting over who is more important.  

Lastly, I am intrigued by the fact that their political identities are deeply connected to their religious beliefs (of course we have never experience that in the USA...), and it is these crafted, religioius identities that have shaped and led the violence, hatred, and tension found in the Troubles and in Northern Ireland as a whole.

There are clear problems with all of this. There are obvious problems with violence.  We see it in different areas of the world currently, like the Ukraine and Gaza.  There are problems when people are killed by car bombs, guns, and hatred. It is a problem when babies are murdered and civilians are inhilated. There are problems when some one dies, no matter what side they are on. It means that someone that Jesus loves has been killed. It points to the greater problem of death in the world, and it is a problem.

There are problems when two groups that claim roots and identities in the man who preached love and unity are fighting over their identity. It feels so contrary to everything that Jesus teaches and demonstrates, and as a leader of a group whose mission is to bring unity among Christians (unitednashville.com is my shameless promotion), it is the prime example of the disunity that surrounds the faith.  It bothers me.  It has made me sick in the stomach at multiple points on my trip.  It has made me angry.  It has made me embarassed and ashamed to call myself a christian.  There is a problem when there is conflict between two Christian groups over who is superior, who is correct, who has the better identity.  Even more so, there is a problem when these two groups resort to violence to attempt to fix their problems. There are problems.

And I know, I know, I know that the Northern Irish problem was way more complex than simple religious identities.  I know that it started as a religious problem in the 1600s (yes, the 1600s, before the USA was even a thought), and over time, it shifted from a religioius problem to a way more complex problem.  I know that there is supposed peace in Northern Ireland now. I know that this peace has been going for about 20 years now. (In both cases, I am defining peace as the lack of physical violence).  And I know that it is hard to apply violent, bloody tension in a small country in Europe to the broad scope of an international and ancient faith. But I also know that both sides still claim religious identities, and they both give the world a picture of Christianity (whether good or bad). I also know that interChristian tensions have been around since the first century, and I also know it is all contrary to what Jesus prayed in John 17. I also know that these religious tensions and divide are still under the surface here in N. Ireland. Lastly, I also know that these tensions are factors effecting people around the world who claim to follow Jesus, from Belfast, to Nashville, to Uganda, to Taiwan, and so much more. 

I know that these a problems, and they break my heart. These are problems, and they break the heart of Jesus.

But there is hope.  I truly believe there is hope. I believe unity and peace can be achieved.  It is not just a golden age, idolized goal, that is unobtainable.  Unity is available.   Unity is available when we redefine and understand our identities.  It is what Northern Ireland is currently attempting to do as they seek to provide a new identity in which the people can latch on to. More and more people (mostly younger, college-age folks) are redefining themselves as Northern Irish.  They are latching onto this identity and claiming it proudly. They rally around other Northern Irish people, like Rory McIlroy and Van Morrison. As more and more people stop defining themselves as Protestant, as Catholic, as Loyalist, as Nationalist, and more and more people are starting to define themselves as Northern Irish, unity is being seen.  A unity found because people are being rooted together in the identity of being Northern Irish. 

Likewise, this is how unity can be obtained among Christians.  It is when we stop defining ourselves as Methodist, Catholic, or non-denominational.  It is when we stop defining ourselves as part of Ethos, part of Crosspoint, part of this random church.  It is when we stop defining ourselves as hipster or greek, BYX or GDI, Midnight Worship or Navs. Unity comes from returning to the roots and letting he who is our root define us first and foremost. 

Let him define you. Let him define you as his child.  Let him define you as loved and cherished by the creator of the world.  Let him define you as redeemed and grace soaked. As Christians, we must let Jesus define us as loved first, and everything else comes from it.  Loving and being loved by Jesus is the string that brings unity to fruitition.  It is the reason why I can meet random strangers in St. George's Market and immediately feel bonded with them because they love and are loved by Jesus. It is why I can travel and have a place to stay in multiple countries because I have people connected with me, united with me through the love of Jesus. It is why best friends can occur across campuses in Nashville.  It was how churches can work together to change communities and cities.  It is how Christians can respond to global tragedy with love and support. Unity comes when we redefine ourselves and start identifying ourselves in the love of Jesus, first and always foremost.  Let that be the essentials, and all else can fall into place.

I know this is all super ideological, hopeful, and broad, but I truly believe unity can be obtained.  I believe it because Jesus prayed it, and I have experienced it. I often suck at it.  I often fail at it.  I have bitterness and sinfulness in my heart that can define me and shape me, but I believe that when we strive forward, when we chase Jesus, when we root our identities in his love, then the prayer of John 17 can be played out in this world, from Nashville, to N. Ireland, to the rest of the world and on into Heaven. 

"I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me."

John 17:20-23

Reflections on Sanity in a Coffee Shop

So I am currently sitting in a coffee shop in Belfast, because, honestly, where else would you expect me to be? I returned to Belfast this morning after about two weeks of travel. Two weeks that were incredible, unexpected, and full of memories.  I am now sitting here, drinking delicious coffee, trying to reflect and gain my sanity from all that has happened in the past two weeks.  After this, I will start phase two of my travels: a summer class at Queen's university for the next three weeks.

I have a lot of thoughts and a lot of stories that I could share, but then this post would get extremely long.  If this post gets extremely long, then you all will get bored.  If you all get bored, then you will stop reading.  If you all stop reading, then you won't get to read about my adventures! And I want to share my adventures, so I am going to focus on one aspect of my trip. The question.

When I left for Belfast two weeks ago, I left with a question.  The question was simply: what does the face of Jesus look like around the world? I feel like a had a feeling what the answer would be, but I definitely didn't expect the answers to be so clear.

First, the face of Jesus in Belfast took the form of two lovely Irish blokes.  One is a future church planter who loves Jesus and has allowed me to crash in his house multiple nights.  In him, I saw this deep love for The Lord that was rooted in theological understanding and aspiratioins.  He had asked the tough questions, walked away with more questions, and still loved Jesus. Through him, Jesus whispered to me that I should be confident in my convictions to be a church planter.  Just because we don't know when the call will be fulfilled, it doesn't mean we shouldn't be confident in our call. Along with him, another Irishman discussed with me his passion for community.  He truly believes that Christ called us to community, and that our Christ-centered communities should impact the the communities we live in.  I have seen this play out in Ethon often, and it was incredible to hear the same convictions being stated across the pond.  Along with this, both of these gentlemen showed me that Jesus doesn't mind a good drink. He created beer, with all of its different flavors and designs, and it was cool to enjoy the craft that goes behind beer with two Jesus-loving dudes.

London brough many different pictures of Jesus.  There was the aspiring church-planter who I stayed with for a couple nights.  His passion for The Lord was overwhelming.  It is rare to meet someone so quick and confident to pray over anything and everything.  He demonstrated the true intimacy one can find in prayer with the father, and showed me a picture of Jesus that starts in the scriptures and manifests itself in wonderful people around the world. He would often just stop and start praying over my life, my family, and my journey. Along with him, there were three Nashvillians who became my community for several days.  They were from Belmont, and were taking a class in London. They were the face of Jesus when I desperately needed people to spend time with. We explored the city, talked about life, and tried as much coffee as we could. It was incredible to see that the community you make in one part of the world can impact you half way around the world.  I saw the face of Jesus in the diversity and masses of people around me.  He was in the drunk masses at an Eminem concert.  He was in the different cultures of people on the streets.  He was at the World Cup bar.  He was in the thriving, multicultural HIllsong church.  He was in Jane, a Romanian immigrant who was trying to make money to get his family out of of Romania.  He was in Helainah, a Jewish immigrant who was on her own as a university student.  All she wanted was to talk to people, and she firmly believed that English accents were far superior to American accents.  Honestly, it is hard to disagree with her.

In Oxford, he was in all the people around me.  He was in the tourists, the college students, and the elderly intellectuals.  He was in the girl wearing the Vanderbilt shirt, and the guy who quickly followed her in a Taiwan baseball jersey.  He was in a friend from Vanderbilt who I literally walked into while looking in one of the colleges. That friend was the friend I needed in that moment.  A friend with a golden heart for service, and a passion for Jesus. He was Jesus whispering that he knows my needs and will always take care of me.  Jesus was in the constant support from Ethos throughout the day.  From texts and emails, to skyping into a meeting full of guys I love, Jesus was showing me that people support me and love me from all over the world.

In Amsterdam, one place I  did not expect to go, Jesus was everywhere. I saw Jesus in the face of my host for YWAM (Youth With a Mission) who recently fell in love with The Lord.  Upon meeting him, she gave up her job and went to study the word in Cambodia.  She is trying to get to Africa to serve him, and she is a firm advocate of the Spirit.  She was Jesus whispering to me that he will always open the right doors, as she talked about the peace she got in prayer when deciding to allow me to stay with YWAM.  He was in the Red Light district, a place of such blatant and obvious darkness that it is overwhelming, yet Jesus was there in the middle of a prayer room. There women were on their faces crying out to The Lord for freedom and light in a dark place.  Once they finished praying, they would go serve ladies stuck in prostitution and trafficking because that is what Jesus does.  Jesus cries out to his father, talks with his father, and then he goes and loves those who need love.  Jesus was in the random dutch guy I passed who was wearing a small cross on his neck, showing me that there are people in Amsterdam that care.  He was in the church that had a huge sign reading, "all are welcomed in this place." He was with me in the streets leading me through out the city when I was alone the most. Jesus was there.

Jesus was there. I took the second star on the right, went straight on till morning, and he was there.  I sought a Great Perhaps, and found that he was seeking me. I had an adventure, and my companion was Jesus, in a variety of ways. I traveled random places and saw that he is moving, he is loving, he is chasing, and he is there.

Now I prepare for the next phase.  I prepare for three weeks of class before the start of my senior year of college. I prepare for ministries, relationships, more adventures, hardships, and life, and one thing I am absolutely certain of, Jesus will always be here. 

Alleluia.

Second Star on the Right and Straight on Till Morning...

I’ve been trying to write this post for a bout a month now.  It has swum around in my brain, peeping at the surface, only to dive back under because of either distraction or caution.  But, alas, I am finally trying to get all of it down on a computer screen.  I am trying to share my thoughts for what is approaching quickly in the next few weeks, but I have no clue where to start.

I think it all probably started around January of this year.  We had just got back to school for second semester, and it was official the second semester of my junior year.  Most of my friends were beginning to prep themselves for their graduation, and, as it seems, my tendency is to only hang out with people who are older, or younger, than myself.  As they began frantically assessing what they were going to do with their lives once they graduated, I believe their stress and mental processes became contagion to my brain like a bad case of mental flu.  Next thing I know, I am beginning to stress and wrestle with my own future.  It was as if a weight was dropped on my shoulders. The weight of the future was suddenly bearing down on me, and I was not handling it well.

I began asking ridiculously premature questions for a junior in college. Questions like: what am I going to do when I graduate? Where do I go to graduate school? Do I go to graduate school? Do I stay in Nashville? Do I go somewhere else? Do I get married? Who will I get married to? Do I runaway? What is it like being old? Am I officially old? Is that a gray hair in my beard? Ahhhh. So many questions. So much pressure on my brain. I was overthinking too much, and it all culminated in April.

At the start of April, most everyone had left Nashville for the summer, and I was working an 8-5. 4 hours in the morning at Vanderbilt hospital. There I had to wear pants and a dress shirt, which is literally awful. (How do people breathe in those things?) And, then it was another 4-5 hours in the afternoon at Ethos. There I was at least able to put on a tank top. It was repetitive. It was monotonous, and it felt all too real, all too adult.  If there was ever a question of Isaac’s capacity to continuously preform an 8-5, the answer was declared boldly with an emphatic NO. Finally, I had had enough.  I was sick of feeling old.  I was sick of growing up.   I was sick of the mundane, everyday American life. It was not the American dream for me; it was the American nightmare. So on a Friday afternoon, I got off work and drove down to Franklin to bluntly ask Jesus some questions.

I could tell you all the details of my conversation with Jesus, but honestly, one of two things would happen.  One, you would get extremely bored, or two, you would be seriously terrified of what goes on in my brain. Therefore, I will spare you by simply stating that Jesus looked at me (metaphorically), and reminded me that I am a child of God who is called to freedom. And in that moment, it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I felt the truth of those statements.  I am a child of God.  He is my daddy. He loves me.  He set me free.  I am free to enjoy life.  I am free to live life.  I am free to laugh.  I am free to adventure.  I am free to enjoy being his child. It was an incredible truth that felt great. Suddenly, I felt like a kid who was flying across Neverland, but what do with I do this newfound freedom of flight?

I knew I couldn’t keep living in the same daily pattern for the entire summer.  I did not want to end my summer like prior summers. By the end of those summers, I have returned to school questioning the value of the previous months. Therefore, I decided to do something crazy and possibly stupid.  I called my Mother and tried to convince her to help, which was an adventure in itself.  “Dear Mother, I would like to quit my job and do something adventurous and stupid.  Will you help me, pretty please?” But to my joy and astonishment, she was completely on board with my childhood fantasy of adventure and exploration.  We contrived together to craft a plan, and next thing I knew, my next Great Perhaps was set in stone.

So here is what I will be doing in T-minus two weeks: I will be spending three weeks backpacking through Europe with me, myself, and Jesus. After the backpacking, I will be studying in Belfast, Ireland for three more weeks. I know where I will be starting, and I know where I will be ending (Belfast), but I have no clue what lies in between those two checkpoints.  I simply know that I will be chasing Jesus with one question: what does his face look like in this world? I am so incredibly excited. I am so incredibly nervous.  The two emotions are swirling together in my mind pushing me each day closer to departure.

The reason I am writing this at all is because I need your help.  You being defined as a broad descriptor for you poor fools who got suckered into reading this silly blog post. I need you to do one or two of things.

1.  Please pray for me.  I am fully aware of the power of prayer, and I desperately need to be blanketed in prayer.  Pray that God will provide me with an adventure that will change my life in him.  Pray that God will provide all that I need, ranging from community, finances, and personal growth.  Pray that God will answer my question in ways I cannot imagine.  Pray for safety. Pray for joy. Pray against the enemy, and pray for anything else that you feel I desperately need prayer for.  I can’t wait to fly out on the 8^th of July with a backpack and a life covered in prayer. 

2. If you have any resources that might benefit me on my journey, please share.  Whether it is churches and congregations I should see, people and places with whom I can couch surf, or any other random, beneficial resources, anything would be useful, and you can contact me at iJonesy.16@gmail.com

If you want to follow my journey, simply follow this blog. Hopefully I can keep you updated with what is on the other side of the second star on the right. Never forget, “I go to seek a Great Perhaps.”

The Word (John 1)

a Weekend with the Korells

I had a choice to make last week.  Not an epic choice that would determine the fate of the world, but a choice nonetheless.  I could either go on a beach retreat in south Taiwan, called Ken Ting, with a mass quantity of students and all of the teachers, or I could stay in Taichung, my home for the past 6.5 weeks, and explore the city with the Korells.

For most people, this choice would be easy.  A beach retreat in Taiwan with college students or remaining in the same city again with your only company being a family of four, which includes a 2 year old and a 4 year old? The beach should honestly win out every time.  It is an adventure, and it will be fun.

            And the choice was easy for me; the Korells win every time.  For that choice, I might just be mad north, northwest, but then again, you do not know the Korells.  They have not shaped you for the past 6 years as they poured into your life in different roles, from youth ministers to friends to coworkers.  You haven’t had your heart melted by two little kids, even when your heart has sworn that it does not like little kids at all.  You have not met a family that has impacted more people then they could possibly realize, a family whose impact will reach into the next generations.  It is a family I love, a family I want to learn from, and a family I want to be with, so my choice was easy.  And the weekend became one giant adventure as we sought to explore all the nooks and crannies of Taichung City, Taiwan.

            From here on out, I am going to try to summarize all the different adventures we had as we sought a Great Perhaps in our weekend plans.  This is not going to be a sweet story that you would hear around a campfire. This is going to be a scattered version chronologically organized brain vomit that could last a while.  You have now been warned, so please continue with your arms and legs remaining inside the cart at all times.

            Friday involved eating a delicious food named by us ignorant Americans who do not know Chinese as rice triangles.  It is rice made in the shape of a triangle and stuffed with any meat you would like.  Then wrapped in seaweed and dubbed incredibly delicious and mouth watering.  This, combined with a Taiwanese milk tea, was the perfect meal for the moment in infinity. We followed this deliciousness with allowing the kids to play on a playground that is strategically located in front of one of the creepy temples, like you are being watched by one of their gods.  If you can ignore that part, the playground was quite nice and fun.  After the kids went to sleep, Matt and I ventured out to line dance with elder Chinese ladies at a park.  We just went to be silly and have fun, but we quickly became the highlight of the night, as all of the little old Chinese ladies sought to teach these weird white men how to Chinese line dance.  If you can remember to ask, and I remember how, I might be able to show you my mad Chinese line dancing skills some day. The night ended with a conversation on why do people, including myself, like the Hunger Games when they are so twisted and depressing? And then we laughed at the ridiculousness of the new Three Musketeers movie.  Overall, a lovely night.

            Saturday started late because of the need for sleep.  Then Matt and I ventured out to try Eastern Medicine.  We met with the doctor and were asked extremely awkward questions about our bowel movements.  I was informed that my body is extremely low in both Ying and Yang energy, and therefore, I have a lot of problems.  Maybe I am wrong, but this might be because I do not believe in ying or yang energy.  That’s just a guess though.  They proceeded to stick me with 13 needles in acupuncture because of how messed up my energy is.  I had to lay completely still for 30 minutes with 13 needles in my body, and for those of you who know my restless self really well, it is actually possible for me stay still for that long.  It was difficult, but it was possible.  The doctor also prescribed me to take Chinese medicine, which is this lovely mixture of herbs that taste so delectable that I feel like I might die with every bite of the dry, crunchy, bitter powder.  After acupuncture, we went and explored an incredible park in the middle of Taichung.  There we rode stone ponies, climbed a giant goat statue, and laughed a lot.  We went to a night market, something Taiwan is famous for, and enjoyed the shopping and smell of stinky tofu.  Isaiah and I played a new form of “I Spy” which involves touching everything, including people.  Finally, we crashed onto the couches, ate the best desert ever (called Mango Bing), and enjoyed a movie.  You wouldn’t think that was too much, but with two kids and in this heat, everything done is an adventure in itself.

            Sunday would be the busiest day of all. We went to Rainbow Village.  For those of you who are immediately curious about a village called rainbow, it is this old, abandoned military village that an elderly man, who was extremely bored, decided to cover in paint for almost two years.  We followed that up with a trip to the High Speed Train Station where we ate good food, had a scare with Isaiah, shopped a bit at some really weird stores, and rested from the heat.  After, we caught a bus and visited some parks and a sports store.  The first park was simple.  The sports store was ridiculous.  Take a large Wal-Mart, make it completely focused on sports equipment, then stuff it with hundreds of screaming kids like a Chuck E. Cheese, and that was this sports store.  They had a swimming pool, basketball courts, playground, and skating ring outside for public use.  Highlight there: I got to play soccer with a little Taiwanese boy, who was young enough to not realize that I have no clue what I am doing with a soccer ball at my feet.  The second park was the most interesting part of the day.  It had pieces of art and statues everywhere, and most of these somehow found a way to be naked.  The pieces ranged from nursing mothers, to fat, pink people, to abstract monsters, and all of them were naked.  But if you could get past the in your face nudity, the park was awesome, with lakes and bridges, and beautiful lights.  After almost 7 hours of travel and visits, we stopped and rested at a local Tea Shop.  At this teashop, I was blessed with the opportunity to drink a Milk Tea that was over a pint.  I felt like a champion drinking it, and here Sarah, Matt, and I dove into some great conversation about the Spirit of God.  We finally made it home after almost 10 hours of adventure, and crashed on the couch.

            I was sitting on the couch, waiting for the kids to go to sleep, catching up on Wifi, and anticipating our late night House Church service, when all of a sudden, the entire family came into the living room.  They wanted to invite me into one of their family traditions.  I sat on the opposite couch, as they sat all cuddled together, and they began to bless each other. Matt and Sarah blessed the kids and told them how proud they were of them.  The kids blessed Matt and Sarah in adorable ways that only a two year old and four year old could do.  Matt blessed Sarah and Sarah blessed Matt, and then they turned and blessed me.  It was powerful moment; it was an intimate moment, and a moment that reminded me of why I chose to stay back this weekend.  It was an incredible weekend full of adventure and full of an incredible family in the Korells.  A weekend I will not soon forget.

            So I want to leave you with this.  This is not fabricated or filtered; this is truly what has been on my heart as I have thought about what to write.  My adventure is coming to a close soon, and for all of you who have read and followed this seeking of a Great Perhaps, I want to bless you, if you want to receive it.

            “Blessed is the one who transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man (or woman) against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit.” –Psalms 32:1-2.  Thank you for sharing this adventure with me, for taking the time to read this and to care.  Thanks for prayers, support, and love. I pray that God will bless your every step and you will see, taste, feel, and experience his goodness in Jesus Christ.  Alleluia.