Love, Love, Love.

There is more often than not a feeling that I am not myself. That there is another me. Moreover, that there is a me that I was supposed to be and that there is some sort of fraud that I am trapped being and left wondering who that other person is. This stems from a myriad of personality disorders: I care too much about what other people think, I am obsessed with the aesthetic, I lack confidence. Those of you who know me pretty well probably understand a lot of what I am saying. For those of you who only kind of know me, this might come as a bit of a shock. You see, these characteristics of mine necessarily lead me to present to you the best me I can conjure up...well, when I'm not too freaked out that you might not like the me I present. I struggle with balancing relationships. I always feel like I am abandoning or letting others down when I move from one place to another, in and out of lives and communities. I can't seem to figure out how show love to my girlfriend, my family, my friends, YoungLife kids, random people...anyone really. And, rereading that sentence I notice that the problem is intrinsic in the question itself. I wrote, I can't figure out how to show love. Was love really what I was desiring, I would have simply asked how I could love. However, all to often I find myself being way more caught up in showing love than actually loving. The difference, however subtle it may seem, is enormous. It is the difference between happiness and joy and between deception and honesty--it was the difference between Judas and John. You see, I understand love to be an amazing and important thing. I certainly give it a lot of lip service and really, I do desire it and to serve others through love. I understand God to be love and I am sure that His ways are worth seeking. Still, somehow I've gotten caught up in the presentation, in the motion and the patterns. As the expressions of my love continue to change and mature I can't seem to kick this hindering veil of image. Surely there is not perfect love outside of that of the Father and I can't expect to ever possess such a thing but I desire deeply to throw off what hinders and I have for a while now known that my quest for the appearance of love is problematic. Because of the freedom I experience by grace, I will work to know what authentic love is. I will take steps to feel, understand and accept perfect love. And I have hope that these steps, repeated endlessly, will give this life and love a passion and purpose.


I share all this to expose myself; to expose this imposter I see too often and rediscover who I was meant to be, and to make some of my old patterns more difficult and to continue to work towards letting these things go moving towards the freedom of grace. I have no misconception--such a lofty goal as authentic love isn't born out of a single blog post or confession. Rather, the things of God are beautifully elusive and it is my hope that this is just a part of the journey or a page of the conversation.

From the Mundane to the Sacred

We watched Rob Bell's Nooma video entitled 'breathe' tonight at Campaigners. For those of you unfamiliar, Rob Bell is pastor of Mars Hill Church in Grandville, Michigan and the Nooma series are a collection of sermonettes delivered by Rob and a first rate crew of cinematographers. They are excellent videos and Rob Bell has an amazing and unique heart for the world and for God. Oh, and Campaigners is a sort of small group for YoungLife.

In the video Rob Bell talks about the name of God in Hebrew. YHWH. These for letters seem to not go together all that well in English, namely because they are missing vowels, and it turns out that they also don't really go together that well in Hebrew either. In fact, the Hebrew pronunciation isn't all that different from the English. Not Ya-way like some would say, but yhwh. Say it to yourself once or twice right now phonetically. yhwh. It sort of sounds like breathing doesn't it? This name was ascribed to God by the Hebrews precisely because it does sound like breathing. That way every muttered breath is like breathing the name of God. This means that the name of God, yhwh, is constantly on our lips—even when we are not aware. Yhwh is on our lips even when we are studying or jogging or cooking. The first thing we do when brought into this world is speak yhwh. And the last thing we do before we die is the same; we speak yhwh.

God isn't so far away. Really, it's about looking, listening, feeling, smelling and tasting for God. We have been gifted with a myriad of senses which make up the human experience and I would argue that we are given these to experience God.

Makes everyday seem a bit more important. A bit more meaningful. A bit more sacred.

Hot off the Press

A group of us are heading to Juarez, Mexico this Christmas break to build a house (see post below). In order to do so we need to cover all the expenses of the trip and building costs—some $8,000—and we are working hard to get there. I’ve made 100 shirts to sell as part of the fund raising effort. They are incredibly comfortable American Apparel t’s printed with Brianne’s amazing design on them.



The shirts say ‘Dale le Mano,’ which translates to ‘lend a hand.’ Our goal really is summed up in that simple phrase. We want to lend a hand and make a difference for a family. The shirts come in the six color combinations seen above and sizes, S, M, L and XL, all men's sizes (but the ladies haven't been forgotten, I'm told men's small and medium American Apparel t's are perfect for you too). If you would like to help support our trip or by some t-shirts please comment on my blog or write me an email at Ehaagenson@msn.com. They are $16 a piece, $6 of which goes towards the cost of the shirt and $10 goes strait towards construction costs in Mexico. Also, if you are going on the trip and you want to help me sell some of these shirts, let me know and I can send them to you. Thank you for your prayers and support.

Cuidad Juarez

I am returning to one of my favorite places in a few weeks: Mexico. Honestly, I can't even wait. This will be my fourth trip to the country and the third to a border town. In fact, this will be my second time building houses in the colonials outside of Juarez. The realness, the humanity, the need displayed in the people make my heart beat a little different. It always blows me away as I drive from one desert town across the border to another. The cultural and economic differences are stark. They may be our neighbors, but a lot of the time it doesn't necessarily feel like it and all too often we revel in the glory of an 'out of sight, out of mind' attitude. Having the veil lifted to see anew a people in desperate need makes sense of the human plight. I find myself thinking, it isn't all about that, because here there's this...there's a lot more to the story.

I am going down over New Years to get more filled in on the story. A group of 15 or so and I are going down to build a house, to see the change, to feel the people.

Aaron wrote this about Juarez and our trip:

Ciudad Juarez sprawls across the desert landscape, a mirror image of El Paso reflected out from the Rio Grande. To say it is an enormous place does not do the city justice. By some estimates, Ciudad Juarez grows by 50,000 to 60,000 people per year. As the population rises, so does its influence. It is, in many ways, at the epicenter of the social, political, and economic changes that are rocking the borderlands, that distinct cultural space riding the line between Mexico and the United States. The drugs used by your college friends pass through Juarez. The blinds hanging from the window of your bedroom were made in Juarez. And the wall separating the United States and Mexico was first conceived of, and built, outside of Juarez. But behind the political is always the personal. Life in Juarez, like in many of the newly industrialized global cities, is very difficult. It is expensive, dangerous, and hard. Minimum wage hovers around 5 dollars a day, but the high price of everything from land to milk would suggest otherwise. For many of the people fleeing rural poverty in southern Mexico, there simply is no way to get ahead. Casas Por Cristo is the chance to provide one of the four basics: food, water, shelter, and medical care. These are the things that make survival possible. We have no illusions. We are not changing the dynamics of poverty and systemic inertia that have trapped people in houses made out of cardboard, crushed tin, and pallets. But we can give one house. We can piece together the money and make ourselves present. Open ourselves to the possibility that hope and renewal always start one person at a time.


I anxiously await seeing God move in the lives of those effected by Casas por Cristo and in our own lives. I anxiously await better understanding the story of how our humanity meets God's divinity.

Chillin in MT

There's a blizzard outside. The first big snow storm of the year has migrated from the West Coast and struck the Gallatin Valley with a vengeance. I love snow, but this comes at a poor time as I am trying to migrate to the West Coast tomorrow afternoon to spend Thanksgiving with Chris, Kyle and others. I suppose I have rocked a few Montana passes in blizzards before, I can probably do it again.

About the week in CO: There is so much that I want to say (or force myself to think hard enough about to post) but for numerous reasons I can’t and won’t. What I can say is that I learned, once again, that expectations can really cause harm. I also learned that reality is now, not later. I also learned that life is good, no matter how hard and crappy it seems. And I was reminded what it feels like to be in the midst of a hail storm and feel the warmth of people I love and love me. Colorado has remained ‘home’ in my heart. The good, the bad, the hard and the awesome— all of it.

My Head Feels Like a Shirt in a Petey Pablo Video

I got back to Montana two days ago. The week and a half in Colorado was hard. Hard but good I think. I haven't yet had time to even recall what all happened or react because immediately upon returning, thanks to the stellar advice of Chris, I created an entire page of "to-do" stuff. I am about halfish-way done. I am leaving again Tuesday...not going to have a lot of time to think or write.

Peace and love.

Brett Dennen

Brett Dennen. Didn't think a clever title was necessary. Rather, I wanted all of you to remember his name and check his music out.

Myspace.com/brettdennen

Brettdennen.net

He has quickly found himself featured at home, in my car and on my ipod. His incredible musical creativity is complimented perfectly by his unique voice and his relevant, soulful lyrics. He, like so many other artist are doing now, is not signing with a record label so I am just trying to pass it along. Hope that you enjoy.

Saturday Night Alive

It's late Saturday night. I am sitting at the Mill with Dane. The two of us spent a majority of the day at the hospital. My other roommate, Jacques, got an appendectomy after experiencing minor abdominal pain early this morning.

Since the time I woke up until now, somehow it has just been one of those days. I was glad to be with Jacques and Dane today, but tonight when I got home I was reminded of how the day began. I just tried to work on some homework. I can't focus really. I don't want to go out, I don't want to stay in. I’m hungry, but I don’t think I’ll eat. I just want to sleep but I don't want to go to bed.

I pretty sure I’ve spent a lot of my time being a little too anxious lately. I am worried about YoungLife, about school work, about money, about family, about graduating college. I am going home a week from today to be with Brianne for a week that should be the culmination of something that has proved to be one of the hardest things anyone I know has had to fight through. I can’t believe the things I have learned from her. Still, being states away makes my heart sad and, somehow, my head anxious.

It is funny the moods that we find ourselves in. I can honestly say that not a day goes bye without something happening that has the potential to entirely crush my spirit, and all too often I let it. I’ll allow the clouds of worry to dominate my thoughts and spend hours without really noticing anything; not other people, not a sunset, not something funny or beautiful—not even noticing that I am being controlled by some form of anxiety.

I missed some things today. I was worried about so many things that I wasn’t really there at the hospital with Jacques at times. Gosh, that’s so frustrating.

Now I find myself somberly wondering how I got to this place. And how God has managed to meet me here. I’ve missed so much and completely stopped looking for Him, but He has managed to softly and profoundly make Himself known. I am here. I feel warmth. I am listening to a song that meets my somber, contemplative disposition and reminds me that the answers are often much more simple than I make them.

Maybe this is life. Maybe there’s some sadness, some happiness, some frustration and somehow God meets us there. That He meets us wherever, and that’s being alive.

All Blacks All Done

Wow. The heavily favored New Zealand All Blacks were knocked out by the French underdogs. Jacques was scanning through BBC headlines and found "All Blacks Lose" as the main World headline for Asia. This was a big deal. Having spent a semester in New Zealand I understand how obsessed they are with this sport. It is really the most exceptional thing going for them. The article mentioned that 'children were inconsolable' and that adults were 'reduced to tears.' The article also mentioned that this was a national tragedy. A national tragedy? It is really awesome that the whole country rallies around one sport and one team, but it is a serious bummer when they lose. Good thing no one in the US cared about the World Baseball Classic--there's not telling how we may have reacted to a similar 'national tragedy.' Ouch, New Zealand.


Got to love that little smirk on the French guy's face. I bet he got punched by a pissed off Paul Bunyanesque Kiwi.

Sheer, Unadulterated Excitement

Another Saturday, another day inside Wild Joe’s watching the weather. This week it’s actually snowing—about three inches last night and still flying. Let the flakes fly I say!

Just two quick things:

First, Chris is a stud and he put up a bunch of my New Zealand pictures in a coffee shop in Oregon. I haven’t yet even gotten around to printing some of them off or framing them and he already has gotten them organized and displayed in a coffee shop. Thanks Chris.

Secondly, my good friend, the esteemed Cameron Garret Gue, has begun his soiree with songwriting and track killing and it is unbelievable. Undoubtedly the best guitar player and musician I know, Gue has expanded his repertoire and written some incredible songs. If I worked for Virgin Records I would have already signed him…twice. Love it. Check it out.

It's nice to think about photography and music for a while and be reminded that this world is an incredibly beautiful place.

That’s all for now. Back to the books. Much love.

Make It Rain

I am sitting at Wild Joe's, a new coffee shop in Bozeman, working on homework with Fisher. Fisher is listening to his ipod and I am just listening to the soundtrack the coffee shop has to offer; sounds of steaming milk, soft jazz, the steady hum of the refrigerator and the muffled conversations of those around me. Strait ahead of me is a wall of windows looking out into a very cold, windy and wet fall day.

Fisher and I were supposed to get up early and work putting in a fence. When I woke up at 7:15 a.m. the wind was blowing rain strait in through my window and we decided to put off the fencing job.

There is something delightful about being controlled by the weather. I often forget to notice the ever changing force because of modern niceties like air conditioning or heating. I can go a whole day jumping from one controlled climate to the next—home, car, school, etc.—without so much as taking note of the weather patterns. But not today. Today I have been pushed indoors by foul weather and I now sit admiring its constant presence as I sip on my London fog and work on my Math 450 homework.

A Little Bit Embarrassed

There has been a certain increase of protesters and demonstrators on Montana State's campus this year. These sorts of demonstrations are all too often done by those who have a very minority opinion and are all the more emboldened because of it. Many of those who demonstrate and thereby subject themselves to the general resent of the campus usually do so out of a religious or moral conviction. They often have become so entrenched in a certain issue—abortion, homosexuality, a political affiliation—that they become unable to relate in any way with those who have a different opinion about the relative issue. Because of this, campus demonstrations are hardly ever grounds for honest and progressive debate, certainly not the ones I have been witness to. Instead, they lead towards intensified bitterness and polarization.

This was certainly the case yesterday when a group of people holding massive signs proclaiming Christ were mocking those who were simply trying to make their way to class. They shouted that school and Montana State as an institution was turning us all into 'wimps' and that we had to 'take responsibility for our actions,’ because ‘hell is real and eternity is serious.’ They also demanded that we abandon all forms of structure—including church—to find God through revelation alone. My friend Gue was given a pamphlet as he cruised down the mall and as the person handed the pamphlet to him he told him, 'wake up, hell's a real place and you're going there.' They have no idea who Gue is.

These protesters make me so uncomfortable. Actually, they make me incredibly angry. I feel like they ruin my credibility as a Christ follower and make a joke out of something I take so seriously. I left campus heated yesterday wondering how people who claimed Christ could act so foolishly.

A little while later, I realized that some of my thinking was pretty off-base. In no way do I support the message they deliver and definitely not the way in which they choose to deliver it, but still, they are as human as me. They are necessarily God's children, like the rest of us. I would even say that in a lot of ways, we have the same message. Have I not done something in the name of Christ that would make another Christ follower cringe? I am sure some of you reading this know that I certainly have. What authority do I have to judge the faith of these campus demonstrators, however much I disagree?

Sometimes I try so hard to disassociate myself with demonstrators like this that I forget they are to be loved like anyone else.

Dem Boys

This last weekend I was graced by the presences of my beloved brother Ryan, as well as Matt, Paul and Sean. That's right, the whole young gun crew loaded up in the Maxima and pushed the whip northward towards Bozeman.

Before they got here I was trying my best to put together some plans to 'really impress' them. I wanted to show them the type of weekend that would have them filling out the MSU applications and running to the bookstore to get their Cat Claws.

We climbed a mountain, roasted some marshmallows and soaked in some hot springs. It was a good weekend, to be sure. But that ended up to not be the point.

What I discovered this weekend was that those guys are family to me. I think I've always known that, but this weekend was a sure reminder. As we climbed and camped I was overwhelmed by the way we understood each other. By the way we cared for each other. By the way we knew each other. They reminded me, so casually, of where I came from.

You boys have become a part of what I consider family and an important part of who I am. Thanks for your subtle and not so subtle reminders of all that I consider home.

YoungLife Tonight

Bozeman YoungLife club kicks the year off at 7:47 pm tomorrow night. At that time some 50+ kids will roll through the doors of The Rock—where we hold club. Some will know us, some won’t. Some will have been to plenty of clubs before and for some this will be their first. Some will be seniors, eager to finish high school and begin moving towards whatever dreams they have for themselves. Some will be freshman, looking around to others for cues and trying to observe all that is going on. Some will be excited. Some will be nervous. Someone might puke (it’s happened before). Someone will most likely be embarrassed by a skit in front of all their peers. We’ll laugh and joke and sing and dance. We’ll dress up like morons and do our best to make fools of ourselves. It will be club like I’ve known and loved for most of these last 3 years. But all of that doesn’t matter. What is behind all of this is a concern for Jesus and a concern for our high school friends. This grand and awesome procession is put together simply so we can get to know kids and so that we might be given the chance to earn the right to share Christ with them. Now that’s something worth getting excited about.

Sunrise Suprise

12 pm Thursday night. Going to bed wondering whether or not I am going to be able to get this monster homework assignment done. Need to go to work after class. Is there going to be any time? Wish there was more time in a day, wish I could control the day and the sun and its processes.

Wake up in a hurry. Need to shower quickly. No time, no time. My eye is caught by the sun rising slowly over the Bridger Mountains. In an instant, life slows down. I am beckoned to sit on the porch. I must do so. Life slows down. The screech and blur that I had created for myself melts with the amber glow. Life's pace slows to match that of the golden prairie grass swaying back in forth as controlled by the cool and calm breeze of the morning. Dew evaporates and a subtle steam meanders skyward. I am reminded of God in the warmth of the golden sun.

Late Night Musings

It's 12:30 am and I have to be up in six and a half hours. Not too worried, but sometimes I wonder if I am ever going to be one of 'those guys' who naturally wakes up at the crack of dawn to mill around for a few hours before the rest of the world gets moving. My Dad is one of those guys, seems to work for him. The few times I have found myself in some form of elevated consciousness at these hours have been quite pleasant. Yet, the horizon is unseen. I still find energy reserves late into the night that were missing during my Numerical Analysis and Optimization class this morning. I still have to get myself jacked like I am about to set the world record for power cleans in order to rouse myself anytime before 8...maybe even 9. I would be more than fine with it if my biological clock would set itself backwards a few hours, but as for now I will continue to watch a lot more sunsets than sunrises. Goodnight.

My roommate and dear friend, the esteemed Mathew Brackett Fisher, has started a blog of his own. He's a good writer. Have a look.

Have a Super Day

I have been asked on several occasions what sort of super powers I would choose given the opportunity and my replies have been varied. As a younger person I was pretty sure I wanted to fly or sling webs onto buildings in order to skate from one block to another in New York City. Then I realized that teleporting would accomplish the same goal with an even greater range. Then, a year or so I go I started responding to the question saying that I would want to be unaffected by food and sleep. That I could eat or sleep but that I didn't have to and I would be able to stay up all night or run incredible distances without stopping. Really? If I could have any power in the world I would want to stop eating and sleeping? Wow, my creativity has been snuffed by linear algebra and advanced calculus.

So, in the spirit of creativity and imagination I put a little thought into it and my new superpower would be...man, Brianne's jumping into pictures is good...uh...I want to fly...and not have to eat? Uh, pathetic. How about technopathy? which is having the ability to interact with computers and machines through extra sensory perception. Getting worse.

It seems like I am just choosing the things I wish that I could have more control over. I wish sometimes that I had more time in a day and not eating or sleeping would provide while at the same time robbing me of two activities I really enjoy. As an innocent youngster I chose flying simply for the joy of flying but then gave up the joy for a more effective less enjoyable teleporting. My creativity has been stifled because some parts of my life have lost their romance and beauty. Duty and task have replaced passion and fulfillment because I have looked elsewhere then God to find these. I am just now beginning to realize how enticing lovers less wild than He can be and how unknowingly we can choose to serve them. What I really want is the heart to avoid these lesser lovers which strip my life of passion and purpose, and one that chooses to live as it was created to do so--as well as the grace to be forgiven when I don't.


Also, I would want to a human bouncy ball.

Less Than Triumphant Return

As is the case with going back to something you have neglected for some time, it doesn’t always come easily. The issue is not so much remembering how to ride that bike which has sat around for months as much is it is about actually convincing yourself to go have a ride.

I, ashamedly, have let this blog slip a bit. If you are interested in my excuses please see included list* because I will not include them here—they are worthless. For the past month or two I have awaited some sort of inspiration for blogging, but as my blog called to me like that old forgotten baseball glove begging to be broken back out I realized that as much as I concern myself with how well my blog will be received by others what I loved about it was thinking through and formalizing my thoughts and reactions to my experiences. Moreover, what I have appreciated so much about the blogs of others has been vulnerability and the permeation of people’s unique personalities. So, in order to make sure that I am actually thinking about life and being vulnerable even to myself, I blog on.

Brianne came to Bozeman for Labor Day weekend so that we could celebrate our anniversary together. Using the word anniversary is, I am sure, well received by those who have born with us using the term ‘montheversary’ for the past eleven months. We celebrated each other and reflected on the past year. Looking back at a year that involved incredible distances that we still felt produced such fruit and beauty caused us to sit in awe at a big God as we saw his signature in Glacier National Park. It is amazing to slow down enough to see what is and has been going on all around you the whole time.

Also, I am in college. My last year of college. It is both intimidating and exciting to sit on the edge of the rest of your life, but I guess everyday is kind of like that if you choose to think of it that way.

*List

1) Summer was in full bloom and I was outside.

2) Somehow, after writing about adventures in New Zealand eating Chipotle and watching Dog the Bounty Hunter Marathon on TLC didn’t seem so interesting.

3) My fingers hurt…“Oh yeah, well now your backs gonna hurt because you just pulled landscaping duty”

I feel in some ways lost in the realm that is blogging. For the last semester I have recorded some of my experiences and thoughts and in some way this made me feel grounded. It has now been longer than a month without a post and I feel as though I have floated to the outer reaches of the blogosphere and am in danger of never returning.

I had/have a big desire to unpack and reflect on my semester abroad, but this desire isn't met with an abundance of time. Not sure what it is about lazy summers that can just make it seem like there is no longer time for an activity such as blogging...but I am not complaining. Life hasn't stopped with my blog entries and though I wish I could write more I am not upset to be lured away from the computer by summertime, family and friends.

I am glad to be currently living with a portion of the community which makes up our small bloggermunity which might explain the decline in posts.

The plan for now is to continue blogging, though I am not sure when that will be remotely consistent again.

Bryce, please don't take me off your list.

Much love.

It’s 2:38 am, Do You Know Where Your Head’s At?

I am sitting in the common room of flat 38—the place that I have called home for these last five months. This morning I took a three hour essay test, handed it to the instructor, walked out the door and finished my junior year of college. I threw all my clothes into bags, took all my pictures off the walls, decided what things to keep and what things to trash and all of the sudden my room was just like it was when I arrived—not mine. Tonight at dinner my Dad, Ryan, Tom, Lynn, Chris and I had a toast celebrating the trip that we have just shared and marking its end. After dinner, everyone who’s around came to the flat and we carried on just like we had throughout countless nights before and we reminisced on all the experiences and adventures we found; then, everyone left for the last time.

Today has been one of the biggest days of transition of my life. It marked the transition into my last year of college, the beginning of summer, the end of an incredible trip shared with people I love and the transition away from an entire semester abroad—something that I couldn’t hardly see beyond six months ago and something that affected me more greatly than I could have guessed. Tomorrow, actually in 2 hours I transition myself away from Christchurch, New Zealand via some 40 hours of traveling and back to Longmont, Colorado for the summer and then on to Bozeman, Montana a couple of months later for my last fall semester.

The obvious feelings of both sadness about leaving and excitement to be home again with the people I love, the same feelings which have found me at the commencement of other school years or summer camps or long trips—these feelings are present but they are different somehow. Perhaps they are the same but my approach to them is different, all I know is that something is different. I feel like there is an incredible amount of feelings somewhere that I can begin to let surface resulting quickly in a small pain in my stomach that forces me to push them back down and ignore them a while longer. I think that maybe it just isn’t time yet to fully reflect on my time here and fully anticipate the time ahead of me. Actually, I think that it is likely that my brain or some other important part of me would turn to a guacamole type consistency and texture if this were to happen, but I have tried.

I have had several prescribed attitudes towards this time of transition that I have tried my best to implement, but these efforts have proved fruitless. The first was an attempt to understand this transition is a ‘bittersweet’ one. The bitter obviously being an end to an incredibly unique time here in New Zealand that I won’t be getting back, and the sweet being eager anticipation for my return home where people who I miss dearly are, where summer adventures await and where the wedding of a great friend and a man who I admire unendingly is to take place in five days. The second prescribed attitude I tried to own was being more grateful for my time here than I am upset that it is ending, letting my feelings of thankfulness completely subdue my feelings of grief. The third attempted attitude was one of confidence; understanding that my time here was incredible, that my future holds more incredible adventures to be lived like this one and that I understood the nature of an abroad program and its unavoidable end when I came here, and that it is now just at hand.

I tried these different attitudes, I experimented with how they would make me feel, how they would organize what I am feeling and what the fallout would be and I am not satisfied. To label something bittersweet is too simple; it ignores both the bitter and the sweet by simply appointing the term ‘bittersweet’ to the feelings and assumes that they sort of cancel each other out, in a way. This isn’t fair to the intense bitter and the incredible sweet, both of which deserve to be sorted and acknowledged. While I am incredibly grateful for my time here—grateful for this unique experience which was provided me by the unending support of people I could never repay for what they have given me—letting gratefulness just overrule sadness ignores the issue again. And confidence certainly could describe the way I feel about my decision to come here and my understanding that this good thing is coming to an end while many other great things are just beginning, this still seems like an arrogant way to conveniently dismiss the great sadness which finds me as I finish this leg of my journey.

I tried on all these different attitudes as I described my sentiments to others about this transition and simply found myself frustrated with their inability to represent and appreciate everything that is rushing through my spinning head. Even as I confidently explained these attitudes and how they nicely package my mood, that creeping feeling in the pit of my stomach signaling something much more vested surged.

Maybe when I meet transitions it isn’t about a certain attitude or compartmentalization of moods/feelings/thoughts. I came to New Zealand eager to understand what was for me here and found none of what I expected while at the same time finding something more than expectations could have predicted. I came seeking serene landscape, a break from the ‘real world,’ adventure and excitement. What I found was people, relationships, adventure, excitement, serene landscape, the ‘real world,’—an adventure which can’t be broken down into bullet points of what I have learned and an experience which impacts cannot be easily identified or categorized. I have collided with an opportunity in a way that is certain to leave a mark, and I see it as a beautiful collision.

Leaving this place saddens me. It is not so much the physical location, though I will miss all that this incredible island has to offer, but it is this time, these people, this leg of the journey and the things that I have been afforded to learn by all of that.

In the midst of the deep sadness and slight fear that characterizes my feelings as I depart in a couple of hours are anxious feelings of excitement to be home. Excitement for the wedding of Bryce and Kate, excitement to see the friends I have held so close to my heart and that I have missed for five months, excitement to celebrate five months of incredible distance in my relationship with Brianne and discovering what two months in the same place can be like, and to return to the place which has always defined the word ‘home’ uniquely to me.

I sit in the waiting room of an incredible transition from an indescribably awesome chapter of life and another that I look forward to with eager anticipation. Though feelings and sentiments are mixed, though my head is spinning from trying to reflect on these last five months and the result is a small but persistent pain just below my diaphragm, I am struck by the goodness of past, present and future, and surely can appreciate the beauty of transitions…especially this one.

One Last Go

I haven't blogged in a while and for good reason; I have been traveling around this island one last time accompanied by my Dad, my brother, my Aunt Lynn, Chris and Taylor. We are on the last leg of the classic South Island loop, which now after 5 months has many places that are dear to me. I have gotten to experience things once more, to remember the last time(s) I was there and show this place that I have come to love to people I love. It has been a good way to go out.

I am now sitting at the Te Nikau Lodge in Punakaiki--my new favorite place that I have stayed. These lodges are nestled deep in the rain forest of Paparoa National Park and one of the most beautiful coves I have seen yet is a 5 minute walk away. I am going to go down there in a little while to watch the sunset.

Tomorrow we drive back to Christchurch, ending our loop and ending my last road trip here in New Zealand. I take a test on Monday, pack, say goodbye and then leave Tuesday. I haven't hardly had a second to think for the past couple of weeks--my energy has been invested into traveling and the people who came to visit--but I am looking forward to a 14 hour plane ride (sick, I know) and some time to reflect on and remember these last 5 months.

I will be home soon.

I Can't Believe This was 2 Weeks Ago

Tuesday, May 22nd:

Today would be Brianne’s last full day here. It is often hard not let the fact that someone is leaving affect the last moments that you have with them, but we did our best.

Brianne and I took a trip out to Sumner Beach, just 20 minutes east of Christchurch, and cruised along its coast on a nice fall day. Sumner beach is one of the most popular beaches in the summer time, but on this fall day we had a good portion of it to ourselves. From the beach we headed into the town of Sumner—a small town that is a cross between a beach bum town and a tourist center. We had New Zealand’s famous fish and chips and then continued up to the port hills.


We had intended to do a little bit of rock climbing, but on arrival a cold wind was blowing across the crag and we thought better. Instead, we went to New Brighton, another beach town, and had some coffee to warm up. Hanging out at the coffee shop was awesome, it was very nice to just chill after 10 days of strait traveling and activity.

After coffee we decided to hit up the local thrift store to see if any treasures awaited us. For me it was a pair of hot pink Nike running shorts which barely covered up and a white shirt with neon green collar and this on the pocket: For Brianne it was a ¾ length light brown silky coat with fur coated neck and arm holes to be worn with leggings and Ugg boots…We’ll just have to show you some time.

That night Brianne and I had decided to make dinner for my flatmates. We prepared white wine and garlic cream sauce mussels served over pasta with some amazing garlic bread and white wine to compliment. Yeah, I know what your thinking, sounds fancy. And besides the state of our kitchen and appliances, it was. It was a perfect way to celebrate Brianne’s time here and to have everyone together once more. We spent the rest of the evening laughing, telling stories, getting a little bit sick, getting better again and making the most of our few last hours together.

Wednesday, May 23rd:

Today was the day which we had been trying our best not to think about. We had succeeded for the most part and yet it still came. We grabbed coffee and breakfast together one last time and then shuffled down to the airport.


Goodbyes are never easy, and Brianne and I have had our fair share. A couple weeks prior Chris and I had been waiting for Brianne in the airport when Chris commented on just how much of our relationship has been in airports. I think that I have said goodbye to Brianne in airports some seven times in the last nine months and they don’t get much easier with practice.

This goodbye was particularly hard. It marked the end of something that I had been dreaming about ever since I knew I was coming abroad to New Zealand. It marked the end of a grand adventure. It marked the end of a time that we would never have back.

I feel like this has been the case with a lot of Brianne and mine’s time together. It is more than incredible but there is always that goodbye at the end. It is inevitable. There is no avoiding it or trying to make it easier. It has sort of become standard for us, for our relationship which has spanned countries and continents.

Still, I am learning to cling to hope rather than sink in disappointment. I am learning that as grand adventures end new ones begin. Perhaps not immediately, but as life moves forward we are provided more chances for adventure and these experiences create memories of their own.

Yes, it was hard to say goodbye. Really hard. But as hard as it was it can’t compare to the gratefulness I feel for having been giving an opportunity to spend those weeks together, nor can it compare to the excitement I have for the journey ahead.

Darkened Night Skies

Sunday, May 20th:

Chris had texted our favorite surrogate Aunti Sue and she insisted they we come to their house on the Marlborough Sounds. The Marlborough sounds sweep across the northeast corner of the South Island and offer spectacular views for tourists and locals as well as home to seals and even whales. They are a popular destination for sea kayakers and hikers.

We feasted once more, this time on eggs, kumara potatoes, ham, mushrooms, onions, capsicum, Swedish pancakes and apple juice. We were so excited to have a full, nice kitchen to use that we couldn’t help ourselves. After our last smorgasbord at the house in Nelson we cleaned up after ourselves as best we could, loaded all of our bags in the nearly bottomed-out Vista and headed northeast for Havelock.

We arrived at their house after only a little more than an hour. We didn’t know what to expect, but we certainly could not have expected what we got. Their house was a mere toss of a rock from the sounds. From their driveway you could see layers upon layers of mountains and hills coming up out of the ocean water. They had a goat and chickens. When we arrived Sue was chatting with one of her friends whose kids were running around with Sue’s while Kip was out back working to erect their new shed. It was a very typical, and somehow therefore pleasant, farm scene.

We immediately noticed strong and sweet smells perfuming the house and Sue informed us that she had been baking—muffins for this afternoon, an apple pie for desert tonight and a couple of chocolate cakes for us to take on our trip back. We were being spoiled and enjoying it to the fullest.

That afternoon we had a friendly in the backyard with little Kip (their son) and Kendall (their daughter) who were quite good soccer players. It was raining and we were having a ball sliding and diving and getting all wet on an incredible Sunday afternoon. At one point the clouds cleared and a ray of sunlight penetrated right down to the sounds. It was like a hole had been punched in the clouds and the brilliance of the heavens was shining through to the water below. We all stopped, well all of us who didn’t live there, and wondered how incredible it must be to live there.

That night, after dinner and after we had a soak in their hot tub, we played our third and final game of spades. The series had been tied up, 1-1, and this game was for all the glory. Somehow, through some sort of miracle or gap in the space-time continuum, Chris and I managed to lay a sound beating on Brianne and Annika. I won’t go as far as mentioning the actual score because most of you reading this probably wouldn’t know what it meant anyways, but lets just say it was a fairly good trouncing.

Monday, May 21st:

We took our sweet time getting out of bed that morning and even managed to cook another fairly good breakfast before we had to say goodbye to all the amazing friends we had made and to the luxurious weekend we had just had because of their hospitality. Kip was the only one left in the morning—the others had gone back to their house in Nelson—and we did our best to show our appreciation and exchanged phone numbers and emails.

A few short hours later we arrived in Kaikora. Kaikora is only a couple of hours, at the most, from Christchurch but Chris and I had still never been. We had heard of peoples grand adventures their and the beautiful coastline scenery cut by massive peaks that we would find.

After we had had a quick lunch we decided to go for a walk on the Kaikora Peninsula. It was already 4 pm so we hurried to the trail head and started walking along the rocky shore. On the peninsula we saw tidal pools, teeming with life that seemed to flow back and forth even without the steady current of the ocean, seal colonies and rock formations which seemed out of place for a beach, or anywhere for that matter. We stopped to devour the cake Sue had so graciously baked for us near the water where we could watch the waves come crashing in over the rocks to the sound of seal colonies barking.

We walked back along the ridge above the immediate shoreline to get some better views of the peninsula. At the end of the track there was an observation station where we decided to stop and watch the sunset at. It started off averagely, the sky gently going from blue to a faint orange. Then, all of the sudden, like God had decided to pay attention to this sunset, it exploded into vibrant, brilliant color. To the west was dark orange and red cut by the mountains and to the east hues of purple which transformed the ocean into swirling color. It was one of the more magnificent sunsets that I had ever seen.

The rest of our night consisted of Brianne driving back to Christchurch, Sushi and another game of Spades. Brianne and I managed to rally late, very late, and squeak out a come from behind victory much to the disgust of Annika and Chris. It was a good day.

I'll Sift Your Sand if You Golden My Beach

Saturday, May 19th:

That morning, after we ate an amazing breakfast, we loaded up in the very full, now low-riding Vista, and headed northwest out of Nelson for Abel Tasman National park. We had found a nice walk on the map that started on the south end of the track and ended in Anchorage Bay where we would take a water taxi back to where we had lest the car. The Abel Tasman is one of the most frequently visited National parks in New Zealand, most of our friends had already been and we had heard lots of stories about its beautiful beaches and luxurious lagoons. We had no idea.

Even the drive into Abel Tasman was beautiful—picture sunny beaches with pristine blue waters. Along the road was an occasional house, making me wonder who had the privilege of walking outside each morning to their own front deck and seeing these most incredible beaches.

We met some of those people in Marahau, the small town at the southern end of the Abel Tasman Great walk. The people there all wore smiles, ear to ear, and were more than happy to answer your questions and tell you about some of their favorite places—also telling you that the place you were going is amazing. They seemed to be in no hurry and on no agenda. With beaches and coastline like that, how could you be?

With our water taxis scheduled, we hit the track at about 11am with a three hour hike into Anchorage Bay. The walk was nice, following the coastline on a very well maintained track. And, to my surprise, we hardly saw any others on it. After a short and very calm walk we were in Anchorage Bay. I had heard the term ‘gold sand beaches,’ but never experienced it. Anchorage Bay had golden sand like I don’t think that I could have imagined. It was incredible. We immediately ate our lunch—leftover chicken parmesan from the night before—and began to explore the nooks and crannies of the Bay we had just discovered.

That day was surprisingly beautiful with unseasonably warm weather. We spent the rest of the day swimming in the ocean and relaxing on the beautiful gold-sand beaches.

When the water taxi came to pick us up, we were on the other end of the beach taking pictures, requiring that we make a mad dash with all our crap flailing everywhere to catch the boat before it departed with out us. Barely making it, we grabbed our seats and readied ourselves to see some of the same gorgeous coastline from our now sea born vantage point.

The guys operating the water taxis had it down to a science. I suppose that they should be pretty good at it since that’s all they do, but still, it was impressive. All of the sudden, I saw a small tractor facing away from us, when our boat driver pulled right behind him. The tractor, without stalling, pulled away with us now attached via a trailer that had previously been hidden underwater. He skillfully maneuvered his was along the ocean deck which was covered in a few feet of water. He made an awful lot of turns, seemingly to avoid ruts, for not being able to see the bottom. Next, the tractor slowed to a stop, unloaded the kayak we had gathered on the boat, secured the boat to the trailer, and was moving again in mere seconds. We then left the water and hit the open road in the back of a boat being towed by a relatively small tractor. It was a thing of beauty. And as I sat in the back of the boat I found myself wondering who this man driving the tractor was, where he came from and how he got himself into a position where all he had to do to live was haul boats around incredible beaches in this small, 1950s tractor.

Back in Nelson that night was an empty house (the family had left for their other house in Marlborough Sounds) and more leftover chicken parmesan which we were more than happy to eat for the third strait meal. We played Spades that night (not unlike Hearts) and sparked a rivalry that would last the rest of the trip. Chris and I were matched up against the ever cunning Brianne and Annika, who beat us the first night. Needless to say, we were going to play best out of three.

Hospitality, Hospitality, Hospitality

Thursday, May 17th:

Our original plan was to leave Thursday for the Abel Tasman, hire a sail boat and spend the weekend touring Abel Tasman’s many beaches and lagoons. However, the small company which charters sail boats had closed down for the season, pulling each of their 4 boats off the water for maintenance and repairs. Distraught, we improvised.

Chris, Myself, Annika and Brianne decided we head west, then north, then come back down to Christchurch along the East coast in a big loop of the northern part of the South Island. We loaded into the car around 2 pm and drove the familiar road to Caste Hill. I wanted to take Brianne out climbing there since I had talked so much about it, plus Annika had never climbed there herself. Arriving at about 3pm gave us some two hours to explore all the problems Castle Hill has to offer. It was an unseasonably warm day and I was very thankful for it. We spent the remaining sunlight bouldering and taking pictures, really a spectacular afternoon.

From there we were headed to Greymouth. Chris and I had met a guy named Tony who owns a hotel there. When we first met him the first thing he asked was if we had been to Greymouth, we told him yes to which his response was a question, ‘Where did you stay?’ We told him the Global Travelers backpacker, which angered him as he explained that Greymouth was his town, and when we stayed in his town we would stay in his hotel. Ok, ‘Tony, we’re coming to your town.’

He was quick to oblige, offering us the ‘family sweet’—a large room with a kitchen, living room and two bedrooms. Certainly a bit different from the backpacker we stayed at last time, or the beach we slept on and it sand flies the time before that. Brianne and I competed against Chris and Annika in a pizza making contest, which ended up being a bit trivial since we both liked our own the best. After pizza we sprawled out and gloried in the amount of room we had, the sandless state of the ground (I mean beds) we would be sleeping on and the water shooting functions of the shower we had. It was quite nice.

Friday, May 18th:

We awoke with ambitions to head North, Abel Tasman National park bound. But first, Chris called his friend's aunt who happens to live in Nelson (very near there) who was referred to Chris by that friend as ‘the coolest aunt in the world.’ We were surprised at just how accurate that statement became. She (Sue, the ‘coolest aunt in the world’) advised us to go to Abel the next day and come to Nelson and stay at their place for the night. Surely, she thought, we would tired of camping (little did she know we had stayed in the nicest hotel in Greymouth the night before) and in desperate need of a home cooked meal. We all smiled and motored toward Nelson.

We stopped briefly on the way along the coast in a couple of spots. The west coast of New Zealand is unlike any coastline I have ever seen. It is endless beach after beach after beach and beautiful bay after bay after bay. I think that any one bay along the West Coast from Greymouth north rivals any other I have ever seen in my life, and they continue on this way for hundreds of kilometers. It is an incredible drive.

However, we did not want to be too late to our surrogate aunt’s house so we made good time up the coast towards Nelson. When we arrived at Kip and Sues home we were blown away by their hospitality. I think that everything was offered to us except their cars, which I am sure they would have made us use if they had some to spare. They were incredibly hospitable and our ‘home cooked meal’ turned out to be some 20 chicken parmesans, a fresh salad, pasta, bread…the works. It was so great to sit around with a family over a home cooked meal and exchange stories for several hours. I miss that about home.

It Starts with Passing Wind and Ends with A Workout Circuit in Eurotrunks

Tuesday, May 15th:

We were awoken that morning, at the Port Williams Hut, by the roaring flocculent of a 15 year old sleeping across the room. Beats and alarm clock I suppose. The sun was just coming up; the sky turning from black to grey to blue. We had wanted an earlier start on the day to be sure that we would make the ferry back to Bluff (the southernmost town on the South Island) at 3:00 pm.

The second day turned out to be even better than the first. As we hiked the clouds began to lift, the sun came out and the tide was lower—allowing s us to walk on beach. We had gotten an early enough start and hiked the trail quickly enough the day before that we took our time. We took several stops on different beaches to watch waves crash against rocks, birds float in the surf hunting for tiny sea creatures, fluffy white clouds roll across the sky and the tide gradually make its way up the beach. We saw not another person along the trail the entire day; the beaches were all ours and we reveled in the beauty of our surrounding and the remoteness of our location.

We finished the trail sometime around noon with the hour and a half walk back to town still ahead of us. We had hoped, probably unreasonably, that there might have been someone in the parking lot who could offer a ride—there wasn’t. Still, we only ended up walking for about a half hour until a construction worked invited us into the back of his flatbed pickup on his way to lunch. We were quite glad not to have to walk the 5 kilometers back along the road.

We made it with plenty of time for the ferry, enough that we grabbed some lunch, visited Joe and Andy and planned where we would go next. We boarded the ferry around 3 pm and braced ourselves for another gut wrencher. This one turned out to be worse. I still can picture the seven year old boy sitting across from us crying with an actually green face. I have never seen a shade like that on a human before.

When we got back to our car, we immediately started driving for the Catlins. The Catlins lie along the Southern coast of the South Island and offer home to penguin and seal colonies. We drove in at night to a charming hostel where a polite man named Duane showed us where we could cook, watch movies, shower, ect. We had a great dinner then turned in early, being still tired from the hike (and maybe the ferry trip) that day.

Wednesday, May 16th:

We woke up and realized that the hostel we had stayed at sat directly adjacent to a beautiful bay called Surat Bay. Once again, driving into places late at night can offer a spectacular surprise. The other thing that we were surprised by was gale force winds. I noticed several birds walking along the ground, refusing to fly because of the strength of the wind. We decided that we would head back to Christchurch quickly that morning and try to spend some time with everyone there.

We got back around 5 pm and exchanged stories with my roommates who had had adventures of their own. We decided to go out for dinner that night, and after we had shared stories and pictures we headed downtown. We ate at Chris and mine's favorite restaurant, Honey Pot. They have these amazing open faced sandwiches that I won’t even begin to try and describe. Only those of you coming here will realize the glory of Honey Pot. Sorry about it.

When we came back to the Flat something come over Chris, Brianne and myself and all of the sudden we looked like Richard Simmons meet NZ tramper meet Eurotrunk models. It was great. We paraded around Ilam Villages pretending to be on a workout circuit and left most people wondering how we could be like that sober. Very fun.

Adventure on Stewart Island

Sunday, May 13th:

Brianne and I parted ways with Frank and Chris to continue south and head for Stewart Island. We made it just in time for our 4 pm ferry departure, found some seats and awaited our cruise to Stewart Island. Brianne told me earlier that she didn’t really like traveling over water, but this boat was pretty large and I told her that is couldn’t be too choppy. I was wrong. Foveaux Srait, in between the New Zealand’s South Island and Stewart Island, is the second worse crossing in the world. At first I was quite excited, the 80 foot boat powering over 25 foot waves was like a roller coaster or the log ride at the old Elitches--but there is a reason that roller coaster are usually only a couple of minutes at most. We both got a little sick, but arrived safe and sound on Stewart Island an hour later.

On the Island we immediately met Joe and Andy at their bed and breakfast. We were taken back at the small town feel which was embodied in these two. Joe was a seventh generation Stewart Islander, and for an island of 200 full time residents, that is quite a bragging right. Andy was from Idaho and his burly beard necessarily suggested that he was created for the remote life Stewart Island offered.

It was great to be on Stewart Island in the off season. During the summer months they see as many as a few hundred visitors a day and the town is distinctly marked by tourists. As we strolled around this little town that only took ten minutes to walk across we saw cars with their keys in the ignition, people working on the homes and stores, artists with the crafts sprawled out—the pace was very slow. We met many locals who were excited to talk to us and treated us with hospitality that I’m sure they are unable to show a couple hundred tourists a day. We had dinner at the local hotel, which offered only a bar, that night. Brianne and I enjoyed the company of several slightly inebriated sailors, we ate our fresh muscles and drank our Five Flax as we prepared for the tramp the next day.

Monday, May 14th:

We were awoken by Andy to fresh Muesli, yoghurt, English breakfast tea and toast. At a quick glance outside we noticed that it was raining and a bit windy, but our bags were packed and our spirits were high so we went down to Golden bay to meet Ken who would take us to freshwater landing in his water taxi and there would begin our tramp. Ken, whom the locals refer to as Kentankerous, wasn’t exactly feeling it. The waves were around 15 feet and Kentankerous was less than excited to brave them in his 12 ft water taxi. We convinced him to give it a go and after a while, as I was getting feet of separation from my seat over the larger waves, Ken, Brianne and I decided that it wasn’t the best of ideas. Ken decided to turn that beast around and we headed back to the DOC office to plan another trip on the spot.

Still eager to get out and see more of the island, we decided to go to Port Williams hut, which is along the Raikuara track—the Great Walk on Stewart Island. We departed from the DOC with an hour and a half walk on the road to the trail head, but the first person we stuck our them out to was more than willing to take us all the way there, a few miles out of his way. Stewart Island is known for its dense temperate rainforests and its flourishing birdlife. It was a delight to be among bush, beaches, and birds like those. The rain persisted lightly throughout the hike but we found that rain can be quite beautiful. Water droplets hung like ornaments from huge green leafs. Everything felt so wet, so clean, so alive. Hiking with Brianne was awesome. It was our first backpacking trip together and the setting couldn’t have been any more incredible. We spent the afternoon laughing, enjoying the beauty around us, running around on the beaches, cooking and eating. We had Port Williams hut to ourselves for the afternoon and much time was spent near the window, safe from the rain enjoying the beauty of our surroundings.

We had anticipated having the hut to ourselves that night, but at about 5 pm, only an hour before dark, a few others started to show up at the hut. First, there were two guys from the states, then another couple guys from Europe, then came a group of 14 high school boys and girls from Timaru—only a couple hours south of Christchuch. Suddenly the 20 bunk hut was full. It is funny how things work out though, we ended up quite enjoying the company of the other people there. We shared stories, ate together, talked about where our adventures should be taking us next and encouraged one another in our journeys. Looking back at our full night at Port Williams Hut, I couldn’t imagine it having been any other way.

Lamentations, Time and B in the Big NZ

Brianne has just left, yesterday actually, and already things are just not quite as good as they were a day ago. I most likely failed a test this morning, I am feeling a little sick, the weather sucks and frankly, I miss Brianne. Not to say that these things are the fault of Brianne leaving, I guess that would be a bit ridiculous, but the contrast should be noted. Not to be too terribly pessimistic but 3 days ago I was in Kaikora with a collection of some of my favorite people in the world watching one of the bests sunsets I have ever been provided and today I am wearing wool socks and a parka, plus I’ve got the heat cranked because I am in the cold and tired stage of being sick.

START READING HERE TO AVOID UNECESSARY WHINING:

My Bloggership has been below par for the last couple of weeks, but with good reason: Brianne came to visit Chris and me and, well, I wasn’t really around much. I went to one class during this time (don’t tell my father) and spent less than 2 whole days in Christchurch and around computers. Basically, life has been about living for the last couple of weeks, not writing about it. Still, now I sit back in my flat with time to reflect and memories to recall. So, instead of wallowing in my self pity I am going to write about and remember our time, these last couple of weeks, in New Zealand.

Usually after long trips I take the sort of lazy way out of writing a lot saying something poetic sounding like, ‘the stories are too numerous and the memories far to dear to depict in words.’ Actually, I think that I wrote exactly that in my blog about Easter Break, but the reality is that I just didn’t want to write. Sorry if you had thought that memories could really be too dear to recall, but I am not sure if they can be. Plus, the adventures of these last two weeks are some of the dearest to me, which is exactly why I am going to do my best to recall them. Instead of posting 10,000 words, getting carpal tunnel and sending you all into boredom or to another blog, I am going to split it up, write a little about a couple days at a time.

Before all that, I want to say that I was sad to see Brianne leave, really sad. It wasn’t just because I won’t see her for a month; it was more because it was the end of a saga, a glorious adventure. Never again could we share that time. Never again will we be in the same circumstances and setting. Never again we’ll we drive down to Stewart Island for the first time, watch our first New Zealand sunset together, see Abel Tasman…you get the point.

I began to think about the hopelessness of time; and more than that, the amount of energy I put into wishing that it would go faster, slower, ect. I certainly invested some into wishing that it could slow while Brianne was here, or that it could reverse now.

I began to think about what I want from my time, what I except with my time when all of the sudden my thinking was turned around. I was convicted by the selfishness which was inherent in this sort of thought. My time? My expectations? Sometimes some of God’s most simple truths are the easiest to forget, and for me this was one of those times. My time is not my own, it has been given to me, it is a gift. That doesn’t mean that I won’t try to enjoy or make the most of it, but instead of worrying about changing it or getting more of it I am going to be thankful for the time I get. I am incredibly thankful for the time Brianne and I spent here together, it was a greater use of time than I could imagine. I have been greatly blessed to have this time here in New Zealand, I have been greatly blessed to share the last 12 days with Brianne in this country and still I have a hard time trusting that time will be great/fulfilling/worthwhile/meaningful in the future. I will trust and I will try and remember that my time is a gift, one that I am incredibly thankful for.

Also, go read Ryan’s latest blog right now. Really, really good.


Friday, May 11th-

I woke up in utter anticipation. I hadn’t seen Brianne for 3 months. I had almost forgotten what it was like to communicate in real time—no emails or phone calls. I had butterflies in my stomach. I am not sure if this sensation—butterflies in the stomach—is supposed to go away after several months of dating, all I know is that it hasn’t for me, and I like it. Chris and I headed for the airport at 9:30 am to meet Brianne as she arrived at 10:20 am. I skipped into the airport to which an older Kiwi man mentioned to Chris that ‘it had been sometime since he had moved like that’ as he chuckled. We found the gate which Brianne would be unloading from and waited for her to show up. When we realized that some of the people which were coming down the escalator were those from the 10:20 Auckland flight Chris hid behind the empty information counter and I crept over next to the escalator, showing only my eyes hoping that I could spot Brianne before she spotted me. I swore we had made eye contact, as does Chris, but Brianne said that she didn’t see either of us. When I saw her step onto the top of that escalator my heart leapt and I ran underneath to meet her on the other side. She turned to head towards the baggage claim, I suavely walked up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder and all the culmination of my anticipation was at hand. Finally, after three months, a hug. We then nonchalantly strolled by the information center to be started by an eager Nicoletti who had times his boisterous ‘HEY!’ just perfectly to startle Brianne a bit.

We climbed for a while in the Port Hills that afternoon. The great thing about climbing in the Port Hills is that you get an incredible view of Christchurch, Sumner, Kaikora Peninsula, Canterbury Flats and the Southern Alps. Brianne dominated her first ever sport climbing route and Graham, Chris, Brianne and I watched the sun fall behind the giant peaks of Arthur’s Pass.

We went out for Mexican with a large group of us to celebrate our roommate Zoë’s 21st birthday. I thought it was ironic to go for Mexican the first night in New Zealand, which is dominated by Asian and Indian cuisine, for Brianne who had just come from Tex-Mex Promised Land, Colorado, but I was excited for her to meet everyone and visa versa. We went back to the flat early that night because Brianne hadn’t slept in some 40 hours and somehow going to some crazy bar with raging techno music didn’t sound too appealing.


Saturday, May 12th:

We had a lazy morning and spent some two hours cooking and eating breakfast, which wasn’t actually consumed until about noon. Something about running to the store for ingredients, using fresh vegetables and not rushing a good potato scramble makes eating it at noon very satisfying.

After breakfast Brianne and I loaded up the Vista, Chris and Frank loaded up his big green van affectionately referred to as ‘Barbie’ and we started to head South on highway 1. Our first stop was not our best; actually, we have come to refer to the location of our first stop as ‘poop smell beach’. Frank lead us east in hopes to get a glimpse of the mighty south pacific only to be quite surprised when we pulled up to a rocky beach adjacent to a animal processing plant complete with a tube pouring fecal matter into the waters. This is very a-typical of New Zealand and Chris, Frank and I decided that it was definitely the worst thing we had seen in here to date. Oops. To make things worse, Frank decided that it would be a good idea to try and turn Barbie around on the beach which resulted in the submersion of his back left tire into the soft sand. Brianne and I had gone ahead and then come back only to find Frank revving the engine while Chris shoved some pieces metal underneath the tires. We unloaded from the Vista and were once again hit with poop smell beaches terrible scent, which seemed so thick I was afraid to chew. Eventually the Van became unstuck and we continued on our way.

That night was spent on the Otago Peninsula just east of Dunedin. We arrived at our destination in dark, which is one of my favorite things to do because you get to be awoken in a completely new setting, and this one was quite beautiful.

Really, I Can't Think About Much Else Right Now

On Friday morning at 10:20 Brianne gets here to Christchurch. It has been more than 3 months since we have last been in the same place. Our relationship has always been categorized as ‘long distance,’ but I don’t think that I quite understood just how really long ‘long’ can be. We have fought hard to have a presence in each other’s lives despite an amazing amount of distance and different settings. It has not always been entirely easy to communicate through emails, phone calls and letters but our connection, I have found, is beyond verbal or written communication. We have found the understanding and peace comes from God through prayer, and though I have not always been completely diligent he has always been faithful. This semester has been hard, yet difficult times have the potential to produce fruits and we have worked hard to ensure that this semester will be a fruitful one.

Friday morning will be the first time in three months I have seen Brianne, the first time in three months that I have gotten that subtle reassurance that a smile provides and a time to share in an adventure here in this place and somehow I know that because of the trial which these three months has been it will be all the better.

Solemn Joy

Even though I saw "Tears of the Sun" on my seventeenth birthday (first legal R rated movie) and didn't like it, I quite enjoyed this article from relevantmagazine.com. I thought it articulated well the relationship between privilege and action. It is not always clear how we can be joyful while so many cannot imagine it.

Better Late Than Never

This post is a little less than timely, in fact I probably would have been docked a letter grade or two had this been an assignment, but seeing as today is Brianne and mine’s 8th montheversary (yes we count every month, and yes we made that word up) and because the things others had to say when the last Quarter Life dropped were so amazing I felt compelled to respond. The string of posts involving this topic are spawned from the creation of the ‘Quarter Life’—a series of blogs written from their quarter life perspective—created by Bryce and Aaron.

First, you should read these other Quarter Life blogs about romantic relationships:
Bryce Perica
Aaron Boeke and Aaron's Rd. two
Brianne Fowler

Then you should know that my views of relationships come distinctly from my experiences with them and yours may be different. Never would I assume that my thoughts should be yours or visa versa. Think of what is said in this post more like a conversation than statement.

Romantic relationships have long been a mystery to me, which isn’t too terribly surprising because I spent a lot more time going camping, climbing on top of buildings and eating during my teenage years than pursuing dating type relationships. I am not sure why I dated so little during that time, perhaps it was the fact that I had great friends whom I was completely content hanging out with, maybe it was because I was a bit afraid of girls and intimacy or perhaps it was because I was a bit awkward when it came to the ladies. Probably, d) all of the above. I don’t wish that I had dated more during that time, nor do I regret any of the relationships or attempted relationship prior to the one I am in now since all those things have played a part in my relationship education and have uniquely affected my views of relationships as well as my relationship with Brianne today. Since it is all a process of learning, discovering and understanding I think that there is an opportunity to learn and be positively affected by every relationship as we strive to learn intimacy in other relationships—both romantic and otherwise.

Actually, when I look back to what I know of relationships I realize that I have learned, perhaps vicariously (hopefully that’s not creepy), through the relationships of my good friends. Chris and Amanda taught me a lot during high school about what it means to delight in each other, to love with abandonment, to not make it weird for me to be a constant third wheel since we were basically a tricycle. Bryce and Kate have shown me what it means to love someone without conditions, to persevere, to seek to worship God in their relationship. Travis and Rachael have shown me what it means to overcome and to see one another with God’s perspective. This is just to mention a few of the relationships which have helped me learn along the way. Also, I have learned through the endless wisdom of unabashed friendships and honest sharing with many, many others.

I related well to the formulaic approach to relationships which Aaron described in his post. For me the equation for a relationship had just a few elements. It involved a girl, some sort of pursuit which usually equaled me becoming disinterested or distancing myself before I felt too rejected. Yes, mature I know. Yet these relationships, or whatever you want to call them, still managed to teach me some things. And the combination of the wisdom from my friends, healthy marital relationships I saw, what God had to say through the bible and my own experiences with 'dating' got me to a point of understanding a few months back. Defeated by some of the frivolity I saw in my relational pursuits I found myself coming to terms with singleness. I found myself really seeing singleness as a blessing and thought that a period of singleness like Aaron wrote about, no matter how long, isn’t something to run from but something that deserves embracing.

The consequences of this pattern of thinking allowed me to change the way in which I approached relationships with girls. I no longer immediately checked for compatibility in each girl I met and I no longer pursued relationships that I knew would be frivolous. There was quite a peace from understanding that I didn’t have to seek a relationship.

It was this understanding which allowed my thought pattern and my actions to change enough so that I could actually discover the real fruits of a relationship. It was when I gave up on forcing something or trying to create a relationship and allowed myself to act authentically that I was able to be in one.

Being in this relationship has taught me more than I thought there was to learn. I have been encouraged and challenged to have a heart like Jesus’ each and every day. I have learned what it means to have patience in distance, I have been taught what it means to love unabashedly, I have been shown how to work through fears and anxieties to strive towards intimacy. It has been a process of coming together and of seeking intimacy (which is something that must be fiercely sought for). Since it took me the better part of 20 years to figure out how to get myself into the right mindset to even begin a relationship I am assuming that the road of learning about actually being in a relationship will also be a long one. Long, but amazing. I have found that each day is a new one, a new chance to learn and a new chance to love better. I have found that really there cannot be a formula for relationships, there cannot be a certain code of conduct, and that the wisdom of others, however helpful, will never replace experience and working towards something so awesome with a person I care about so deeply.

The beauty of an invested relationship, one where both people are trying their best to put the other first, cannot be translated into words. It is something more challenging and amazing than I could have thought.

Brianne posted yesterday with a quote that really captures Christ’s love and what I strive for in our relationship. Like anything worth doing, it is not always easy, but it has been adventure that I have loved and a journey I am excited to continue.