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.

Proofs, Poetry, Precepts and Proverbs

I grew up thinking myself a logical and critical thinker, someone who is more thrilled in facts, proofs and science than literature, music or art. When I thought about great thinkers names like Newton, Hawking or Galileo came to mind. I could easily navigate my way through a calculus test and was always a bit less excited to try and ‘express myself’ artistically. My talents molded my interests (naturally) and as my academics became consumed with algorithms, equations and lemmas the way I worshiped God became limited to this same style of thought.

I wanted an algorithm or equation which would define my relationship with him. I wanted Paul to tell me how I could make worshipping God as easy as arithmetic. I wanted Jesus to tell me the kingdom of heaven is like integration—once you’ve got it you got it. Instead what I am told is the Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field, a mustard seed, a merchant looking for fine pearls or yeast—just to note a few of Jesus’ parables. The more I read the bible the more I realize that when trying to describe the Kingdom of Heaven, heavenly truths or God himself, writers tended to employ parable, poetry and proverb, and I found myself frustrated never finding a concrete answer to my questions.

The more that I tried to place God inside of the parameters of some sort of equation the more I found that he slipped outside of them. The more I tried to understand and control God the more he showed himself to be vastly beyond my understanding. ‘Ok,’ I thought to myself, ‘I need to be as good as I possibly can be.’ But then I really read the gospels and found that Jesus was more likely to be in the company of hookers, robbers and frauds. I was confused. ‘Well then,’ my powers of intellect were really carrying me at this point, ‘I just need to be a hooker or a robber.’ But somehow that didn’t make much sense either.

The creative influences of countless people who have understood much better than I have helped me to see that it—following Jesus—isn’t about knowing. It isn’t about having the right answers, and that actually God tends to fall out of our pocket when we just keep him there to pull out and employ when we want the rain to stop or we want a promotion or we want to appear godly. I am learning that it is about worship: that worship is the only thing that I feel I can return to a God so unfathomable, a God without boundaries, a God who turns water into wine, a God who seems to skirt definitions, a God greater than logic.

I have read that there are many ways to worship and experience God, and one of these ways is through mysticism. When I heard that word—mysticism—I thought of crystal balls or Ms. Cleo exclaiming, ‘Call me now!’ in a boisterous Jamaican accent or that book Indian in the Cupboard (not sure why). Instead I am learning that mysticism is not just a thing for gypsies or miniature people, but that I have much to learn from mystical thinkers.

The theologian G.K. Chesterton illustrates the poets (or mystics) approach saying that, “The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician that seeks to get the heavens into his head.” Mysticism is the acknowledgement that many things about God are a mystery to us, a divine mystery, and we can only hope to receive glimpses of heavenly things. Never can we expect to surmise the same power as God, knowing all he knows. We can learn about God, read stories about what he has done and even hear testimonies of his character from those around us but never can we fully understand something so vastly beyond us. Many writers of the bible speak of God not in prose but in poetry because they know that heavenly truths are so great, so immense in size and perfection that they cannot be captured by our minds; we can only hope to align our understanding more with God’s.

The more I quit trying to pin God down, place him in my ‘Things I understand about this world’ category, quit trying to make him a function or equation, the more I understand just how vast and perfect and beautiful and awesome and deserving of my worship he is.

I have always understood that God was unfathomable to us, but it acted as just another piece of the equation instead of actual worship. I know now that when I see the vastness of a mountain range in Fiordland National park, when I see the awesomeness of the glaciers adorning Mt Sefton, when I read the poetry of George MacDonald, when I feel a certain song, when I hear of Davy, Swede, and Rube’s adventures in Peace Like a River, when a meal is shared with those I love, that all these things can all be making me aware of the divine mystery, the wholly, holy incomprehensibly perfect; that at times God comes nearer, that he allows me to experience him and turn in worship for it. I am learning that experiencing and worshipping God is usually more like gazing through a heavenly window than placing him into our logical box.

Reason, logic and knowledge are great and they are something that I still pursue. Understanding how amazingly complex a photon is surely makes me turn and appreciate a Being creative and powerful enough to brings something like this about. Learning how mathematics as a discipline can model almost all that we know about our physical universe certainly excites my heart to know a Creator immense and perfect enough to accomplish this. Yet, still, nothing can define God, nothing can capture him. And often poetry, art, music and landscape can provide us with a momentary glimpse into the heavens.


The one whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow
When I attempt the ineffable Name, murmuring Thou
-Clive Staples Lewis