People are strange

Oh, the things you hear about on Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!. I guess maybe it's kind of sad, in a way, that she's that concerned about being attacked. Maybe she was traumatized or something.

...but it's still pretty funny.

iTunes U

iTunes now offers free lectures and courses from all sorts of universities on all sorts of subjects in their iTunes U store. Maybe this isn't new and I had just never noticed, but it's nifty.

(By the way, I haven't died, I just haven't been blogging. Partially because I'm aesthetically unhappy with my page right now and don't like to look at it. I need to fix that.)

The roof

I've lived here, what, ten months? And today for the first time I discovered that we have a rooftop terrace. With tables, and cushy benches, and a view of the city and the water. And wireless. Hello, new place to work when it's nice outside...

Haydn

I think we're often missing out with music these days. I just listened to Haydn's "Nelsonmesse" ("Lord Nelson's Mass"), and it's freaking amazing. I looked up the background to the mass--partially because it's in German, and partially because I often end up enjoying the music more when I know what to "listen for" within it (maybe someday I'll learn to hear it on my own, but for now I "cheat")--and... Man. It's hard to summarize music in words. Basically he's able to musically express this progression from chaotic terror and despair, with people frantically crying out for mercy, into this swelling Gloria chorus praising God for who He is and remains in the midst of the chaos, then into a declaration and affirmation of the Incarnation (God made flesh!) and triumphant Resurrection, which moves into a soloists-only expression of the intimacy we can now experience with God, and culminates in a joyful choral Dona Nobis Pacem ("give us peace"): certain peace and joy replace the original fear because the triumphant work of Christ has freed His people.

You should go listen to it. Seriously. The narrative Haydn can create with sound: it's like listening to an illuminated manuscript. The words and music both have such beauty and significance on their own, but then together they augment and infuse each other to create this...whole. Bah. I can't describe it. Just go listen.

That said, I think I'll also throw out there that I hate it when people go on and on about how amazing something is and I just don't get it. I listen, or read, or look, and hear pretty music, or read big words, or see a nice painting, but it doesn't move me. So I hope I haven't caused that "what am I missing?!" feeling if you've now gone and listened to Lord Nelson's Mass and shrugged. Or even yawned. (Perhaps I'm the only one insecure enough to wonder what's wrong with me when I seem to be missing what others are enjoying. Or arrogant enough to to think I could cause that reaction in other people, I guess... Hm. But now I'm rambling.)

Anyway. I hope you go listen to some Haydn, and that you like it. Or look at a Caravaggio painting, or a Bernini sculpture, or something. Because there's a lot of beauty even in this messed up world of ours.

So, yeah. Every time I try to end this post it sounds super saccharine or cliche or contrived or just dumb. So I guess I'll just stop.

Bah. This is an extremely unsatisfying way to end a post about something so lovely.

Psychosophy

So, I found out this morning that "psychosophy" was a word before I invented it. I'm not exactly certain what it means to all those other people who think they own it (because I'm lazy and haven't looked it up in detail), but I did see the words "esoteric" and "experimental psychology" being thrown around on the snippets that came up when I googled it.

Please note: I'm not affiliating myself with a specific brand of psychology or philosophy or anything of the kind.

But I was thinking of changing my blog name anyway, just to mix things up. Perhaps this was the sign I didn't know I was waiting for... (Gah! I can't do it: "the sign for which I didnt' know I was waiting..."?)

World Refugee Day

Today is World Refugee Day.

According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), there are now more than 42 million people worldwide who have been uprooted from their homes due to wars, conflicts and disasters. Some of them are refugees, languishing in camps that were meant as temporary shelter but have now seen new generations of children grow to adulthood within their confines. Some of them are Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs), stuck in their own countries--by fear or force or lack of resources to get out--with no place to live or work or take care of their families. Some have been relocated to other continents and told to begin their lives over again. Many of them have seen their family members abused or starved or killed or tortured. All of them spend days into weeks into years battling hopelessness and wondering where to go next.

Yesterday my Karen boys showed me photos and video footage of their homeland in the Karen State (an area of Burma...a sad and complicated history of land-ownership which I won't share here, but if you contact me I'd be happy to explain what I understand about it). Families with children working in fields were shot at without warning. Two beautiful little girls displayed their gunshot scars. A sixteen-year-old civilian had his leg blown off by one of the landmines the Burmese soldiers have scattered throughout the jungles where the Karen and Karreni minorities have fled for "safety" from the attacks on their villages. Chemical bombs were dropped on a resistant faction's outpost. Two thousand people--farmers, basket-weavers, fishermen, children, pregnant women--congregated in a small valley wondering why the soldiers had burned down their houses and stolen their food, and wondering when they would eat again. People were collapsing from untreated injuries and malaria and malnutrition and exhaustion from endless walking with no place to go.

My boys showed this to me, and then we played a cardgame. We goofed off and laughed and practiced English as usual. Two of their friends came over and my boys proudly helped them with their English pronunciation. It was relaxed and normal and fun. It was weird.

At the end of the night, people from the pictures I had seen walked into the living room. My Karen family's new neighbors--a family who arrived from Thailand only eight days ago--came over. It was the dad and his four beautiful children aged maybe two to ten, all still sporting their short lice-resistant haircuts and expressions of excitement and exhaustion and joy. The kids smiled and played with the colorful cards I had brought and looked at my books, and while we were laughing together part of me could still see these children running in terror from soldiers and gunfire towards landmines and starvation, or facing endless days in the squalid boredom and violence of a refugee camp, or being frantically shoved on a raft across a river to safety while their parents held off the soldiers on the near bank.

There are bright spots. There are hundreds of people giving their lives in service to feed and clothe and provide medical attention to uprooted peoples. There are teachers who sneak through dangerous jungles to train new teachers in remote hide-outs so that children can be educated. There are people in North America and Europe and Australia who are opening their doors and hearts to welcome displaced people from all over the world, to help them adjust to their unfamiliar new home and language and life. And there are thousands of refugees who are struggling to maintain their dignity and hope, to smile and learn and love and survive through it all. But sometimes these bright spots seem rather feeble to me in the desperation of these circumstances.

God is a God of hope. His heart is breaking for the hungry and and homeless, whether they're in Burma or Sudan or Afghanistan or downtown Portland. And sometimes--often--I have to remind myself that ultimately He is their savior, not I. But I hope that maybe He can use me somehow to help. There is always so much need, everywhere. It can be overwhelming.

So, as an ending to this quite long and not-so-perky post: May we each be listening to where He is calling us--whether it's a refugee camp or an urban center or a rural airstrip or the suburbs--and spread His peace and hope in the hopelessness of this broken world.

Please pray for the world's refugees today.

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Here's some more information, if you're interested:
UNHCR - the global refugee situation
Burma Issues - the current Burmese situation
Drum Publications - Karen culture

Today's Adventure

It was like a movie: I walk up the nondescript staircase, clean, but ingrained with decades of grime and cigarette smoke, down the hall to the apparently-empty office.

"Hello?"

"Come in," the clipped disembodied voice calls from behind the half-open door with the frosted-glass window. I enter. He sits behind his untidy desk, shuffling papers before a wall covered in laser-printed certificates and diplomas, his beret clashing jauntily with his yellow bowtie. "Kevin LastName," he says, gesturing to a chair for me to sit. "Private Eye."

I was merely getting fingerprinted in order to work as a volunteer with youth at my church, so it wasn't quite as exciting as it could have been, I suppose. But it's good to know there's a bonafied PI down the street from me, just in case.

I'm not dead

I promise you will not be deprived of my amazing-ness as a blogger much longer. I will start writing here again. Just not right at this moment. But--in case you were wondering--I am alive and everything, so you needn't worry.