on wanting you, friend, to particpate

okay, okay. I'm going to do this: a semi-functional post. Because struggling with the Incarnation, Word become flesh, can sustain a blog for only so long, I'll actually do something of utility. How do you like me now?

As I'm sure you've gathered, I'm going on an internship with the HNGR program at Wheaton College. I will be working for six months at FOCUS in Kampala, and I would like to update you on the situation. I will occasionally post on this "thingamajigger," but they will not be functional/helpful/all-that-advantageous-to-be-read (see, I can still undermine myself in a semi-functional posting, hooray for the inadequacy of language!).

All that to actually say, if you would like to receive e-mail updates from me while in Kampala, please make comment that you would like that. Feel free to attach any other encouragements or salutations, because I have no idea what my readership is here. And, I like it when folks respond to my words, it helps them (the words) enter into the communal space–try that one on for Anabaptist size (hooray for obscure theologies!).

And it makes this whole weblog a little less artificial. But it is so, so artificial, isn't it?

So, let's war against the artificiality–let's be vulnerable (in e-mails, where I know who's reading, who they are, what they sound like, what they tend to wear, their demeanors, the impressions of their characters). That doesn't work as war against the weblog, but don't overdo it.

"some people wake up on Monday mornings
barring maelstroms and red flare warnings
with no explosions and no surprises
perform a series of exercises"
"Simple X" - Andrew Bird

on april's effort to match the joy of my anticipation

Today is a beautiful day. The mercury is rising and the clouds have all but departed; the ones left are the pillowy kind–the cotton candy kind. And, it all seems suited to the voices of my favorite singers and songwriters, because that is what a good day does in reinforcing.

And, as I come to a place nearer the place I will soon be in Uganda, I heave big, big sighs because I am going from one place and state of mind to another very different place. I want to learn all about it, and I want to leave this place in good spirits and in good standing with the people I cherish.

So, here I go in going out!

On having been there without being here

I find it increasingly difficult to stay present on campus. Though I had a fabulous time at the Latin Dance (yes, I salsa'ed, and no you cannot handle my hip-shaking) and though I am generally enjoying myself, I constantly find myself imagining the time to come in Uganda.

I've confirmed my internship with an organization called FOCUS in Kampala. And, I'm beginning my e-mail correspondence accordingly. And, I feel ready to go. I'm getting shots; I'm booking flights; I'm cleaning out my drawers; I'm daydreaming about city streets packed from side to side with mini-buses and clay soil. I daydream about clay, because every picture I see online or in travel books the roads, the rows of dirt in between maize or coffee, the underbelly of the foothills, all of them are red-brown. And, I imagine myself caking my fingertips with it after the rain and playing soccer atop it (even though I am a terrible footballer).

How in the context of such fits of imagination could I possibly remain in one mental place–much less a college campus? It seems an unfair stretch to dangle the immensity of a six month internship abroad in front of yourself and expect to be fully engaged with your surroundings. Well, apparently I've been unfair to myself, and I'll just continue to be.

And, even now as I clean my apartment, I am more drawn by the prospect of listening to the new Explosions in the Sky album and closing my eyes to imagine what it will be like, in as much sensuous capacity as I can create with my collective experience.

But, there are things! things to do! spaces to clean! events to plan! and attend! So, here I go.

"the street heats the urgency of sound"

on a growing impulse to go

I heard a voice over the din of the cafeteria and the rumble of the chapel, over the iPod headphones in my ear–over it all–I heard a voice saying, "Go! Go! Go!"

And, I spend the considerable portion of my energy resisting the desire to withdraw. It is not hesitance toward going. No, it is the responsibility–the grown-up impulse–to remain here. To be here is to be present with the twenty-four hundred other people and believe in the worship songs before prayer in chapel.

–I am not gone yet, I repeat to myself to the tune of a contemporary chorus. –Give it three more months, then go, go, go!