Black hole

Where should I start? The last time I wrote in reverse chronological order. It's late and I don't know how long I'll last, so this one will be in random time order.

I watched fireworks with almost the entire population of Hajdúböszömény during the "Children's Day" celebration. What a show! The best I have ever seen. Young and old we stood, faces lifted up and watched in wonder and delight - all of us children. Afterwards the glow in the sky was transferred to our hearts, and everyone lingered a while, beautifully. I thought about the coming day when we, with faces lifted up, will look in wonder and delight at the Light of the World.

I had not heard or spoken a word of English for three days until I arrived here at Lia and Zoli's house late this evening. I have stared back at people like a deer in the headlights trying to understand what they said to me. I keep having to fight the urge to say, "Honestly, I'm not stupid, I just can't hear fast enough."

Sometimes I try to fake it and then the other person will say, "You didn't understand, did you?" Sometimes we both get tired of trying and both of us pretend I understood.

But, everyone seems to find it amusing to watch me murder their language and we have laughed a lot, and, in the end, we usually communicate.

I spent the day at the music school with Bencé and Ádám. They have normal classes in the morning and music in the afternoon. I attended Math, English, History (twice), and music composition. All the students are very, very nice and act pretty much like any other teenager I have met. The teachers were nice too, and I could film during class.

For lunch today I had three pieces of bread and a pepsi. That's down a notch from the piece of bread with a slice of meat in it I ate in Paris. Actually, I very much enjoyed the French lunch, and the three pieces of bread today were zsemle - the best bread on the planet. But, Katy, it makes a better story the other way, no?

I'm pretty sure I have recorded some good interviews. I don't really know, because I can't really understand Hungarian. The parts I understood were good, and the people looked convincing.... I know what you are thinking, "Tim, Tim, Tim, how do you get yourself in these situations?

There is a Hungarian guy I took a film class with. Maybe I can buy him dinner and he will interpret the interviews for me.

Tomorrow there will be an informal concert at Ádám's house with lots of family members. They organized it for my benefit. It should be interesting. I didn't really understand all the plans, but it's possible I might be playing something too, after I film a bit.

Sunday I had church with the Kovacs'. They asked me to choose the songs and lead the singing from the piano. It was great, like old times. Then we sat out under the tree and had the message. Afterwards was the feast. If you have eaten at Erzsebet's house you will be jealous.

Sunday was children's day in Hungary. There was a huge festival with people selling things, and bands playing, a carnival, parachute jumpers. Everybody in town was there. Later we watched the video of Edina and Scott's wedding, and looked at pictures on Susan's website.

I am in Debrecen at Lia and Zoli's house. It was great to see them again. I arrived too late to meet their new son Áron, so I have to wait until tomorrow.

Some of you know I hope to make a second film here, telling the story of an amazing group of young Hungarians who came to faith as the result of a short-term mission, and are currently, or have been in full time service for the Lord. Lia will be the first of these. If you are following this blog currently, and are a praying person, pray that I can accurately capture the impact she has made here in Eastern Hungary. (She speaks better English than I do, so one hurdle is already crossed....)

I have no idea what time it is, surely it must be late. So that's it for now.

tim

(warning: this entry is in reverse chronological order)

Saturday night, May 19

I'm writing this from Eastern Hungary. I am filming a documentary about two young pianists, students I met a few years ago. I met with them and their families. Both of the moms insisted on feeding me, a lot. So I ate two lunches and two dinners. Two big lunches and two big dinners.

No one I was with today spoke any English, only very fast Hungarian. I spoke a lot of very bad Hungarian and listened slowly. It was a very interesting day, my brain is tired.

But, I have never met two nicer families! They have organized a party at which several family members will play and sing some original music and some Hungarian music too.

When traveling sometimes the smallest things take a long time.

For example, yesterday I had a simple task- phone ahead to tell my friends which train I would be taking from Budapest. What does it take to make a phone call? In this case 40 minutes, three phones (2 public, 1 borrowed from a stranger), a quarter mile run t0 catch the train, advice from three different strangers, and a boat-load of worry. I never did complete the call. As the train left Budapest I managed a call (dialed by another stranger) to a different friend from the to ask them to call my original target. Smooth, no?

I went to bed a little late and dreamt a long series of Hungarian conversations which I couldn't finish and didn't understand. It was a foreshadow.

I woke up around 3:00 AM and couldn't return to my dreams because my body can't believe that the time is different. At 4:3ö I got up and went running. After that I could sleep a little. I was awake for 36 hours straight during the trip here so I can use the sleep.

I have also connected with some dear old friends (they don't speak English either) and had a great time catching up and talking about old times.

I was late arriving in Budapest because the plane was delayed from Paris, so John and Zsofi had to wait over two hours in the airport. (I tried to call ahead from Paris but I lost that payphone battle too, in spite of help from two people and a borrowed telephone card.)

I paid 8 bucks for a hunk of bread with a slice of meat in it while waiting in the Paris airport, but I ate it with a nice couple from Ireland which made it worth the money. He turned out to be a professional bass player so we talked bass and Irish music for an hour. He gave me the name of a traditional band in Ireland and offered to help hook me up with some musicians there.

Before that I had lunch with Katy in Paris. (This was another hunk of bread with a slice of meet in it.) Actually we spent most of the the day traveling from one airport to the other. It was nice to see Paris. It was great to see Katy.

OK, more later.

Beneath the surface

I'm sitting on the back porch playing guitar in the dark. Since I can't see the music I just lean back into the white, plastic lawn chair and watch as jets float across the blue-black star-dotted sky. The air is cool and humid, and completely calm. In between songs I sit and listen to the peaceful quiet and wonder if it was worse to be shot dead by an insane stranger, or lie helpless watching life drain from a friend.

Thirty two people experienced the first, a few dozen the second, a few hundred have been touched second hand, and the remaining 259 million of us are left sitting on our back porches, wondering, watching helpless. Life is fragile. Life is short.

I think I'll go call my dad and tell him I love him.

Next stop, who knows?

I drove to Iowa to spend Easter with Andy’s family. It’s a long way. I left in the early evening after finishing my lessons, echoes of the missed notes, halting rhythms, harsh tone, and sweet young personalities occupying my mind while I crept through the North Dallas evening commuter traffic. Slow progress –my students, my life, and the traffic – is easier to bear knowing that impatience won’t speed things up, and that we will eventually arrive at our goal if we persist.

I persisted north on Highway 75 past fields overstuffed with spring growth, trying in vain to count the shades of green. So vibrant were the fields and so thin the cover of clouds that it seemed the evening was being lit by the new growth itself. It was impossible to hurry, or worry, or wonder if my life is speeding nowhere.

The Red River marked my progress into the great state of Oklahoma, where cattle stood planted in the grass, and Indian Paintbrushes danced orange above the green floor. Overhead, the clouds took on a washboard pattern, like waves in the sky and I wondered what kind of wind could make a cloud do that.

The fields slowly cooled until the great state of Oklahoma disappeared under darkness, and the only part of it I could see was the pavement beneath, and billboards floating by. Funeral homes, 24 hour dentures, and vasectomy reversals seemed to be common themes. I suppose all travelers have to deal with their worn out lives– bodies, teeth, marriages - as they persist.

I followed my headlights until my dashboard flashed yellow, advising me that I would not be able to persist very much farther without gas. A convenience store in Pryor put out the light.

Past Pryor came the snow - big white flakes streaking though the dark, like mini comets. Then, fog started to rise off the pavement; big thick banks like they make in the movies. Sometimes so much light can make it hard to see.

A new day brought new light, and as I traveled north, fields of green gave way to brown grass and flowering trees, and, further north, to dormant pre-spring. It was like traveling backwards in a “Season Time Machine.” It’s not that summer won’t arrive here, these fields just have to wait.

I stopped to visit my old schools and my friends in them. We talked about old days, new days, and days we hope to see. A good friend’s words have more impact then just words – “Persist” they said. I continued north feeling like the Indian paintbrushes dancing over the green floor in the great state of Oklahoma.

My trip odometer read 777.7 as I pulled into Darwin’s driveway to tape an interview about common friends. I took it as a sign. I had arranged the meeting at the last minute hoping this could shed light on a film project I have in mind. It did.

If you ever want to feel encouraged, energized, purposeful, go talk to Darwin, he will light you up.

And so I arrived at the home of my son in time to share of the kind of meal by which one celebrates (grilled steaks, goldfish crackers, ice cream) with the children of my child. When I finally closed my eyes on the bed which doubles as a Matchbox car roadway during the day, surrounded by crayons and very small teacups, I wondered what kind of miracle causes people to grow, even when you aren’t there.

Empty Heads, Wheat, Young People, April 1

Today is April 1. Sunday. The first of the month and the first of the week – it seems so tidy.

Did you know that the life cycle of wheat – the number of days from planting until harvest is about the same as from conception to birth of a child?

My bike ride kept me in town today, but I found myself riding by a wheat field. It reminded me of living on the plains of Western Kansas. The first time I saw wheat I thought it was grass. I was one month from graduating from CSU and Susan and I were on a job interview trip across Kansas. I kept saying, “That grass looks great. I wonder what they are going to do with all that grass.” I was so young.

Come to find out wheat is just grass with big tasty seeds. But the seed is the last thing to form. The wheat I saw today looked complete but there was no grain inside the heads. In essence what I saw today was just tall grass. It looked completely grown but there is nothing in the heads yet.

Sort of like young people.

Speaking of young people, Katy wrote today that she got a nice, new tattoo. “Pretty,” she described, and then typed the three foreign words (without translation) which composed the ink blot. Not to worry, she beamed, “I got it at a real cheap shop.”

Hmm, looks completely grown but there is nothing in the head yet.

Later, Susan, who had since emailed with our newly ornamented daughter, asked me the date. “April the first.” And then the light began to dawn.

So, there comes a point in the life cycle of wheat when the mature (translate “Old”) heads of wheat dry out. Slowly over time, the wind blows, the sun bakes, weather breaks it down, and soon what used to be in the head slowly starts to fall out….

Green Day

One of my favorite days of the year has no name, doesn’t fall on the same date, isn’t celebrated, but never fails to change my outlook. It is the one day every year when the world turns from brown and grey to green. Today was that day in Allen, Texas.

I can still remember the first time I witnessed the annual color shift. I was standing in right field during baseball practice. If you have ever stood in right field during little league baseball practice you will understand why I was spacing out rather than watching the current batter at work – batting practice is like, no, worse than watching paint dry.

This particular right field happened to be hemmed in by mountains on all sides. Our mountains were always green at the bottom, skirted by evergreens, but the top half, above the tree-line, changed with the seasons. At that time of year (June) the white caps of winter has mostly melted away revealing the brown remains of last year’s tundra.

On that day I looked up in between unsuccessful swings of the bat and, as if someone had flipped a switch, the mountains were all green. Oh, so striking. I had this sensation of being full of optimism, and energy, like a drab veil had been lifted.

I love this day. I have loved this day the 40-some times I have seen it since my days as a Yankee. Today I witnessed it on my bike, not in right field. I saw little patches of wildflowers on the side of the road, construction sites beautified by over-enthusiastic weeds growing on piles of dirt, little fields of dark green, knee-high wheat, and cattle grazing in untidy, flower-speckled pastures.

On “Green Day” as the new growth overtakes the dead remnants of winter, I feel like I can too.

Death by Ukulele

I’m glad I didn’t honk, because the guy in front
of me missed death by a split second. He was
waiting at a red light, I was behind him.  The
light changed green, he didn’t see the light
change because he was spacing off. Even though
I was late and in a hurry I decided not to
honk but wait for him to look up. A few seconds
later he looked up, saw the light was already
green, looked in his mirror and saw me there
and quickly started to drive ahead. Before he could
drive 2 feet he slammed on his brakes again
because a car had just run the red light and sped
by in front of him going 40 MPH. 

I’m sure that if I had honked he would have popped
out into the intersection just in time to get
broadsided by the light-runner. The three of us
were a hair’s-breadth away from a boat-load of
sorrow: One guy dead, one guy who just killed
someone, and me the catalyst of the collision.
Life is so fragile, death is so near.  I suppose
if we knew how often we pass next to death we
would never leave the house. 

Anyway, I believe in Guardian Angels.
I think mine rescued me.


I leave for Hawaii tomorrow morning.  Susan and
I have been looking forward to this trip! It will
be great to see Mark and Ari after all this time. 
I think there will be snorkeling, hiking, and lots
of picture taking.  We’ll have to go out in the
dark at least once because I will be able to see
some stars I have always wanted to see, but aren’t
visible from the north.   

Since World Music is on my mind these days I
researched the music of Hawaii. I bought a very
cheap ukulele (wretchedly out of tune) and have
been practicing. I scheduled a lesson for next
Tuesday at a studio not far from Mark’s house,
and I hope to buy a decent ukulele when I’m
there, and meet up with some local
musicians.

OK, let me sum up: I'm still alive,
I'm still a geek.  

tim