being an exploration of what shouldn't be microwaved and how I found out.

White congealed muck had exploded everywhere. Egg, sage, pepper, salt, and water. All over my microwave. Coating the bottom, foamily sliding down my cup, chilling in little globules on the inside of the door.

I stood there, and the eloquent thoughts that went through my mind were something like this:

"Haha. Hahahahahahaaa....whoa."

It was probably a bad idea, trying to poach an egg in a cup in the microwave, but I didn't know that beforehand. I suspected it, thought about googling it, but decided that some experiences just have to be had.

So I salvaged what could be salvaged, and it tasted very good.

Sabbath Poem VII, by Wendell Berry

The clearing rests in song and shade

It is a creature made

By old light held in soil and leaf

By human joy and grief

By human work

Fidelity of sight and stroke

By rain, by water on

The parent stone.

We join our work to Heaven's gift

Our hope to what is left

That fields and woods at last agree

In an economy

Of widest worth

High Heaven's Kingdom come on earth

Imagine Paradise.

O Dust, arise!

Wendell Berry has so beautifully expressed the sentiments that are close to my heart; I have nothing to add. This is part of his Sabbath Poem collection, published in 1982.

landing

It's nearly 7am. Mist blankets the hills near Entebbe, fading softly into the lush green of the trees. A deep red dirt road--one of the few traces of Western civilization evident from 15000 feet up in the air--cuts through the land. The snowflake frost on the outside of my airplane window melts fast as we drop down into the warm humidity of a southern Ugandan morning. I promise myself I'll never forget this moment, this feeling, this landscape. The plane is dropping fast now, speeding over schools, houses, unfinished buildings--so many unfinished buildings. Suddenly, we're on top of Lake Victoria's cool, greenish expanse, and then we're right over the runway. I wonder briefly if it's gotten any bumpier, but before I can brace myself we're down. The engine roars as we slow and taxi to a stop. Sleepy-eyed people stand, stretch, pull out luggage, speak in Luganda to their neighbors. The loud Ohio State fan sitting next to me complains that he still has a four hour trip to Mogadishu. I shrug and say it's about the same to Mbale, and we start down the narrow strip of carpet between seats. A minute later, I'm walking through a yellow tunnel with a stairway leading to the ground. The scent of cook-fires and morning freshness greets me. Birds whose songs I haven't heard in a year are chattering all around. A cicada screams brashly in the distance. As I go down the steps, important-looking Ugandans with name badges mill around, not visibly accomplishing anything. I take a deep breath and step out onto the tarmac.

I'm home.

packing didactically

Lessons learned while packing:

-Sewing boxes shut with twine is perhaps not as effective as using tape.

-If you're going to try sewing your boxes shut, make sure you have a good thimble. Pushing a needle through cardboard without one is painful.

-The best thing about packing the last bits of miscellaneous stuff is the opportunity to use the word "miscellany."

-Shoving your hand into a trash can which contains a broken glass french press jar is a bad idea.

If you're like me, remember these things. If you aren't like me, then continue to exercise the common sense that sets you apart from me.

wanderlust

I've been on one continent for a year--far too long--and I can feel the restlessness rising. I can't wait for the bustle of the airport, the sinking feeling of the plane taking off, the insane heart-in-my-throat anticipation of landing with the knowledge that a joyful reunion is only a stroll through customs away. I'm impatient with mundanity, ready for an adventure, trying to avoid packing and somehow hoping that everything will jump into boxes of its own accord. I'm tired of saying goodbyes, ready to just move on, get started with something new.

I'm going home. Uganda-home. It won't be the same. I'm scared. I can't wait. Have I changed? Has it? Have they? Are the roads better? Worse? Does Daawat still have the best naan? Does it still get palak paneer and malai kafta mixed up half the time? Is MTN still the Missing Telephone Network? Will the water taste funny? Are fresh chapatis on the side of the road at 6pm as good as I remember? Will I remember to say trousers instead of pants?

And my real questions: Am I going home? Or will I find myself just as surely an mgeni among wananchi in Uganda as I am state-side?

on running barefoot

The bottoms of my feet look like the surface of the moon. They are covered in calluses, blisters, bruises, and dirt stains that don't come off, no matter how hard I scrub.

Since I ditched the running shoes, road running is silent. Grass running is liberating. Track running turns my feet rather orange. Running in the rain is incredibly satisfying.

Overall, it's been great. Stepping on sharp rocks is a bit painful. I've gotten blisters, but they never go deep. I've walked barefoot most of the time since February to help my feet harden. I imagine that kind of preparation is probably necessary.

So I highly recommend being barefoot. :)

questionings

I create blogs at the times in my life when I feel like I have something worth saying. At those times, I'm well acquainted with profundity. I walk along and words come to me unsolicited. Even when I'm not physically writing anything, sentences and paragraphs float into my mind fully formed and contextualized. I feel like I'm really making progress in understanding the universe.

This is not one of those times. My mind is full of questions to which I don't have an answer. The only words that come easily are words like why, how, and I don't know.

I am seeking God. I desire to know his nature. I want so badly to understand, but I'm coming to the realization that I never will. I want to know how to live a life in which my love and service glorify God completely, but God's message is one that is necessarily full of contradictions and paradoxes. I'm trying to reconcile the essential nature of both doubt and faith. My constant refrain is "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."

So I haven't been blogging much.