Intimations

New Endings

Today is the beginning of the end. I have just learned that the longer you stay in one place the more people you have to say good by to. Last night I said good by to many dear graduates of North Hills Preparatory– many wonderful students who are soon moving to the far ends of the nation to enter the world of college. My dear friend David is shipping off to the Marines at the end of the month, my friend and "mentee," Andrew, is moving to California for college, and my dearest friends Shaun and Kyndra left this morning for Nevada where they will live for at least 2 years. There are others too, others that will leave soon to go far away. And I am here.

It is strange to think that living in one place my entire life has given me a rather forlorn view. It is as if I am a dock. I watch each boat as it is untied from its post and drifts out into the open water. I am the unwavering posts and planks driven deep into the ground below the surface. I guess I am happy to be the dock; after all it is much more convenient to leave from the dock than the shallow beach. I am glad to oblige. I am happy because so many beautiful boats have rested here with me.

I want to some how convey how happy I feel in the midst of the sorrow of good bye and the loneliness of an empty dock, but I think that it has already been said better than I can manage. One of my ninth graders wrote the following passage in response to a wonderful freshmen year in high school. I think she has captured the kind of feelings that I am experiencing as I say good bye to my friends and stand in the water as summer rises around me.

This almost-last day honestly made me want to cry for no reason and every reason. I wanted to cry for all the happiness of the past year, for every daily interaction with friends and teachers that would become memory. I wanted to cry for feelings unspoken and silent communications; for all the students leaving and for those who would arrive. I wanted to cry and hug and grasp tightly the childhood so deftly escaping us. I wanted to cry.

Each year I think, This one won't be anything like the last. And it wasn't, was it? Last year I told myself that I would make an effort to savor every moment and breathe deeply, because what I breathe is precious Life. I kept the promise to myself, and myself was rewarded with so much light and exuberance that there became nothing to do but allow the luminous tides of emotion to envelop me. Laughter, sorrow, fear- all have ebbed and flowed through our days, and as we near the end of a fateful passage, these currents give way to new radiance; hidden bodies pulsing through lucent skin. We have Discovered, though what has been Found may not be clear. Concerns of this ambiguity are soon cast aside, for something more important has been revealed: Realization. We know, though we do not, and march forward; consciousness settling lightly and steadfastly as falling leaves in a closing book. We commence, and are aware: we are illuminated.

So I'll let a fifteen year old say it because she says it true and she says it fair; somehow she is able to capture the beauty of good things coming to an end.

And thanks, all of you that are leaving, for blessing me with so much light and illumination. I will see you after.

A Youth among the Ancient

"Ash-hadu anla ilaha illal-Lahu Wahdahu la Sharika Lahu wa-ash-hadu anna Muhammadan abduhu wa rasuluhu"

"I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except Allah, the One, without any partner. And I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and His Messenger."

"We believe in one God the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God."

I always felt that I should share my faith at every single opportunity. There have been times that I deliberated intensely over how I should tell people that I was a christian–that I believed in Jesus Christ. Once, while working along side a gentleman I wiggled my way into some semblance of a spiritual conversation. When he simply told me where he went to church I felt oddly disappointed that he didn't need me to direct his soul to salvation.

When i went to class, when I made a new friend, when I went to the store; I was always carrying a burden for the lost.

But I had a flash back today. A strange sort of vivid memory of something that I haven't thought of for years yet has seeped into me.

I have been reading about Palestinian's the last few months and I have made some good muslim friends at school this year. In short, I have learned a bit about the kind of people who follow Islam. I can't say I know a whole lot about the religion itself, just the people–so many of them are my friends now. And as I was reading "Once Upon a Country" (see my "currently reading" list to the left) I suddenly, through some random firing of synapses in my brain, or some wild course of connections, remembered a strange meeting I had with a Muslim man.

It was my first year out of highschool, I was studying music at a community college and working for Verizon. Life was pretty good, I was loving school, making good money for a part time, right out of high school, kid, I was hyper involved at church with "Common Ground," the college age group that all my friends went to...yeah, ALL my friends. It was pretty much my main focus in life. I lead praise and worship, I was a student leader, I spent all kinds of time at the group leader's house, and at the church. That was it for me. And yes, this was the time that I was an evangelist. It was a good time.

One day at work I walked around the cubicles for a reason that escapes me now, so many years later. But there are a few things of which I am certain: I was chill. I liked my job and the environment at work, and I liked the people that I knew there. So I was chill, relaxed. Also, I was friendly. I was/am a pretty laid back easygoing guy who would talk to anyone (remember, each new acquaintance was another possible convert to the Faith). So with those two certainties, I walked around the cubicles to the next row. I did my business, asked a question, turned in some work, or some other mundane thing, when this thick Middle Eastern man with a short beard and plain business casual attire, smelling strongly of curry and all such things from that powerfully magical realm, began a conversation with me.

He seemed strangely interested in me; asked me questions about school, family, normal stuff. I didn't think twice about it, I just assumed that he was being friendly, like me. But I never thought of him being more like me than that.

He asked me if I went to church–if I was a christian (was it that obvious?). I said yes. He must have asked me why, or what it meant to be a christian, but at this point my memory becomes hazy. Maybe because this dark eyed man that stood above me began to take on a role that I had never before encountered. He became the evangelist. He began to tell me that he was a Muslim, that he believed in Allah as the one-true-God. He asked me more questions, all of which I can no longer remember, doubtless they were all cornering questions, the ones that you can't help but answer one way–the way the asker wants so that he can lead you down to the lion's den with your tail between your legs. I did my best to answer, feeling more and more like I was being attacked, but the feeling was so foreign to me that I was quite unable to name it at the time–I just didn't like it. He continued his advance and I began to retreat.

He made his final blow with the statement that christianity was based on a complete misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the life and acts of Jesus. He said that Jesus is not the son of God and that he did not die on the cross for the forgiveness of sins (I seem to remember some quoting of the Qur'an at this point.), and one day, Jesus will come back; he will return and smash the "cross" in righteous anger at the false beliefs of christians.

I realized, long before our discussion was finished, that I was not going to win this one. In fact, I am certain that I appeared to him as a foolish young man. He probably felt pretty good about how the whole thing went down, and maybe he even thought he had done right by Allah.

I don't remember how it ended, but eventually, I walked back to my cubicle feeling like I had been punched in the gut by a really mean and really strong guy who didn't like me. I sat in my ergonomic chair and got back to work. Maybe I said a prayer under my breath as I sat in my corner, I don't recall what I did. I just remember that feeling, not of doubt in my faith, or my religion, not that he was right and I was wrong, but that I had been defeated and if I didn't want it to happen again I better get studied up so that the next time some really mean guy from another religion wanted to kick my spiritual ass, I could fight back.

I went back to my friends, my christian buddies at the college group–went back to singing praise songs and praying for –––'s next test at school, or –––'s girl troubles, or –––'s friend who isn't sure about where she should go to church when she goes back to college in the fall. All those things that kindly occupy a nice christian boy's mind.
That's it.

All the moments of my past are rolled up into the "now" that is me. But as I sat in the heat of my apartment, 8 years later, with it all suddenly rushing back to the surface, this moment took on new meaning. I saw that older, fiercer muslim man as a mirror reflecting the things that I might have been. I am not sure that I was a mean, or forceful evangelist, and I am not sure that this muslim realized that his mode of witnessing was so violent, or that he had shaken me in such a way. However, certainly, he did not create the desired effect in the young christian zealot. In the end, he didn't really win. But then, neither did I.

In "Once Upon A Country, the author, Sari Nusseibeh, narrates that for 1,300 years, his family was charged with holding and protecting the key to The Church of the Sepulcher: The very church that is built on Christ's empty tomb, that holds the crown of thorns, the true cross, and the remains of Adam, the first man. For christians, this is THE spot. But the key that opened the front door was given to Nusseibeh's family during the crusades and they have protected it ever since. I found this fantastically magical, but felt that it was odd that a Muslim family had been bestowed upon and had retained this privilege for so many years. And then today, I read this passage from Nusseibeh's book about how the actual door to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is daily opened.

"Each morning [...] my cousin would come down, take the key, then make his way to the church. There he'd slip the foot-long skeleton key into a keyhole in a small door and tug it, and the four-inch oak door would groan and open. A priest on the other side of the door would put his head out the door, greet my cousin, and hand him a ladder. Cousin Nusseibeh would then mount the ladder to reach a second keyhole in a larger door. He'd turn the key and pull hard. "Peace," he'd say to the priest once the door had opened. "Peace," the priest would reply."

This is not a judgement of anything at all. It is an experience–a remembering and a recognition of closing and opening doors, and of my religious and spiritual vision. "Let the record show: that these thoughts have slipped down and in the darkness grow."

Prayer on the polo field

After school my best 12 year old friend and I went out side to throw the football. In the middle of our game of catch, my friend stopped and said, "I need to talk to you about something."

He told me about his brother's recent spiritual struggle. He was concerned, but not upset. After we talked a little about the situation, I asked him if he wanted to say a prayer for his brother. He looked at me, a little skeptical, but didn't seem to be against the idea. So I said my own little prayer, then he he prayed the Our Father in his own catholic way. Then we went back to playing.

I am not sure what significance it will have for the brother, but my friend and I were unified. I believed the bible verse about, "when two or more are gathered together in my Name..." more than ever. I think I like to pray in the polo field in the middle of playing catch with my best 12 year old friend.

First Green Energy Bill

Received our first energy bill from Green Mountain yesterday! I'll never go back. Not only was our bill relatively inexpensive, but they make sure you know how much of a difference your use of renewable energy matters to the environment. Listed directly under the the balance it said this:

KWh Electricity Used = 278
CO2 Emissions Avoided (pounds) = 408
Equivalent Automobile Miles Not Driven = 453

I know I'm not single handedly saving the environment, but I feel as though I'm doing my part. But would I still if it wasn't so affordable? Hmm...

Green Mountain Energy

We are turning a new leaf at the Carpenter-Luczycki house hold. In a matter of days our electronic lives will be completely powered by 100% renewable energy.

"Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice."
Psalm 96:12

Vaughn Allen Hale

January 13, 2007 - 2:50 pm.

Vaughn Allen Hale, 8 Lbs. 6 Oz., 21 1/2 in., bursts forth into the gray day with a welcomed cry–an answered call. Eager arms and beating hearts in the waiting room.