Down in the Valley

Last week was spring break here at the University of Georgia, and as the complete lack of posts on this blog indicate, I didn't really do much of anything. I made the classic student's mistake - taking a break to sleep and watch TV. I had fully intended to clean my apartment (only half-done), catch up on German (not done at all), catch up on reading (I did read, just not much), and post on here every day (huh - about that...). Instead, I spent a large amount of time at two friends' apartment watching them play Super Smash Brothers (I don't like video games, but this one makes a good spectator's sport) and watching episodes of Firefly (good show). I slept in until at least eleven almost every morning. By most accounts, it was a good week; it just didn't go as planned (they rarely do). Oh, and did I mention the tornadoes? Nothing says spring break like hunkering down in the bathroom with a wool blanket over your head - actually, it reminds me of the time in Kansas when I was working on a term paper - the siren went off, so I took the laptop and the dog to the basement and just kept typing. Wait - wasn't I talking about something else? Oh yes.

My favorite part of the break was when I went hiking. Those who know me know that I like to hike - there has yet to be a break in which I haven't packed some dried fruit and a bottle of water to go wander around the woods. This week's goal was Tallulah Gorge. I first expected the hike to be a steep descent, a nice path along the bottom, and a steep climb. Easy, right?

Well, I woke up early and drove to the gorge, registered with the park office, and started the hike. And by all means, the hike down was normal - steep stairs, a bridge over the river, and more stairs to the base of the waterfall. But as had been explained to me, I had to cross the river again because only one end is hikeable. The means of crossing said river? Hopping from boulder to boulder. I cross the river and realize that there is no trail - the only means of making it downstream is scampering over boulders and the occasional patch of dirt. And, at one point, the wall of the gorge itself. When the time comes to cross the river again, there are no boulders and there is no bridge - you have to take off your boots, roll up your pants, and wade across. Unfortunately, the water was about thigh-deep and the bottom of the pool was very slick. Oh, and did I mention that you do this at the top of the waterfall? So, with nearly no margin of error, I start to cross, slip, and end up four-legging my way across to the other side. And then the climb up - no stairs, no trail, just more boulders. On the way up, I see a group of vultures a la the Jungle Book. They took off at the sight of me, and then, a happy thought - they may be waiting on the carcass of a fresh bear kill - this ended up being one of the few times in my life that I was very happy to be wrong (if you know anything about bears, you know you don't want to sneak up on a bear and its fresh kill).

So why am I telling you this? Because I did learn something. First, the next time I do this hike, I'm taking some water shoes and two other people to help with crossing the river. Oh, and a towel.

Second - sometimes we end up in bad situations. And we end up there so fast that it takes us by surprise. When I crossed the river on the boulders, I put myself in a place where the only way to go back was to go forward. And I didn't know it until that jumping to that final boulder. So, stuck on the gorge floor, I started down stream, and things didn't improve. There were quite a few moments where were it not for good balance and better shoes, I would have fallen into the river. And when, as things seemed the most hopeless, as I climbed out of the river, I hoped to see my easy way out. Instead, I saw a slight trail that ended in a mountain of very large rocks. Getting out was going to be anything but easy. But the only way back was forward.

Spring break was slightly stressful - for me, but more so for a few friends. I watched as an apartment and a friendship sank further into despair, and still pray that good comes out of it. And just as that should have been settled, it was put on hold to pray for and comfort another friend in her tragedy. And to these friends who very suddenly find themselves in bad, and tragic, situations, I can't explain why they are there or that getting out is going to be easy. I can say that there's a reason, but I can't say what that reason is. I can only tell them that getting out is going to be hard, it's going to hurt, and worse, there's no going back. I can only tell them that God will give them the strength to get through it, that if they lean on him, they will overcome. I can promise them that I'll be there to help them. Really, it's all any of us can do.

Rock on.

In Honor of Dr. King

Today, I sit in the middle of a three-day weekend and enjoy the comfort of my apartment, coffee included. Ok, that's a lie. I didn't finish the post on time, so now I'm outside of the three-day weekend. But I still have my coffee by my side. But anyway, it seems to be this way every year - I enjoy this early-January vacation and sleep in on Monday. I dare to say almost every kid in America shares this same view of the weekend.

But something just doesn't quite add up - I have always understood why Reverend King was so important. Being the son of a pastor, I have understood the importance and beauty of his speeches, which oft draw from the biblical imagery of the Old Testament prophets and the teachings of Christ. Being the son of a soldier, I have seen and understood the importance of racial equality and the beauty of diverse communities. It's just that for some reason, I have never been able to fully appreciate the day. And as I said earlier, I think I speak for every kid and student in the US - as evidenced by the "MLK Day Blow-Out Parties" being held around Athens tomorrow. As well as the fact that everybody I know spent the day either catching up on homework or goofing off.

In our educational system's push to teach about Dr. King, we learn about his childhood, a few of his marches, and the "I Have a Dream" speech. Almost to a point where we are "emotionally dead" (I beg your forgiveness for such a cliché) to the speech itself and can no longer fully appreciate what Rev. King was talking about. This is not to say the youth of my generation don't care about desegregation (though I wonder if we realize how important it really is). Instead, I'm saying that the "watered-down" version of King's life we receive nearly destroys the full impact of the break - King was involved in a lot more than just civil rights, and his involvement in civil rights went a lot further than some speeches and marches. I can remember from school, the explanations was something like this, "Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was the leader of the African-American civil rights movement in the 1960s. He is best known for his non-violence and the "I Have a Dream" speech." The end. What of his motivation? In a world where violence was the problem and some claimed that violence was the answer, why was Dr. King a pacifist?

But instead of actually looking at the life of Rev. King with the attention it deserves, the five-minute version has reduced the break to nothing but another Saturday. Which is likely the reason that I spent most of Monday covered in green paint (don't ask) and most of my friends were catching up on homework. But shouldn't a remembrance of Rev. King be something more than another day out of class? Around the nation, there are protests and rallies, memorial services, and the like., but the crowd is composed of mostly older people.

I'm thinking of something on a grander scale - something to make Dr. King's vision more than just a dream. Next year, instead of sleeping in or posting a late blog post (two days and counting...), let's change the world. Let's bring King's message to those who are still poor and down-trodden. Let's work together, black, white, or otherwise, for Brother Martin's dream.

Let's take his Dream to the homeless shelters and the soup kitchens. Let's take his Dream to the youth-outreach programs and inner-city playgrounds. Let's take his Dream to Tent City of Athens and the Ninth Ward of New Orleans.

"Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring—when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children—black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics —will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Rock on.

Christmas Traditions

Most people know I'm a military brat. More specifically, an Army brat. This means that my family moves around - a lot. My dad's been in the Army for about seventeen years. In that time, my family has moved eight times. We've spent Christmas in eight different houses. Actually, we've only spent it in seven different houses. When we lived in New Jersey, we didn't get there until after the holiday. Instead, that Christmas was spent in guest quarters. Occasionally, we would travel and see family, but most of the time we were to far away to make the trip.

This year, we are "breaking in" a new house in Korea. That means that, as a college student, I'm celebrating Christmas in a house that I saw for the first time about a week ago.

With all of this moving around, Christmas isn't really about being "home" for the holidays. Home is wherever dad happens to be stationed. Going to see extended family isn't really home because I didn't grow up around them. Going to my parents' house really isn't home because, as my mom puts it, I come in the door and hear, "Welcome home! Let me show you where your bedroom is."

Instead, celebrating Christmas is really more about the traditions my family has set over the years. Being with the family, regardless of where we are. Going to the candlelight service on Christmas Eve. Taking all day to open our gifts (you think I'm kidding, but we always find a way to stretch it out until after dinner). Opening our gifts in a certain order. Getting gifts from "Santa". Eating cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. Listening to my dad tell us the story of "Eliezer the Unreliable". Listening to my mom read The Polar Express on Christmas Eve.

As I said, this is my first Christmas in Korea. And I'm enjoying getting to explore a new country. And I'm happy that my friend from high school, Kurt, is over here too. But really, I'm just excited that my family's traditions make me feel at home halfway across the world.

Rock on.
Merry Christmas.

Dawgs and Gators and Bears - Oh My!

First off, congrats to the UGA football team. I figured we wouldn't put up fourteen points against Florida, let alone beat them. Go DAWGS!

Now on to the more interesting part of my fall break.

Instead of heading down to the world's largest outdoor cockt - erm, sorry President Adams - Florida-Georgia Football Classic (I like the WLOCP title better), I headed up to the North Carolina mountains for some hiking and time alone with God while enjoying his handy work. So on Thursday, the first day of Fall Break, I did what any college student would do. That is to say, I woke up at six in the morning, hopped in the car with my dog, and drove four hours to spend the day without a computer, an MP3 player, or even a GPS. Just me, my dog, and the beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway. I was originally aiming to hike along Mount Mitchell, but inclement weather changed that. So, still in the spirit of a college student, I pulled over at the first trail head I saw and hiked for two hours along a primitive trail (appropriately title the Big Butt Trail), with nothing more than a few red placards and fallen trees to guide me, without seeing or hearing another person until returning to my car. Of course the problem with trails like that is that animals tend not to stay away from the road less taken. On my way back to my car, about fifteen minutes out from the pull-off I had parked in, I came upon a small black bear. Luckily, it had heard me coming and wandered off just as I realized, "Hey, that's a bear. And it could kill me." I made it safely to my grandparents' house and then called everyone I could think of to say, "OMGZ!!! I SAW TEH BEAR!!!1!"

The next day brought a much-needed day off, including a tour of Lake Lure (think Dirty Dancing) and a very nice dinner at a local hotel. Saturday was more hiking at Chimney Rock. No where near as isolated as the trail on the Blue Ridge Parkway, nor as cheap, nor as bear-ish, the views were stunning. I spent the day hiking almost every trail the park had to offer and enjoying the view of some of the most interesting rock formations to be found in North Carolina. Chimney Rock is one of those rare geological anomalies that has been purchased and turned into a park, but somehow has avoided the cheese-level of places like Stone Mountain. And the North Carolina Park Service has just bought the sight, so its nice mix of popular tourist destination and serene, tranquil retreat is secure.

This was the first real vacation I've ever taken by myself. Sure, over the summer I drove up to Columbia, SC, for the Harry Potter book release and to see my sister, but that wasn't so much a vacation as a - something that's not a vacation. I don't like driving, and mountain roads have always freaked me out, as much as I love the mountains. Especially when driving through a cloud. But I managed the drive quite well and even enjoyed the time driving through the windy, narrow roads of the Blue Ridge area. As cliché as it sounds, the first road trip really is a coming-of-age event. It's something that you do with your family most of your life (hardly a summer went by where my parents didn't toss my sister and I into a car and drive around for at least three or four days). To be able to set off on your own with only a list of destinations to guide you is one of the most liberating experiences that one can imagine. And after spending my summer in classes, the freedom was well-received.

People have places where they feel closer to God than others. For some, it's during a mass. For others, it's a modern worship service. Most people feel God's presence on retreats. As for me, it's nature. As much as I enjoy Athens, the constant sound of cars, music, and college kids on cell phones, the lack of any real place to get away from the city (even the most secluded part of campus is right next to a highway), and the eerie red glow cast on the sky at night make me feel isolated. But the freedom and beauty of nature gives me a sense of God's power and creation. Nothing man can ever make will amount to the awesomeness of the Grand Canyon or the beauty of the Appalachian Mountains in the fall. And after three days of being in the mountains, it was amazing what had the ability to move me. Something as simple as the sunrise while driving home this morning left me praising God - with Santana and Rob Thomas in the background.

Rock on.