Mr. Robison, I presume

Dr. Livingston disappeared in Africa. Or was it Dr. Stanley? I can never remember. The point is that he wasn't really missing just completely out of touch with the rest of the world. Africa tends to swallow up communications that way. Its a big continent and the tin cans and string don't reach very far. This is all preamble to say that by this time next week, I will be in Kenya and you won't be hearing from me for a while. Don't panic. Exploratory missions to Africa to find me are not necessary. I shall return.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has in some way contributed to this adventure. Some have donated money. Some have donated time. Many have donated prayers. I cherish and value all of your contributions and hope that they somehow translate into better lives for the street children of Kenya.

God be with you all.

Will Robison

A Great Story In Need Of Editing...

My second book review in as many days brings me a little closer to home. Last night, I finished reading what my sister had given me for Christmas - the first 41 chapters of her first novel (they're short chapters and the book is near the end). I have to admit that I hated where she left the book because it was right after the most emotional part of the story, but given that bias, I'm still going to tell you what a wonderful book it is.

The book is titled, "The Exhausted Women's Club," and its about four women from different places in life coming together to find friendship in the midst of their exhausting lives. Because this book is not yet finished and not yet published, I'm going to leave the synopsis vague. We need to preserve its money making potential, after all.

I've been writing since Halloween of my Second Grade year - which is a really long time. Almost since the moment I first fell into writing, I've known that it was what I was meant to do. But that doesn't mean it comes easy or that I'm particularly good at it. When I read my sister's writing, it is a constant reminder that I'm really not that good. She, on the other hand, is phenomenal. She's wasted in lawyering. She needs to be published.

She's made some rookie mistakes so far - but nothing that can't be fixed with rigorous editing. After muddling through some of the main story elements, she has moments of pure genius. Just as I was starting to fear that her story was going down the road of mediocrity, for instance, her last three chapters whopped an incredible true life emotional punch that had me in tears. It made me very confident that the rest of the story could be saved and that it would be quite the number one best seller.

It's not every day I get to review a book that isn't even finished yet - especially one that I haven't written. So its quite a treat for me to not only review this book, but to recommend it to all. My sister's book will be one that you hear about for years to come and one hell of a great movie as well.

Now if she'd only hurry and send me more of the book. I need to find out how this whole thing ends!

(P.S. I'd like to recommend Meryl Streep as Amber's mother - I know its a small part, but it needs someone of her gravitas, and besides, Meryl Streep sells movies!)

A match made in Heaven...

This is not a typical book review because I honestly don't know how anyone else would react to this book. The point of this blog is to point out that sometimes we are pre-composed towards something and that, therefore, any review of the material should be taken with the extreme bias already destined.

As a combined Christmas/Traveling present, Andy from A Mile From The Beach showed up at my house a couple of weeks ago with a book. He wanted me to read it on the plane. He said, "This book is really you, Will. I know it will speak to you." Now, having been told that a million times before from a thousand different people, I took the recommendation with its implied meaning - I think you'll really like this book.

The book is Donald Miller's latest book, "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years." At its primal level, the book is a "sequel" to Donald Miller's best-selling "Blue Like Jazz". It begins with Donald Miller being contacted by a couple of film makers who want to turn Blue Like Jazz into a film, but as part of the process, they begin discussing ways to re-write the largely autobiographical story in such a way as to make it into a good film. Donald Miller sees the process as akin to editing and rewriting his life's story.

As I didn't want to travel with too many books, I decided that I'd read this book before I flew to Kenya. Its not a very long book - 200+ pages. Even for me, I knew I should finish it before I left. So for the first week or so I waded into it - reading about five chapters in a week. It was good, but it wasn't really connecting.

As anyone who regularly reads this blog could tell you, I've been struggling lately with finding answers to questions about my own life. Where I was going to go from here and what all the various things in my life were leading to. Added to this were questions I posed about my faith journey and about my trip to Kenya. Then there were dozens of other questions in my head about things that I've never had the time to blog about. Lots and lots of questions with very few answers. If there's one thing my faith journey has taught me though, its patience. God answers in his own time and in his own way.

This Saturday the weather created a situation where all my plans were canceled. I had about two hours to kill waiting to head off to a Basketball game and there was absolutely nothing on television. So, I curled up on my bed, got nice and comfortable under my blankets, and grabbed Donald Miller's book. I figured I could get a few chapters out of the way, maybe take a nap, or whatever...

I finished reading it. Couldn't put it down to be precise. One by one, in answer to my many prayers, Donald Miller answered every single one of the questions in my head. When Andy said that this book would speak to me, he had been right on the money. It was like Donald Miller had crawled inside my head, found my deepest level of questions, and then been given the answers to those questions. This wasn't just a book, it was an answer to prayer. Whether Donald Miller knew it, he was writing this book to me.

Of course, God knew what He was doing. He seemed to offer these words of wisdom to Donald Miller and had him write them down and get them published. It would be arrogant to assume that the book was meant intentionally for me, but boy did it speak to me in ways that nothing else ever has.

Now, I want to clarify something here. I've found other things inspirational before. I've read things that made me want to visit foreign countries, or be a better person, or what have you, but I've never read anything like this. I didn't immediately jump up from my bed with a plan of action. I didn't immediately vow to travel or to save the world or anything. I can't really say that reading this book worked like that for me. Its well written and certainly inspirational, but to me it was more like an oracle. Ask your question and get an answer meant only for your ears - an answer that makes you think, not one that makes you leap into danger.

As a result, I've begun to more clearly see my path. All has not yet been revealed to me about what my future has in store for me, but the context of that future has been illuminated. I may not know what will happen in Kenya, but at least I understand why I'm going and to what purpose God has sent me.

So Andy... sorry, I'd like to give you credit for knowing me so well, but the fact of the matter is even you could not have suspected how deeply profoundly this book would have affected me. You were inspired to give me this book just as Donald Miller was inspired to write it. God used you as a messenger. And to that extent, you should be very humble and thank God, as I shall for your part in this tale.

(As an addendum, I totally 100% recommend this book to all people, but especially to writers and film makers - even I learned some new tricks about story from it. But I also recommend it to anyone who is currently searching through life for some way to become better connected or to be better utilized by the world. This book won't make the hard work go away, but it will make you want to tackle that hard work with gusto.)

(As an additional addendum - Donald Miller - You Rock!)

A Tale of Two Root Canals

As preamble, my first experience with a dentist was at a health clinic. I was maybe 7 or 8. The dentist, who meant well, decided to give me some fillings. Though he numbed me up, I still felt incredible pain. When I told him that I was in pain, he assumed that I was a scared kid and that I was making it up. After that, I wanted nothing to do with dentists. It turns out that part of my incredible physiology that generally keeps me in good health also makes me incredibly hard to dope up. Had the dentist simply listened to me, he would have discovered this for himself.

Jump ahead about eight years. I was 16 and I was in love. After months of daydreaming, I finally decided to do something about it. On Sunday, during church, I wrote a long letter to the object of my affection telling her how I felt. That night, as I contemplated giving her the letter the next day at school, I bit into a popcorn kernel and my mouth exploded in pain.

Two days later, I had to leave school early for my first dentist appointment with Dr. Paine at UCSF - a dental school. Just before I left for the appointment, I cornered the love of my life and handed her the letter. I told her to open it later, then I walked to UCSF. During the entire walk, I anticipated her reading the letter and all of her possible reactions. As I waited in the waiting room, I imagined her pleasure at reading my letter, or the pain of being rejected. As they took x-rays and told me I needed a root canal, my mind was fully focused on my impending new girlfriend and all the wonderful things life had in store for us. As they numbed me up... and numbed me up... and continued numbing me until you could have given me a jaw transplant without my realizing it, I prepared my conversation with the girl the next day and started figuring out what to get her for Valentines Day which was less than a week away. They drilled, poked, prodded, and did all sorts of painful things in my mouth - but I could have cared less. I didn't even realize that four hours had passed when they finally told me I was done and sent me on my way.

To make a long story short, she said yes and six wonderful years of love followed that.

Jump ahead to just a couple of weeks ago. I was eating salad (popcorn... salad... clearly its the healthy things that cause us so much pain ;) when, once again, fireworks. This time I went to Dr. Karo at Sears Dental clinic in Tanforan. (She's pretty awesome... while doing dental work she's talking about Alicia Keys with her dental assistant. Nice, easy going, and numbed me up good ;) Now, as I'm getting poked and prodded and rooted, my mind is elsewhere once again. This time, I'm in Kenya - although, more specifically, my mind is wandering down dark paths. I'm worried about the trip. I'm worried about the airline. I'm worried about all the hundreds of things that can go wrong.

And then, she starts in with the drill. My mind instantly reverts to that 8 year old mindset. I cling to the chair like its a life preserver. I brace for the impact of mindnumbing pain. It never arrives. And I'm left scrunched up on the dental chair like I was a victim of electro-shock therapy and nothing happened. As the relief of being pain free washed over me, I suddenly had a loud and clear thought, "Compared to this, what can possibly go wrong in Kenya?"

I started laughing. How silly of me? Real life is so often nothing like the horrors that we imagine, but also nothing like the triumphs we hope for. Still, its far better in life to imagine the good things than the bad, to hope for positive outcomes than to anticipate negative ones.

I'd been avoiding dentists because of hard earned pain avoidance fears. In the end, the pain had come and it had probably been much worse than it would have been had I been taking it in smaller doses all along. The first time I'd encountered this pain, I hardly noticed because I was to in love to care. The second time I encountered this pain, I realized that the real pain in my mouth was far worse than the imagined pain of a million possible outcomes. Instead of bracing myself for inevitable pain, I should embrace the future for all its possible joys.

My anxiety for the trip has subsided as fast as the pain from dental surgery (yet another advantage to my physiology is that I very rarely suffer from lingering pain - I just heal too darn fast). In less than two weeks I'll be boarding that flight with my eyes open and my heart ready to embrace all the wonderfulness of God's world.

Now I only have to figure out how to smuggle a baby lion back to San Francisco in my luggage. ;)

Where do I go from here?

I'm ready to leave it all behind, to start fresh, to start anew, to end one way of being and embrace another. But I am scared. The road ahead is filled with potential - potential danger, potential dead ends, potential roadblocks, potential bandits, but also potential for great reward, greater understanding, and greater meaning. I'm fast approaching a watershed moment in my life, one that may well set me on my final course.

I'm not talking specifically about Kenya, though certainly that is a part of it - even if its more of a symptom than an actual cure. I have reached a sort of plateau in my religious walk. When I turn around I can see the long path I've already walked. The view from up here is fine, but there is still a long way to go. I'm tired though. How much further can I really expect to go without a full commitment? Just how close do I really want to walk with Jesus? Opening myself up even more means leaving more of ME behind and embracing more of Him. I've progressed far enough to at least understand the choice in front of me, but that doesn't make the choosing any easier. I want this thought to be clear before I head off to Kenya. I haven't made up my mind as to which path I will travel from here. I'm not running off to Kenya as a way to embrace some sort of missionary role for my life. I am merely going because I was called. And if called again, I will go again. But if I'm not called, if I don't have a transformational experience in Kenya, I'm not sure where my life will go next.

I feel as if I've reached a point where the life of experimentation is over. I've tried a bunch of different lifestyles now. I've lived in a bunch of places. I've traveled to a bunch more. I've seen life in its infinite variety, almost all that it has to offer me. I feel as if my next choice in life ought to be more about sustainability than about exploration. Whatever comes next should be part and parcel of me settling down into a path that I intend to continue until death. It's time to take all that I have learned, tried, and become and use it to complete some sort of task - and to settle into a life from that.

I'm ready to embrace change, but not just for change's sake. I don't want to rush off to try something new. I want to go someplace to begin a new permanent life - in as much as anything in life can be permanent. I'm ready to settle down, roll up my sleeves, and only look to the horizon to see what might be coming towards me - not to imagine what might be beyond. The Prodigal Son is ready to become the Son Who Stayed Behind. I've seen the world. I've embraced it. I will carry it with me wherever I go. But I'm ready to find true adventure in the establishment of a home - a roof, but also a place that welcomes me and allows me to define myself.

After Kenya, my journey home begins.

A Visit To The Temple

I went to the local temple yesterday hoping for a quick blessing and maybe a benediction. But after checking in, an acolyte came and got me. She took me to a small room and had me lie down on a cot and then began examining me.

As I opened myself to her, she used a mirror and a small pen light to see in the dark spaces inside my head. Though she was wearing a mask, I could tell that she was frowning.

"How often do you pray?" she asked me.

I couldn't remember the last time. I pretended to not hear her. She took that as an admission.

"Looks like you've got some sin in here," she said, poking around with her sharp stick. "That's going to have to come out."

She went and got the priest. The priest arrived and bent over me and looked inside. She had a kind face, but she was also very perceptive. She poked one of my sins gently and asked me whether it hurt. It did.

She talked to her acolyte for a second then came back and lowered the light over me.

"First I'm going to have to numb your pain," she said.

She put something that tasted like hot coal in my mouth and a warmth spread over me. Then she brought out a sharp drill and began hacking away at my inner depths, removing sin from me. It screamed while it was being attacked. A high-pitched whine that frightened me. I grabbed hold of the cots sides and held on for dear life. The priest smiled at me and asked whether I was in pain, but I admitted that I was not in pain. It was the anticipation of pain that made me imagine the worst sort of searing fire and the gnashing of teeth. As every chunk of sin was removed, I remembered how it had been made and I realized what a fool I'd been all along.

Before I knew it, the priest was done. She put down her pointy tool and smiled.

"How do you feel?"

My sin was gone and so was my pain. I felt lighter. I felt a fire rekindling in me. I smiled back. Though I had imagined the worst sort of pain in the removal of sin, in fact, there had been no pain at all except the pain I had brought in with me.

"Good," she said. Then she washed away the remains of my sin and told me to spit them out.

"Now, I want you to pray daily," she explained. "And take care not to sin again. As much I enjoy your visits, I'd much rather you come here and we can just talk - maybe the occasional cleansing, but that's about it."

I got out of that cot and thanked her and the acolyte profusely and then I went on my way feeling like I'd been reborn.

I'm trying to steer clear of politics, but...

I found this excellent article in the NY Times that says that filibusters in the Senate are unconstitutional. I have to admit this article is extremely thought-provoking. But I wonder if it would have been written five years ago? Anyway, check it out... at this site.

Touched by angels...

Last night, feeling pretty low, I was raised up by the Holy Spirit. Praise be to God.

After a long and hard day at work (long week actually), I showed up at church last night for Bell Choir practice and was greeted with a card. The card, signed by the entire choir, reminded me that God would be with me on my journey to Africa next month. It also included a generous donation to the trip. I admit to being shocked.

In my life I've done many things on behalf of God. I've been on youth missions. I've led youth missions. I've built playgrounds, helped flood victims, and tried, always, to help my fellow brothers and sisters on this great planet. In all that time, I've embraced the challenges and the hardships as just another part of life - not unlike taking out the trash or making my bed or going to church on Sunday. It was something that was done not for kudos or payment or out of any fear of bad karma. It was something that was done because it was necessary and needed. As a result, I've never felt any sort of honor particularly attached with these tasks. It would be like taking a victory lap because you changed the oil in your car, or feeling smug because you did the laundry. While useful and helpful, these sorts of obligations to our fellow human beings should be de rigeur, not special.

Of course, I know that not everyone is willing to give up a Saturday to build a playground or an evening to play the part of a wise man in the Nativity Story. But not everyone does the dishes or dusts or cleans the shower and yet somehow these tasks get done. We all have our part to play in the greater scheme of things. So to take honor for doing something that somebody else didn't do misses the point entirely. We all do something. We all contribute.

So, I was shocked. Pleased, to be certain, but shocked. I was touched that these people would choose to honor me for making this trip to Africa on their behalf, but confused as to why I was being honored in this way, at this time, for something that might be a bit more complicated than making coffee on Sunday mornings but that, in its essence, was exactly the same task. I thanked everyone for the card and the gift and pledged to share both the sentiments and the gift with the others taking the journey.

Later, however, it hit me. Though I was highly honored by this gift, it had not been intended for me. The gift was mine, but the honor belonged to God. These people were showing their faith, love, and hope in God by helping me to do His work. I was merely the recipient of the gift. And that feeling made me humble and all the more honored. God was entrusting me with His gift. He was letting me feel one tiny iota of the praise that He rightfully deserves.

If this is to be the sort of lesson that I am to learn on this trip, I'm not sure I can wait for it to begin. But if I have learned anything already, I don't need to go to Africa to be touched by angels. They are all around me and their touches are profound and filled with God's love.

Have a blessed weekend.