Operation Christmas Child rocks!

Operation Christmas Child is a ministry of Samaritan's Purse that sends more than 8 million gift-filled shoe boxes to impoverished children around the world in order to show them the love of Jesus. The boxes get delivered by rick-shaw, motorcycle, canoe, tuk-tuk, bus, land rover, small aircraft and more. It's awesome!

My friend John and I went shopping to fill our boxes on Sunday and had a blast. I mean, who doesn't want to shop for new pencils, toys and socks? Who doesn't want to brighten some sweet kid's day? If you don't participate in this ministry already, I'd definitely encourage you to consider it next year. Check out www.samaritanspurse.org for more information. In the meantime, pray for all those boxes and all those kids. God uses the most simple of things to do amazing works.

Long live Fall!

This pumpkin is about two feet tall and two feet wide. It sits on a porch not far from my house. Though Halloween is nearly a month past, it holds on. Long live Fall!

I novel, I chauffeur

I emerged from The Igloo on Monday, which, for anyone counting, was day eight of my 30-day noveling adventure. I'd like to say I emerged because I knew it would be good for my health. But that's not the case. I'm willing to risk my health -- both physical and mental -- for the love of words. No, I emerged because I got a job. Not only am I a novelist now, I am a chauffeur. Monday was my first day driving a doctor in town to his clinic in Gillette. We left before 7 in the morning and returned about 9:30 at night. A long day, perhaps, but perfect for writing while I waited for him to see all 60 (!) of his patients. I wrote in the Campbell County Public Library for a switch. My little study room was about two feet square. It was nice and cozy.

Where were you the night of...

Is that a dangling participle? Will it count toward my 50,000-word noveling goal?

Noveling: The Next Frontier

Nov. 17, 2008

Welcome to The Igloo! It may not look like much -- just a table, a red telephone, a laptop and some fingerless gloves to the untrained eye. But let me tell you, it's a place of magic.

Here, for the next 30 days, scenes will be built, obstacles will be overcome and characters will come to life and run amok on that computer screen. The little green notebook will be full of scribbled notes. The headphones will play inspirational music. And the fingerless gloves will keep my hands warm as I embark on my next adventure: writing a 50,000-word novel in 30 days in my folks' rather chilly basement.

It's crazy, I know. Especially for a journalist like me who has no idea how to write that many words of fiction. But that book on the table, "No Plot? No Problem" by Chris Baty, says it can be done. I choose to believe it and invite you to come along.

Stay tuned for updates on the noveling life.

You're so vain, you prob'ly think this post is about you

Nov. 18, 2008

Ah, the joys of traveling alone. Scenery photos are nice and all, but you can only take so many. Soon, you want a photo of, well, yourself. You want to prove you were in all those wonderful places. You want the world to see that you do exist. So, you go crazy with your camera's self-timer.

You set the camera on a windowsill, a television, a log, a rock. You frame the photo the best you can. You hit the button. You run. You strike a pose. You smile. And smile. And smile. The little red light keeps blinking. You frown. You begin to head towards the camera. It takes the picture as you're glaring at it. You try again. You strike another pose. You laugh at yourself. You really, really hope no one is watching.

Here's my proof. I was in a tall building in Boston. I was on the coast of Oregon. I was on the coast of Oregon. I was on Oregon's coast. I was here, in Oregon. Oregon knew my presence. I liked these rocks on the coast of Oregon. I was in Maine, on the coast. I was in Boston.

Hannah was here.

Who are you?

Nov. 18, 2008

I snapped these photos in a funky little book store at the back of the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. The question is a good one. I'd like to add: Who are you becoming?

Sleepin' around

Nov. 10, 2008

Sex sells, right?

Then I ain't makin' any money with this post.

Yes, I slept in 13 different beds in 30 days. They included zero men. The scandal goes no further than the headline. (But here's hoping you all have a sense of humor...)

I didn't get a shot of every single bed, but I got most. They ranged from futons in cute, urban flats to fluffy bed-and-breakfast mattresses to blue suede love seats to Bob the Builder air mattresses to the ever available and always okay floor.

From Massachusetts to Maine to Vermont to New York to Pennsylvania to Oregon to California, here's a pictorial confession of my month of sleepin' around in America.

Winding my way home

Nov. 5, 2008

Utah's Ruby Canyon has no roads. It can only be seen by river raft or train. So I feel pretty lucky to be watching its red walls slide past my window.

Though countless Amtrak passengers have seen the same sight, I imagine I am the only one. And I suppose, in a sense, I am. I am the only person to see Ruby Canyon with my eyes, my story, my thoughts about how I got here and where I'm going. Likewise, my fellow train travelers are the only ones to see this canyon through their eyes, their stories.

I wonder what they see?

I see contrast. The baked red dirt burns against memories of snow-white forests in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, crossed just hours ago. How suddenly the journey changes. How suddenly the path turns.

I see a past relationship that grew in love and strength in the great outdoors -- and died in the barren, impersonal land of cell phones and email. I see the hope I will love again.

I see 27 years of knowing the love of my God, my family and my friends. I see a life already full of adventure and a lifetime to fill with even more adventures.

What will they be? And, more importantly, who will I be inside of them? I hope, come what may, I will never forget the sense of wonder that comes when watching the world go by from the window of a train. I hope I continue to live my life slow and deliberate and always with a sense of wide-eyed wonder.

Clack, clack goes the train on the track

I am headed home. My train leaves Sacramento in about 15 minutes and arrives in Denver in about 32 hours. Trains do have the power to make everyone slow down a bit.
My travels have been, well, so many things. Pure fun. Difficult at times. Educational. Eye-opening. I will have to digest them for a while, I think. While I do, I'll keep telling stories here at Blind Bartimaeus. Feel free to stop by and see what I've learned, where I've been and where I'm headed from here. Thanks for coming along this far.

Scenes in Sacramento

Here's a few shots from my time in Downtown and Old City Sacramento. They are in no particular order. Sacramento struck me as a very colorful, bustling city.

Our house is your house. Our car is your car.

WHERE I AM: In Sacramento. I'm watching political television coverage on this eve of the election.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Went to San Francisco and explored Fisherman's Wharf, which was vibrant and entertaining. Got stuck in rush hour traffic on my way back to Sacramento -- five lanes, jam packed, pouring rain, two hours to go 30 miles, fun. My hosts, Brian and Breanna, lent me their car! How sweet is that?
WHAT I'M DRINKING: Naked brand antioxidant super juice. I think I'm getting a cold...bummer.
WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW: I board the Amtrak California Zephyr train at 11 a.m., headed for Denver. This is it. My journey is nearly done. Or is it just beginning?

Hospitality comes in many forms. There's the "Come in, here's a key, I gotta go" brand. The "Let's eat dinner and get to know each other" brand. The "Here's a whirlwind tour of my city and all the maps you'll need to explore tomorrow" brand. The "I'll take you anywhere you want to go" brand. The "There's the kitchen, help yourself, and I really mean it" brand. And many more.
Then there's the "Brian and Breanna" brand.
Brian and Breanna were my hosts in Sacramento. I sent the pastor of the CMA church in Sacramento an email asking if he'd help me find someone with whom to stay. He sent my email out to the church. Brian and Breanna were the first to respond.
They aren't your "typical" hosts. Maybe that's what made their hospitality so rich.
Brian and Breanna are in their 30s, have five kids (including a 2-month old baby girl), are busy and have a big house but not an extra bedroom. I was, honestly, a bit nervous.
I had no reason to be.
Brian picked me up from the station, not at all flustered by my train being nearly three hours late. Once at their house, Breanna made waffles...even though she'd never made them before in her life. And she remembered that I like coffee and brewed plenty extra.
I had an air mattress bed in the office, complete with Bob the Builder comforter. And I had five kids who didn't know me but thought I was the greatest.
When I asked about public transportation into Old City Sacramento, they offered one of their cars instead. And if that wasn't enough, Brian gave me ten dollars for gas and ran out to buy new windshield wipers so I would be safe in the rain.
The next day, they lent me the car to go to San Francisco.
Wow. That's hospitality.
The house wasn't especially clean, but the kids had worked hard to get it as clean as they could. It wasn't especially quiet, but it was comfortable. It was warm and welcoming and unassuming.
Brian and Breanna showed me a true example of hospitality by opening their doors cheerfully and going out of their way to serve me because that's what Christ's followers are supposed to do.
Many thanks to Brian and Breanna and all my other hosts. I am so grateful and hope I will always open my doors in the same way these doors have been opened to me.

Tragedy on the tracks

Nov. 1, 2008

I don’t know how to begin this entry. And I don’t know how to write it, either. I can’t make it sound polished and smooth. I can’t tell this story like a journalist; it affected me too much. So, word for word and with an apology for its gruesome nature, I give you my journal entry about a tragedy that happened on the tracks today:

Early this morning, about 5:30 or so, our train hit a man. He was laying on the tracks.
The coroner is now, at 7:30 a.m., trying to figure out if it was an accident, suicide or cover-up for homicide.
When Karen, my seatmate, told me this morning, I questioned it. Just a train rumor, I thought, my skeptical, journalistic mind never quite ready to believe. Once I woke up a bit more, I realized it was true.
Now, as I sit in the lounge car eating a cinnamon roll and drinking coffee, a weird mixture of emotions comes over me.
Horror, as I realize we are going to be tonight’s bad news.
Sadness at the loss of a life, even if the man wanted to lose it.
Nausea as I try not to picture the scene in my head. But how can I not picture it? It happened on this train.
Anger at the people who make jokes. But I suppose that is their way of dealing with all this.
They have let people off to smoke and get some air. Even that creeps me out. How far back did it happen? Are there…pieces…on the wheels?
I shouldn’t think like this. I feel queasy. I feel like I’m the only person who has cried. I wonder why this bothers me so.
As the sun comes up, I can see people out the window of the lounge car. One woman walks as far away from the train as she can without being too far to miss it should “All aboard” be called. Many people smoke, huddling close together to talk. Some hold their coffee with both hands and simply stare at the steam rising.
One of the conductors walks by stiff and slow, like he’s exhausted, like a man worn down and cold.
Cops approach and everyone turns to look and listen, while trying to look like they are not looking and listening. No one knows what’s going on, but rumors are plenty: “I hear they’re still looking for,” one woman begins, her voice dropping suddenly. A man finishes her sentence: “His head.”
People are worried about making their connections but seem to feel guilty for their worry. A man was killed, after all.

Lawrence the snack car attendant

Oct. 31, 2008
Halloween

WHERE I AM: On the train from Portland, Oregon, to Sacramento, California. I cannot believe my journey is nearing its end. I will need another month to digest this past one so full of adventure and fascinating people.
WHAT I DID TODAY: Slept in! Sat around in my pajamas until noon. This has been the first, and likely only, day of complete rest for me on this trip. And I’ve enjoyed it immensely.
WHAT I’M DRINKING: Amtrak coffee. We’re becoming old friends.
WHERE I’M GOING TOMORROW: I’ll be in Sacramento, exploring the city and getting to know the family with whom I’m staying (another Christian and Missionary Alliance contact. Gotta love the CMA network!).

Okay, I must write about the lounge car attendant. His name is Lawrence. He deserves an award for service, for friendliness, for making people smile and for integrity.
Early in the trip a few people had too much to drink and were cursing. In order to prevent the staff from having to stop to remove intoxicated and vulgar people, thus making the train late, Lawrence stopped serving alcohol. He made several announcements that this was a family train and vulgarity and intoxication would not be tolerated.
Lawrence has worked for Amtrak for 35 years. He begins conversations with each person who enters the snack car, often continuing a conversation begun with one customer onto the next after the first departs.
When the conversation lags, Lawrence tells a story.
He answers questions matter-of-factly. He teases when appropriate. He helps when needed.
Today, Lawrence has shown me what it means to be a humble leader and a strong servant.

Crazy old birds

Oct. 30, 2008

I like birds. I like taking pictures of birds. Especially crazy old birds. Here's a few I captured during my time at Cannon Beach, Oregon.

From sea to shining sea

Pictured above: Various shots of Cannon Beach, Oregon. Wow. Wow. Wow.

Oct. 30, 2008

Twenty years. That’s how long I’ve dreamed of seeing the rocky Oregon coast. That’s how long I’ve dreamed of this moment. And now, it’s here. I have looked upon the Atlantic in Maine and now look upon the Pacific in Oregon.
I thought 20 years of dreaming would build such unrealistic expectations I’d be disappointed. Instead, my expectations are exceeded as I watch mist roll off nearby hills and frothy waves crash upon the black rocks again and again.
Randy Pausch, the man behind the now famous Carnegie Mellon Last Lecture, "Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams,” was right. Dreams are good. Fulfilling them is even better.
I am crying with an almost inexplicable joy. Am I even worthy to be here, Lord? Am I even worthy to stand in your glory?
I am not. But that is the beauty of grace. We get what we do not deserve.