‘Home’ by Warsan Shire


no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbours running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled 
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied

no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough

the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between 
your legs
or the insults are easier 
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you 
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here.

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Salem! Peace! Finding Some in Sarajevo!


I took a trip to Sarajevo, the Olympic City! I left Paris feeling nervous that I’d not care much for this city. Hadn’t war just happened there 20 years ago or something? Would the buildings be full of bullet holes and would poverty be around every corner? Driving from the airport to the center of town did not help change my mood. It was wet and grey and the nondescript apartments that lined the road did little to make me have hope. But my fears were not realized. But something happened, maybe after day two… I fell in love with the people and the city. I saw the hopeful signs of life.

May I tell you of a very personal, but perhaps for you, an odd experience? I do tread a bit here worried of your disapproving frown. Please do not rush to judgement. The rain had finally stopped and I ventured outdoors on my first evening. I was glad to only have to walk for about five minutes into the Old City. Immediately I could feel ancient history on cobbled stoned roads and through narrow alleyways. It didn’t take long to discover that there were many mosques. I had no idea of the make-up of the population. I did not know that over 50 percent of the population were muslim. I had a lot to learn about this land.

While walking further into the old section of town enjoying the architecture of one particular mosque, the call to prayer sounded. I know that sound well because in Thailand I lived near a mosque for years. I had never gone into a mosque there, to my shame! So I listened and caught the call to Prayer on video and watched as a small number of young men went into the mosque to pray. I wanted to go in and observe, but was quite hesitant. “Is it allowed,” I thought? That’s when I caught the eye of a more elderly man motioning me to come in. I pointed to my boots, I knew that they had carpets everywhere. But he motioned and gave me a thumbs up. I followed him in the small well-lit domed mosque. He showed me the proper place to put my boots. And I hesitantly joined the sparse second line of men who had come to pray. And that’s the part you might find that odd, unless you really know me. You see, I am at heart an adventurer and like to see where life and God will take me!

There I was, my first time in a muslim service. No expectations. No knowledge. And no one looked at me weird. At the front facing a wall, Mecca, was a young man in a cleric’s garb. He might have been barely thirty years old. He sang in perfect pitch his prayers beautifully. He then led the men in bowing, holding out the hands in a prayer position and then the literal touching of the head onto the carpet. It felt like humility was happening, the recognition of a greater God and His supremacy over us. And yes, I followed the actions awkwardly eyes open and silently praying to my heavenly Father. Over and over we did this for what seemed like about fifteen or so minutes. And then near the end, when we all were sitting on the carpet, one of the young men grabbed a basket of beads and threw me a set to use in order to recite more prayers. I prayed my own prayers starting with the Lord’s Prayer. Before I knew it everything was over. No sermon. No singing by a congregation, although there was one 30 second solo effort by the same young man who threw me the beads. My first Muslim service was simply participation in the movements of the body, respect for God, and for mostly silent prayer.

Afterwards I shook hands with each young man. One took the time to hug me. Smiles. Camaraderie. The older gentleman who invited me in stayed by my side. He introduced me to another older gentleman who spoke a few words of english. He began pointing at things in the mosque and telling me the meanings. I understood maybe 10 percent of his words. Maybe he was hoping I would convert? He showed me a newspaper article that pictured a Muslim cleric, a Jewish rabbi, a Christian Orthodox priest and a Catholic priest. Was it his way of saying we all need to find ways to love each other? I left that night feeling light. I had prayed. I felt close to my Lord. I used my own words coming from my own heart. This wasn’t at all about religion but the heart. My heart and my God.

The next day I heard the bells of the cathedral ring. It was Catholic Mass. I went to the door to go in and observe. The man at the door told me I couldn’t go in! I said I wanted to observe. He looked at me and said, “No pictures!” And the church was quite full. It was beautiful inside. There was a trio of singers, professional singing. It was pretty, violin and all! But no one joined in, even as I tried to harmonise. The reading of scriptures was done a couple of times. A long sermon. I didn’t understand the words but I was familiar with the structure of the service. I quickly began to be bored as the Dominican priest droned on and on. I wasn’t participating really. There simply was nothing to do but watch others, professionals, do their “holy” thing. And I left that night no lighter and wondering what had just happened? For me, the best answer I can come up with lies in the participation. I was truly invited to participate in the first service. In the second service I was more of a spectator. I enjoyed being in both services, but what I came back with is that participation equals value. Its true of everything in life.

My God, We Need Change!


Some days I think, “What difference can I really make?” I am nothing but a tiny dot in this vast universe. I have practically no political influence and my voice is reduced to 5,000 friends on facebook and some twitter followers! If you are reading my blog, I am surprised, but honoured, because deep down, I want to make a difference somehow in this tiny little planet called earth.

I want to see our world able to thrive, survive, be alive with all the beauty that can be! I want a world where animals can roam, forage, and run like the wind. I don’t want to see another dead whale with a belly full of plastic bags and bottles! Let every environment be clean and our living spaces are safe for children and adult alike. Listen, I want a world where women can be respected and not fear for their safety. I want a world where war is no more, violence is shunned, marriages are sacred, rich nations help poorer ones to become better. I want a world where religion is about living out the highest ideals and living it humbly.

And even though I am a minor player in the grand scheme of things, I will continue to live out the change I want to see in the spaces that I inhabit here in my city of Paris. And maybe, just maybe I can bring some hope and love to someone, somewhere and somehow.

May we all bring the change we hope for and need in 2019!

Ha! Happiness.


It takes a lot of wisdom to be happy and more yet to stay happy. No one has to tell us that wisdom comes with experience, meaning through the muck and mess of life. Actor Jim Carrey might of had this in mind when he said: “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.” Exactly! How we all wished for that experience, if only we could have more fame, more spending power, you know, to find out if it brings us happiness or not. Ha! If I was given a buckfor every time I’ve heard someone say, “Money can’t buy you happiness,” I’d probably be unhappily rich by now! Happiness is easily the hardest human lesson and some never learn it.

I dined with a homeless man today. He told me a great story that reminded me of one great secret to happiness. The story went like this: While he was walking the streets of Paris he found a twenty euro bill lying on the ground. He picked it up and thanked his lucky stars. Not long after he came upon a woman who was crying in the street. Being a compassionate sort, he asked her what was wrong. It turned out she was thrown out of her living arrangement by her partner and had nowhere to go. He looked at her and gave her the twenty euro bill. “That,” he said, “gave him a great deal of happiness”. My first reaction was why would he do such a thing, he needed the money as much as she! So I dared to ask him how he came to feel so sorry for the lady? “I’ve been where she’s been!” That’s how we answered my query, without any hesitation. Yes, I tried to agree. So I let his sentence echo in my mind. “I’ve been low, so low too and I know how it feels.” That’s wisdom learned the hard way from experience and it’s an incredible secret to happiness.

Listen once more to an ancient truth written 2,000 years ago and still pertinent for the rest of 2018… “There is more joy in giving than in receiving.”

And So the Moment Happened!


History talks. She reminds us and shows us things. “I am not here just so you can recount stuff,” she said to me out of the blue!

And the conversation began.

“Do you remember when you used to think your path would never end,” she asked?

“I do, all that walking and all I could think of was my sore back and feet,” I replied.

“You were always in a hurry back then,” she scolded.

And I didn’t learn much either, I thought. “I just wanted to get over there as fast as I could,” I said meekly. “Now it seems I want to slow ‘er down a bit.”

These days I’ve been living and walking in the older version of me, in what now seems as though weeks are like days and the minutes have shrunk to seconds. I no longer want to hurry. I want to smell the air, hear the rustling leaves, even taste the earth.

“Well, you look much better, connected to the moment when you walk a little slower, don’t you?” History chided. I thought she was making fun of my gait. It’s true I am 57 years and I am not prepared to believe that I am that old either.

“Too bad time slowly washes us wrinkly white and we come out looking perpetually tired like a piece of driftwood,” I laughed.

“Why? It’s not all that bad. I like it when I see you stopping more,” History added with kindness. “Yes, that’s looks better on you.”

“Well, I guess I am letting things happen more. I don’t have to judge each moment like before. It’s like I can  relax,  stop and take it all in, the good parts and the boring bits.”

“Like the seals and whales,” History asked?

I remembered  this history, to how I heard my traveling partner, Patricia, shrill with joy, “Seals!”

“Seals, really?” I stopped the car quickly.

And I glanced and I saw them too, those silvery grey wonders dancing on the waters of the Baie des Chaleurs. The doors opened as two humans crossed the road. I was running with my iPad in hand, and I jumped the fence and started filming those bopping seals. There I was, happy, all the while giving a running commentary.

“Ha! Seals!” I said confidently, “Look at them!” I continued while squinting my eyes against the bright sun, “See how lucky am I! God thank you, thank you! You knew how much this would mean to me.”

My traveling partner had her phone out recording too. Was she recording me? We had both watched long and hard for this, hours of travel along the coastline. It was either whales or seals we longed to see. And then after a few minutes, yes that long, I noticed the seals were not seals. I laughed to myself now knowing they were some sea birds bobbing for fish. I deleted my video, not in the least disappointed. It was the moment that counted.

And I have to admit that this story was repeated twice. Yep, it was actually the second silly moment of that day. This was the trip we saw seals and whales. And both times I deleted both videos and my commentary with it.  It was really kind of funny.

History spoke up while chuckling at me, “You won’t forget this trip, will you? Those bird-seals and the rock-whales. However, the thing you should always remember is how you let the moments happen.”

I promised History to try and remember the lesson.

When I turned back towards the car and saw the happy eyes of my beloved traveling partner, they too reminded my heart. We were both learning to let things happen, no disappointment and without judgment. “It was not to be,” she said, “You always find what you look for, right?”

“Right,” I answered! “Let’s keep letting the moment happen.”

“And finding the seals and whales and the beauty of the moment,” she added.

Heaven surely must have laughed out loud as she looked down on us that day and wondered where we got our wisdom. You could say hearing History start up a conversation with me played a role in slowing us down. gaspe

Performance.


Medals-with-red-ribbon-on-white-backgroundI think many of us males get lost in our need for significance and success. We measure our lives against the expectations of culture and our closest peer group. In doing so we forget the crucial identity piece: Who are we? My closest peer group has been leaders in Pentecostal circles. Our conversations so often centered around what we did and how well we did it. I’ve  most of my working life the pressure to perform well and be successful. The compulsion to impress any given audience was my only way to show how worthy I was of support. It came to a head while being a missionary in Thailand. I left for Thailand under a central funding model, but  years later it was transitioned to a shared funding model where every missionary was responsible to find his own support, every penny! That’s when I did myself an injustice and began to worry too much about my performance. That’s when competition crept in too.

The Bible says the love of money is the root of all evil. Which is true. But so is the fear of not having enough, it can have detrimental effects on your life. I remember a seasoned Dollarsveteran teaching me how to raise money.  Since my wife at the time didn’t get a salary, but was very involved in what I did, he told me to tell congregations, “See, here you get two missionaries for the price of one!” And I would follow-up that statement with: “There’s no better deal than that, right?” Not only that, I would add that I was no newbie, and had sacrificed a lot to learn languages, cultures, and live in extreme weather! That’s how I presented. I actually don’t know if my new kind of talk helped or hindered the raising of funds. I think now it sounded ‘entitled.’ But in the moment I tried to impress.  I became reduced to how one dictionary described performance:  “the continual performance of a single task reduces a man to the level of a machine.” I felt machine-like wherever I went to ask, ask and ask again for support.

Now performance in itself is not evil and we all should do our very best with the hand God has given to us. However I had to come to my own conclusion as a ‘preacher’ and spiritual catalyst of sorts that I am not my performance on Sunday (or any other day when I am in front of some group speaking for that matter.) If you are a spiritual leader reading this, I encourage you to get this right; you and I are not ‘the great holy man of God’ that some want to label us with. We are not Moses, Billy G, or John Maxwell! And most of us are glad that we aren’t Bill Hybels right about now. But oh how we wanted, at one time or another, to be known as a successful world-shaker, right? But better watch out if you make that your identity! Here is a better more accurate picture of our identity, we are servants, we are lovers, and we are God’s children. That takes off some of the silly pressure that we put on ourselves to be something. Our roles and gifts are not our identity. They are simply the way we express our love to God and His world.

Since my brain surgery in 2012 I’ve tried to be more me, more authentic. Well, ‘try’ is maybe the wrong word, I’ve determined to be more me. That means not worrying so much about the expectations of others. It also has led me to being more open to the struggles of others. I’ve become more sensitive to the pain of others, more forgiving, more inclusive and hopefully more like Jesus. I now am also less afraid, too, of who I hang out with. I like people of all kinds from those who like to eat non-fat yogurt to those who smoke a pipe! And I’ve noticed people like to be around that kind of me, too.  It is kindness, not judgement, that slowly changes people’s attitudes and lives.

But it is not easy walking this path. Many people in church leadership structures want performance reports with numbers about all aspects of ministry. The stress on uniformity and speaking the same language (doctrine) and the need to be successful and more successful than the guy down the street is real. In many circles uniformity is next TheSoldierPeteto godliness. And this is where I return to my main point, if you don’t know your identity, you’ll confuse your self-worth with what you do and how well you do it. Performance.  Yes, it is a good feeling to be able to show big numbers. However I believe the epiphany we need in life happens when we realize I am not my big numbered performance. There’s more to me than that.  I am loved for who I am. And my life is about being true and faithful and generous and caring and not caring who sees me.

So stand up confidently and be different. Be quirky if it is you. Be engagingly outgoing if it is you. But please be unabashedly you.

 

Sorry sir, We Overbooked You!


It was the first time since I started to travel internationally that I was not allowed to board. I was landed in Lisbon heading to Alicante to speak to Thai young people living in Europe. But when I asked TAP Air about getting a boarding pass I was given the spiel of an overbooked plane and that I could fly the next day, same flight. I’d also get a hotel room and meal vouchers and a credit card with 250 euros for my troubles. Just go to any ATM and get your cash. She was a good saleswoman and so I was mildly okay with the plan, besides I would lose only one day with the young people.
 
However, the reality of the situation became clearer when I, along with seven others, began a long conversation with the TAP agent making the arrangements. The next day’s flight was already full. No way to get on it. So I was given a new TAP Air flight 2.5 hours north to Amsterdam and there to transfer to a KLM 2 hour flight to Alicante. I wasn’t too happy. He wasn’t budging. I didn’t even know I was given a 50 minute window to catch my next flight. I doubted their wisdom.
 

Next morning I was on time to the Lisbon airport wondering how my day would unfold. I boarded on time. The pilot then announced a delay of twenty minutes.  Not looking good already! While in the air I kept looking at my watch to gauge my chances of making my connection. It wasn’t looking good and I know my Swiss-made Seiko was not lying. I heard, at last, the landing announcement, I quickly calculated ten more minutes to touch the black tarmac. We descended through the fluffy clouds, passengers obediently belted to their chairs. I continued my calculations, hmmm, next flight now leaving in ten minutes. Hmmm, well, no matter how fast and long my spindly legs could carry me I knew I wouldn’t be on time. I look out my oval window to see highways dotted with cars and trucks, the dutch rooftops are visible and some big deciduous trees are at eye level. We hit the ground too hard and lurch from left to fright! My bag of unopened candies dance down the aisle. I now have two minutes to get my body on KLM flight.

It got me thinking, I wonder if we have tried to make living by faith too much like the way we travel. Ideally in travel there are no delays, no over-bookings, no technical problems and the weather is bright and sunny. Plan B’s are always the right plan too. So  up above those clouds I wondered if my next plane would wait for me. Was I important enough? Would there be ground staff waiting to whisk me to the where I need to go quickly. I found myself wishing again I could better control my future.

As it was there was no one waiting for me. I find the first boarding pass machine. After pounding my flight info, it decisively informed me that I missed my flight. “Due to delay…. You are too late, Peter DeWit, so sorry!” It gave me the option to rebook a flight. I clicked continue. The only flights were next day. I’d miss a second day of a three-day retreat. And where do I stay another night away? I didn’t how to decide. In the end, after talking to ground staff about options I made the decision to go home. Three days of travel to get to Alicante? No way jose!late.jpg

Some people live by the “nothing ever goes to plan” mantra. It’s really not true. Nonetheless sometimes things don’t go our way. That’s when you need to learn to let go and let be. I could have yelled like some of the others not permitted to board at Lisbon. I could have let the situation ruin my days and other people’s day too. I made an effort to let go and live lightly. I am sad of course to not be with my Thai friends in Spain. I am disappointed with TAP Air Portugal and it’s failures too. And the bank card they gave me that didn’t work, maddening!!! But what a reminder to self that I am not in control of the decisions and events that seem to go against me.

I am learning over and over to let go of the illusion that I am in control and trust the journey and the God of my journey. I guess that is what faith is all about, if everything was according to my plan I wouldn’t even need faith!