When I visited Africa in 2005 I carried a small blue notebook in my hip pocket and used it as a daily journal. Back in the States, my friend Ken Wilson suggested I start an online journal (a web log) so folks could keep up with my experiences once I moved to Africa full time.
That's how Notes from the Blue Book began.
I'd never kept a journal and had never taken any writing classes (beyond the requirements) in school, so it seemed that "blogging" offered almost limitless opportunities for self-embarrassment and public humiliation, and I'm not just talking about my meat-grinder grammar and confused punctuation ... I'm talking about the idea of committing a thought or impression to the digital page, a format that literally allows anyone with access to a computer, whether today, tomorrow or at any time in the future, to find, read and catalog my words. Forever.
It was easy to imagine looking back at my blog three, five or 15 years in the future, shaking my head as my face turned red and wondering, "Did I really say that?"
Several years and 2435 posts later, I've learned a few things about blogging and about being a blogger ... particularly about trying to avoid "me" from becoming the focus of any post, as well as the importance of writing truthfully, honestly and with accountability to the Holy Spirit. Sometimes that's hard: my blog Dashboard probably has dozens of incomplete, never-published posts that I abandoned, regardless of their state of completion, simply because I saw my words wandering too far away from what I needed to say.
Sometimes, too, I wonder whether some readers are inclined to fret and pounce upon a particular word choice, make unintended associations and point to all kinds of shaggy tails hanging behind the horse. Like a blog Rorschach test: "Oh look, I see a roach in there."
I want every post to be roach-free and pray that every word is Spirit-driven.
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A friend mentioned once that my blog had become "too preachy," meaning that my words sounded like I was pointing fingers at sinners and at "back sliding believers" or otherwise holding myself out as spiritually superior. Ouch ... that has never been my intention: I'd estimate that 75% of my posts are aimed at me, as reminders that I do know better, while the remaining 25% are observations about things I've seen happening around me.
About 90% of my posts, just like this one, come from an idea that occurs to me while I'm walking, 5% come just after I've climbed into bed and none because I've felt like I had an ax to grind or a score to settle.
I haven't, ever, used my blog to surreptitiously attack, insult or find fault with any one else or to make fun of their church. My feeling is that if I don't have the conviction to mention a person, church, organization or institution by name, then neither do I have the conviction to slide innuendos or secret sarcasm between my words. I don't have the authority to criticize, ridicule or find fault with anybody.
Nobody.
If writing in general terms about a topic has left anyone with a different impression, I plead mea culpa ... for not being more clear, because I believe we're commanded, as believers, not to criticize but to encourage and support each other instead.
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Sharing Jesus, trying to live like him and as he intended, is The Thing ... and compared to Christ, I fail miserably every day. Even when I want and try to do better I still fall short. That's why it's not up to me to judge others; the posts here amount to a transcript of journey to be more like Christ in every way, and of my inadequacies. What I notice most are my own failures, frustrations and shortcomings ... and I can't fix anyone else's by pointing them out.
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Twice today I had friends in South Carolina ask me the two same questions, "When are you coming home?" followed by "... Or is Baltimore home now?"
It might sound strange that after living in South Carolina for more than half my life, I don't feel like it's my home. I no longer own a house there or anywhere else, but then ownership of real property has nothing to do with "home" ... what I miss is my church and my friends.
I grew up in Florida and moved to Colorado shortly after college ... but I miss Florida and hardly ever think about Colorado. I miss the island neighborhood where I grew up and I miss going to professional wrestling at the Armory on Tuesday nights with my father. I miss hunting with my brother and my grandfather and I miss talking with grandmother and her sense of humor, too. I miss visiting Granny and Pa after church for lunch on Sundays and I still think about seeing movies with my mom at The Tampa Theater. But I left Florida almost half my life ago, and Florida's changed a lot since I was a kid.
Despite what's been written in the newspapers and dramatized on TV, Baltimore ... nicknamed "Charm City" ... has the friendliest, most courteous and most polite people I've ever met. Seriously and no kidding, it's amazing. During last month's record blizzard I stopped by the grocery store and found lines of shoppers extending from the width of the cash registers down the entire length of the building to the Meat Department. How many is that? Twenty, or maybe twenty-five, shoppers standing in line for each cashier? If each cashier needed 5 minutes to check out and bag each order, how long do you think the wait was for the folks curling the back of the line around the meat cases? 90 minutes? Two hours?
While I was there, not one time did I see anybody raise their voice, get impatient, cut in line, roll their eyes or start barking orders about "Hurrying it up." Nobody felt special or acted entitled, no one threw a temper tantrum and no one started screaming or cursing.
What I described from that night in the super market isn't exceptional: that's normal in Balmore, hon.
Strangers routinely say "Excuse me," "Pardon me," "Please" and "Thank you," hold doors open for each other and just generally go out of their way to be helpful, polite and considerate. Some churches are like that, but I've never seen anything like such friendly politeness on such a large scale; I still can't get over it.
But charming as it is, Baltimore isn't home, either. Wasn't ever intended to be, and I'm just here for the present.
The place I'd like to see most is Havana but if I could push a button and be any place on the planet, I'd be in Arusha. Not Switzerland, not London nor Paris nor Barcelona nor Venice. For the five weeks I was there, Tanzania felt like home.
But Tanzania would only be temporary, too.
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A short while after selling my house a friend asked me where I was living and then remarked, "So you really don't have a home, do you?"
The answer is Yes, I do ... even if I've yet to see it.
Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame. Their mind is on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ
- Philippians 3:19-20
