Some things don't fit right till later.

Two days before I leave. Thought I would write something pretentious or some word that describes when you think "so what?" in your mind- to get back in the habit of writing daily. Yesterday was a pretty good day, though a bit uneasy. I was not excited to go to J-dogs with Luke and his friend, but I was their ride so I was there for however much time they needed. I was even less excited when it turned into another shameless self-promoting networking exercise with a local rapper and his manager. I was aloof and more interested in my spinach, sausage, and bacon pizza and the prospect of free refills of apple beer. I should have gotten artichoke hearts instead of bacon, but sometimes we learn the hard way.

I was pleasantly surprised when the manager heard me mention Romania in passing (more as an explanation why I would not be riding the ivy league train). He seemed interested in a different way; like he'd been there before. I asked and he told me that he had been a member of the Young Ambassadors and had gone to Bucharest and several other cities. He talked about how they would not let him go to sleep; they asked so many questions and were so excited to have them there. I told him about the book Come Lord Come. I told him that some of the first members of the church in Romania found out about it through that program. He gave me the advice to bless everything I touched in Romania. Bless the people, bless the buildings, bless the land, he said. Use your priesthood. Be a righteous influence. It was a sobering message, which will be difficult to fulfill. I love those people and want to do good. I sometimes fear my low energy levels and moods. They can make my best intentions into dreams and that hurts sometimes.

Today I talked with Rachel Montgomery online and she told me she had a great uncle who was the one mentioned in the book who received the flowers in that group. She said it helped her realize that it wasn't an accident that she is going to Romania. It wasn't an accident for me either, but sometimes I wonder why. I kind of believe you make the reasons things aren't accidents in a lot of cases. It's hard to tell sometimes what part of God's hand you're supposed to attribute to some situations. His hand is in everything, but every decision you make is not a manifestation of divine providence in my opinion. But then again, who am I? To give an ultimate purpose for experiences in your life is a bit like telling the score before the end of the game. We weave a tapestry that we leave here for others to sort out. What does it do for me to sort it out other than to give me a temporary peace of mind. If I could keep a straight face when I know there's all kinds of tangles and loose ends then I could lead a perfectly happy life.

That's kind of been the pain associated with the mission, and my previous experiences in Romania. When I left, I knew a little more of what I touched was incomplete. That it would never be the way I really wanted it to be until the prophecies of children dancing in the street and barren women raising their long yearned for babies were fulfilled. But I tried. Like the Janice Kapp Perry tune, I was trying to be like Jesus. In a rudimentary and probably cute to Him way. I got angry at the hospital system. Why won't you operate on my child? Why won't you give her a cast like she needs? I got angry at racist bishops. What does it matter who I teach and baptize? I got angry at the orphanage. Why won't you hold them? Why do you need to hit them and yell at them? I fought for my babies. Sometimes I lost. Sometimes there was only a fight in my mind that I misunderstood. I gave what love I had whether it was felt or not. I imagined Him chuckling at some of my misled frustrations and expectations. Sometimes I suppose He was disappointed when I took myself out of the river to say, "I can't do this, I'm exhausted, what about me? Am I even doing this right!" To say I was exhausted is an exaggeration, sometimes I probably just felt homesick for my do nothing habits. Sometimes I probably wanted to be more than I really was or should have been.

You have to be OK with the outcome not going your way, and maybe even never really knowing how it is supposed to go. But if it does go as you consider it, well, it is best to believe it and enjoy it (and by you, I mean me). I didn't have that perspective before. The learning curve for that one is steep. A peace without resignation of hope is a difficult trick for me. Sometimes I need someone to tell me I'm going the right way. God is more robust than I have ever imagined though.

I played a show. I don't get the same meaning out of anything like that and it's not worth writing about at this point, other than to say that feeling on stage is a different high than doing things of worth.

Right now I'm probably romanticizing the experience a bit in anticipation, but those feelings come back in the stories like the perfume of your first girlfriend or the strangely comfortable cold hugs of your mom coming home in the winter. There's just a lot of loud noise that begs you to forget the good things in life.