Map less Maverick

A week ago today I was driving down the icy bathed Nebraska roads, headed to Kansas City, heading to my family’s goodbye dinner, heading to the airport, headed to South Africa. Today I am going to buy a bike so I can ride the bumped and thumped roads of Jbay, today I am sore from the sunburn I got yesterday, today I am looking forward to tomorrow because I will be here.

So what is here?

Here is beautiful

Here is overloaded with things to do, people to see

Here is unlike Nebraska

Here is slow moving and laid back

In my last blog I committed to here, to now, “Here's to now” I suppose were my exact words. And I must say dear friends, that living in my ‘now’ is quite a pleasant place to be. Some days I look down at that blatant ‘life’ map that is so imperceptible and on those rare days I question the un-marked paths that have the potential to lead me astray. But those days are rare indeed, the days that tap on my nerves and say “Um, excuse me, you should probably be worried you don’t know where you are going.”

But on an average day, on the days that usually fill my time, my mind, my calender, my heart. Those average days, and unblazed trails say with an excited tone, “Jordan, you have a fresh trail that is craving your footprints, you have an unmarked map that you get to not only step onto but that you get to conquer; Because this indiscernible life of yours is absolutely stoked to have you be the first maverick discerning its direction.”

But something God taught me the other day must be applied to the compass that this map is following I cannot look at the map and navigate it by asking, “Where am I? What should I do?” … my compass must ask “Where is God? How can I join Him?”

I traipsed toward the beach yesterday, found myself a spot to lay, and then took in all the sun’s glory it had to offer, as well as the sounds of the waves. After I napped (which was proof that Swedish skin should not entertain South African sun) I went to the rock pools with the family that lives above my abode. As I stood on the rock with freezing waters molding around my feet and ankles I was watching the surfers dance with the waves. This particular afternoon the waves looked agitated, it looked as if the waves wanted the sky to move over and the surfers to move on. Distracting my attention from the wave's emotional break down and the surfer’s attempted playtime. I began to watch an old South African man and his grandson. The old man wore khaki shorts, a sailor’s cap and the dignity of respect and hard work, while carrying a bag full of fish. While his grandson was down in the bitterly cold waters, throwing out the fishing net. The son wore jeans, with a stripped top, complimented with a strong accent and naivety of the world beyond this sea’s pond.

As I watched the young boy fish, with no success and the old man watch and instruct, I couldn't help but align it with my own life. Align this imagery with the gospels whenever it spoke of Jesus coming to men on their fishing boats, telling them to leave their nets and fathers and to follow him. Align it with Jesus teaching us how we are destined to be fishers of men. Align it with my current attempt of standing in the South African Sea trying to fish out some lesson, coming up empty handed and God standing beside me saying over and over again,

“Cast your net again, my child.”

The winter’s wind picked me up and planted me in the summer’s sun. It planted me not in the spot of my choice, but in the spot of God’s presence; not in the spot of my strengths, but in the spot of my weaknesses; not in the place of my visions, but in the place that slept in my blind spot. All the characters in my life are growing older, I assume I am too. I’m a cross between my parents and a hippie in a hut; I’m a cross between a roaming rebel and a compliant conformist. I’m a cross between the boy who stays to fish and the boy who leaves it all behind.

I’ve made a living with these words I write, my journal as my companion, wanting desperately to belong. But never desperate enough to stick around and stick in, maybe some day I’ll settle down, maybe someday I’ll actually catch a bag-worth of fish, maybe someday I’ll have a trail marked on my map, maybe someday my map will be predictable and readable. Or maybe … not.

Maybe I’ll always be the maverick cowgirl, stuck on a beach with sun too strong, stuck on a road with no end in sight. Guess I could have made it easier on myself….

Nah… the man and the sea serenade me too strongly to succumb.

Here's to day Two

Well it is now day two of my South African adventure. Everything is slow here, (for the moment) which is pleasant and a nice change of pace from my regular life back in the states. Yesterday I got a tour of Jeffreys Bay, the town I am living in. Driving down the winding roads Jeffreys Bay has its own feel to this quaint surf town hidden away in the nook of South Africa's eastern cape. Although, I have yet to figure out exactly what it is.

But that's not the only thing I have yet to figure out. I have to figure out why I am here. Why on earth did I travel over 9,634 miles across the world to end up on a beach with a population of no more than 8,000 people. Well I suppose I don't have to figure it out, but I would like to. Because the only way to describe the path my mind goes, the weight my heart holds, the sound my soul is playing is: bewildered, muddled, addled, befuddled,disoriented, flummoxed, clueless, discombobulated. It doesn't matter what word you use, they are all the same.

The sea helps calm me in the midst of this confusion though, the sea has always helped to calm me so I suppose it is good I am now living only a few blocks from it. This morning I took a run from my flat down the winding hills to find the water. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, you know, she had no idea where she was or even who she was in that moment, but she decided "Well there is gravity to keep my feet planted on the ground and there is air for me to breathe, I may as well go look around."

Running barefoot on that soft sand you know you aren't in America's mid-west anymore. As I ran this morning there was an overcast coloring the billows that fell upon the white-crested waves of the sea and a southern wind that blew unlike Nebraskan's "I will knock you over" wind - but it blew as if it were a child who was running so hard to you to hug you even faster, because he loved you so much. It blew hard, swarmed you and then gave you a moment to breathe.

You could hear the chords that play the

beat that the South African's march to, sounds of work, sounds of status, sounds of pride whether it be bathed with dignity or indignity. As I ran the open shore line that was stamped with rocks to go out and greet the waves, I ran alone.

I crossed the east side of America, to fly over the Sargasso Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, to rest in Dakar to fly once again the length of Africa's country. And there I stood on the beach, alone, wondering about the land of Antarctica, that lays just on the other side of the water. But I am not alone, I know I will never be lonely. I have songs in my blood that carry the love of the Lord.

You know He understands the waters and how to make fishers of men, our God is a man of the sea. And ultimately I have left everything I know, everyone I know to follow the man and the sea. Knowing confidently that when that moment comes when I wade to deep into these waters that He will rescue me.

So here's to now. Here's to being lost in a whirlwind of confusion, here's to not having a map to life. Here's to surfing the seas, turning something that can kill you into your very own playground. Here's to now. Here's to having a dream, even if you don't know exactly what that dream is, here's to chasing your dreams, even if you don't have a path laid before you. Here's to the acceptance that sometimes you have to wave goodbye, not only to your home and to your safety net, but to yourself. Here's to leaving everything behind to follow the man and the sea.

Intro: Pipe Pilgrimage

It’s been quite a while since I last blogged. Over a month even, which is indeed quite some time. It’s not because I wasn’t stumbling across new information or didn’t have any issues that made my heart pound; no, it’s not that at all. But the past weeks have been a waiting period (just like the past 6 months). A waiting period for what I will be taking part in in 3 days. It’s not as if I have been sitting uselessly, waiting doing nothing with my time, making nothing of my time. It’s just all been, for me, too personal to jot down in some scribbled mess upon this blog of mine.

But, now I’m here, I’m back and I’m back to stay. For at least a year that is. Because I have told you in recent blogs, but let me refresh that brilliant mind of yours in case you may have lost sight of this scandalous endeavor I am partaking in. In less than a mere 62 ½ hours I will be boarding a plane that will be lifting off the Kansas City ground but it will be destined for South African soil. Because I have gotten accepted (only God knows why) for a surfing internship (because I’m from Nebraska) to do ministry (because I have a degree from Ozark, can I do anything else?) in South Africa (did you know there are white people there?) for an entire year (ok well actually just 11months).

I can’t explain to you how I feel about this grand adventure. But please, let me attempt. I am anxious. I have been preparing for this for the past 7 months; I know this is where God wants me to be for this next season, I feel so lucky and blessed to have an opportunity working with this specific organization. I am still shocked, It hasn’t hit me yet. Like I said I’ve been preparing for 7 months, I can’t believe it’s finally here. I can’t believe how lucky I am. I feel like I will still be here, in America, in normal life, this time next week. I have some fears. I’m afraid that it will be terribly hard and God will stretch me in ways I am afraid to stretch. I will miss my relationships here more than Santa Clause misses his elves on Christmas Eve Night. I am probably going to get eaten by a shark. I am happy right now where I am sitting and I am happy for where I will be sitting when the time comes, right now I'm happy in good ‘ol Lexington Nebraska. I’m glad I have a couple days left here in America, I’m glad I have some hours left with my dear family, I’m glad I’m going to South Africa; but I am going on God’s time. It has always been that way, whether I have had to wait 4 years, 7 months or 2 days.

I have to admit I am deeply going to miss America. I am sure once I have been living and breathing and eating on South African soil for a few months straight I will be writing up a list of American items that I long for. But off the top of my head I know I am going to miss snow. I love snow, full powdery snow. If I could snowboard every day on fluffy dry snow, I think I may push this surfing excursion back. I’m going to miss cowboys and Huskers and never worrying about my safety, essentially (I can’t believe I am saying this) I am going to miss the mid-west. But like I said, give me a few months I’m sure (maybe) (ok possibly) (alright, probably not) going to miss America.

My life has been full; every day of my 22 years and everyday of these past few weeks that I have been absent from this blogging world. But now dear readers (those sparse ones that I actually have, by the way thank you) I am re-opening the door. The door that says “Hello blog readers, this is my life, this is me Jordan raw and in a haphazard pile of the alphabetical letters, come in and sit for a bit, because I have loads to tell you.” :) Enjoy. For today is merely the small introduction of the 'Pipe Pilgrimage' (pipe for surfing and pilgrimage for journey) that I am stepping into full-throttle, fully-exposed, fully-about-to-drown myself into!