Coming Out of the Closet

So this basketball guy, Jason Collins,  came out of the closet yesterday and announced he’s gay.  Why is that news? Given that he’s a professional basketball player and an African American male (neither demographic appearing to be a stronghold of gay affirmation), I guess his coming out was courageous.  When I read the statement, “courageous” wasn’t the word that came to mind; when I read his statement, “honesty” and “eloquence” were the words that came to my mind.

Before going any further, let me state that I am, to the best of my limited human abilities, devoutly Christian.  As such, and as a perpetual student of God’s Holy Word, I have come to believe that our designation of homosexual love as “an abomination” is a result of flawed translations of the Holy Scriptures, laid atop a variety of cultural factors.

So I’m the liberal affirming Christian in the room.  If you’re reading this and/or you know me, you probably already know that.  I’m not interested in debating or convincing anyone; I’m totally gay affirming, and very much aware of the fact that we have allowed our thoughts about sex and sexuality to relegate gay people to a perpetual state of “other,” one where somehow their humanity is assumed or implied to be less than or inferior to that of those who claim not to be gay.  Yes, I said it that way for a reason.

As a liberal affirming Christian, I was happy to see Mr. Collins come out of the closet, stand up as a Christian, and walk in integrity.  But as I posted articles about him, and about my friend welcoming him to Massachusetts for the Pride parade, I began to read articles about a newscaster, Chris Broussard.  Given the amount of hate on the first post I read, I assumed Broussard was some fundamentalist hate monger and those people were supporting him.

But a very reasonable person (Pastor JW) posted on the Broussard brouhaha, so I took a moment to actually read what Broussard said.  He stated that he thought homosexuality was sinful and that he didn’t agree with the gay lifestyle.  I thought it was a bit of an opportunistic move for him to state his religious views, but you know what?  HE WAS ASKED.  He was asked what he thought about Collins coming out.  True, he probably should have stuck with the statement (which he also made) that he wished Collins well.  Perhaps it could be seen as mean-spirited or irrelevant to talk about his religious beliefs – increasingly, America has become a place where we don’t speak publicly about our religious beliefs, as if we're all too immature or too stupid to acknowledge that we have different ideas.

OK, so I’ma go out on a limb here.  The guy spoke his religious beliefs, which were offensive to some.  But how different is that from those people who won’t touch me or dine with me because of their religious beliefs?  It’s a bit offensive, it’s a little odd, but don’t we tolerate that just like we tolerate all sorts of diversity?  Don't neo-nazis and skinheads exist, with our smug, self-satisfied pride that we are tolerant of everyone?  Broussard’s employer, ESPN, issued a statement that they “regretted” Broussard’s comments.  Why?  Because ESPN didn’t agree with them?  Because they’re not politically correct?  This “oooooh. Ooooh.  Let’s not say anything against gay people” phenomenon strikes me as being just as phony and as fake as the “my best friend is black” phenomenon.  While possibly built on good intentions, they are, effectively, a load of horse crap.

Gay people are people.  Who they love and how they express that love is no business of yours, mine, or anyone else’s besides their partner’s. They should be free to live and love as they choose, as long as they don’t harm anyone else.  (Note:  that sort of implies they should be allowed to marry and have survivor's benefits like everyone else, no matter what my religion says about it). Christian people are people.  They also should be free to live and love and judge as they choose, as long as they don’t harm anyone else.  (And that sort of implies that I get to love the Lord in public or in private, and to tell anyone who's interested in listening, no matter what my Muslim or Jewish friends' religions may say about that.)  Just like I think we’re collectively overusing the concept of “bullying,” I think we’re also overusing (or perhaps missing the point on) “diversity.” 

If you put gay or black or other people into a category where it becomes politically incorrect to voice opposition to them, that’s neither diversity nor inclusiveness, it’s protectionism.  It’s an implicit message that those who are protected are somehow weaker or less equipped to fend for themselves than everyone else.  It puts them into the category of “other,”  again relegating them to a place where somehow their humanity is assumed or implied to be less than or inferior to that of the dominant culture.  And if you put Christians into a category where every thing they say is always interpreted in the worst possible light, it sort of destroys any opportunity for dialogue.  True, we Christians have historically destroyed a lot of opportunities ourselves, but should we not at least be afforded the same amount of tolerance as the neo-nazis or skinheads whose heroes have historically made similar mistakes? 

As much as I don’t agree with Broussard’s comments, and as much as I think they were perhaps ill-timed, I applaud him, as I applaud Jason Collins, for coming out of the closet.  Although they are 180 degrees different from each other, each of them made the decision to come out of the closet into which they’d been shoved, either because of who they are or because of what they believe.  Each of them made the decision to come out of the closet and walk in the world as their authentic selves.

Now some might say that Broussard’s comments were hateful or intended to hurt.  I don’t think that’s the case; he wished Collins well.  The reality we're ignoring  is that people don’t always agree.  You may think your new yellow blouse is beautiful, I may think it’s hideous.  While good manners would dictate that I keep my opinions to myself, if we are to be a truly diverse society, we must tolerate my bad manners just like we tolerate the hideous yellow blouse, in much the same way we tolerate the people who cut us off in traffic or people who form lines and don’t know how to merge.    They are all expressions, or manifestations of who we are -- our diversity.  Some you’ll like, and some you won’t.  Some you’ll agree with, and some you won’t.  Some you’ll think are right and some you’ll think are wrong, but in a diverse country, we have to learn to respect the popular and the unpopular, and we have to learn to let people walk on their own two feet. 

I think it’s time to shake open the closet doors.  Perhaps when we do, when we don’t repress so much, we’ll find that a person’s religious beliefs or sexual orientation are of no more significance than the color of their eyes.  We’re not there yet, but I’m happy to see those closet doors slowly, ever so slowly opening, and people allowing their authentic selves to come out of the closet.

Adventures in Indian

When I’m in love or in the mood, I’m probably a better than average cook.  I come from a long line of good cooks, am fairly adventurous, and put a lot of love in the pot.  I also have a playful sense of taste which, while not particularly refined, is generally well received.

I’ve learned to cook fairly authentic dishes for each location or ethnicity that’s interested me.  But I’d never tried to cook Indian food, mostly because I didn’t really understand the flavor palate.  I get Greek, I get Szechuan and Cantonese; I get Thai, I get Mexican.  But I just couldn’t understand the Indian flavor palate.  I enjoy Indian food immensely, but had no idea what it was about it that I liked.

But the folks at my neighborhood Indian restaurant are starting to ask about me when I don’t come in, which is a sure sign that I’m spending too much time and money there.  I know how I am about food and that I go through phases, so I read some recipes, found some Indian groceries, got some spices, and thought I’d take a stab at it.

I’m a big fan of saag, a sort of pureed greens concoction.  I enjoy it with paneer, a homemade cheese; since I’m mostly sticking to this vegan thing, though, I also enjoy it vindaloo, with hot spices, onions and potatoes.  I didn’t find a recipe for a vegan saag paneer (well, I didn’t find the vegan ingredients I thought it needed), and I have a couple of servings of saag vindaloo still in the fridge, so I thought I’d just cook and spice the greens and see how they came out.

Many recipes call for frozen spinach, but I had a couple of pounds of fresh collard greens and kale, so decided to use them.  I thought I was too lazy to cut them into tiny pieces and so decided to food process them.  Shredding two pounds of greens in a food processor is not something I think I want to do again, although I probably will….

So I got the greens all shredded up, got my onions all sweated out, and got my garlic-ginger starter (I want to say roux, but it's not a roux.  It's a garlic-ginger starter paste) -- I got it cooking.  I kicked in the garam masala, the greens, and then the cardamom, cumin, turmeric, coriander, and Indian red chili powder.  I tasted it, and the taste of the spices was overwhelming.  “Shoot,” I thought.  “I’ve just ruined two pounds of greens.  Note to self:  when first using new spices, estimate LESS, not MORE.  You can always ADD spice, you can’t take it away.”  And then I noticed the potatoes I’d roasted while doing laundry.  “Hmm…. Vindaloo has potatoes in it, and potatoes will soak up excess salt; wonder if they’ll soak up these extra spices?”  They didn’t really, plus I’d now committed not just my greens but my roasted veggies as well.  Despite the fact that I’d just thrown food out, resolving to buy less quantity more frequently, and despite the fact that I’ll only be at home for three days this week, I didn’t want to ruin this dish or end up having to toss it.

“Well, I don’t have any yogurt, and even if I did, I don’t want to put yogurt in this dish.  What am I going to do?”  One of the items I didn’t throw out was a tin of “This is not cream cheese” from Trader Joe’s.  It wasn’t cream cheese, it was a vegan substitute that I bought just because it was vegan.  It had been sitting in the refrigerator because I’m not a real big fan of cream cheese.  I only use (the animal-based one) in recipes.  “Hmmm…the recipe calls for a yogurt/milk blend, and some call for a cottage cheese/milk blend. Wonder if I can use this fake cream cheese with some almond milk?”

The answer is a resounding YES!!!!  I blended in a little almond milk with the vegan cream cheese, and made it the consistency of a loose yogurt.  I added it to the saag, tasted a spoonful, and the flavors just POPPED in my mouth!  I was literally grinning at the pot as I stirred the rest in!

There is a bit of a flavor imbalance.  I’m going to have to learn what spices are in this particular garam masala (this was pre-ground; from what I understand, the best is when you grind it yourself, but since I don’t know the flavors well enough, I  didn’t think that was the move).  But I’ll find what spices are in this particular garam masala, try not to duplicate them when I add the individual spices, and see if that balances the flavor a bit more.  But I’m really delighted with my first adventure in Indian cooking, and the possibilities it opens up for more vegan cooking and eating.  I even have a box of ingredients for kheer, which I’ll make with almond milk so it will be close to vegan (I don’t know what’s in the box, but think there might be some milk solids or thickeners, so it won’t be completely vegan).  I was going to make it tonight until saw that it makes 600g of the stuff.  I might make it before I go, though – leave some here and take some with me.

My first adventure in Indian cooking was a success!  I don’t know if I’m at a point where I can talk to Amit’s mother about spices, but if I ever go to his house again, I might pay a bit more attention to her basement spice closet.....

Baby dream...

Had the weirdest dream last night.  I dreamed about a baby.  I think he was mine; he was the cutest little boy!  He was a preemie, but he was very self-sufficient.  He didn’t speak, but when he came to me and put his head on my shoulder, it was sooo sweet!  Then there was one scene where he was praying (Islamic style, kneeled down with his head on the floor and his rear end raised up) with two other people.

And then something else happened, and then he was running from one room towards me in another room.  He had the cutest little smile on his face, and there was such joy as he jumped into my arms!  I remember thinking how odd it was that he could walk so young.

This is probably a condensation of my thoughts about one of my churchkids who recently became the father to a preemie, and how I think of the young man as still a baby.  What makes this weird, though, is that I seldom remember my dreams.  Babies are ok, as long as their parents are around, but in this dream there were no parents around, and the kid's place was clearly with me.

No, it's not part of any subliminal desires....  but it WAS the sweetest little boy!!!

Keep Watch

So my liver enzymes had been acting all crazy, and because I’m a cancer survivor and get my healthcare on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, my doctors tend to overreact. Which is cool; that’s why I go to doctors on the Upper East Side of Manhattan – that’s where the old money is, and in my brain, that translates to where the best healthcare is.  That does not mean that the best doctors are where the money is, but it does mean that when there’s old money in a community, you will find doctors who make enough to invest in support staff who aren’t always angry, and who at least act like they give a hoot about you.  You also find that they can charge enough that their offices aren’t like cattle drives (some have computers you can use while you wait; some offer food; most have free coffee, even if you just drop in to visit), and they can usually afford good diagnostic equipment.  With doctors, like everything else, you have to keep watch over the process.

Anyway.  I went to my liver specialist.  That’s the other thing about the UES, and about US healthcare in general:  everybody’s a specialist. I have a surgeon, an oncologist, an orthopedist, a podiatrist, a cardiologist, and a cardiac arrhythmia specialist (well, I used to.  Last time I saw him, he said that if all his patients were like me, he’d have to become a baker or something J).  Oh, and one other guy who’s like an endocrinologist or something, but he’s just too strange so I don’t go to him any more.  Brilliant guy, but really strange. 

But I was saying that I’d gone to my liver specialist, because these liver enzymes were acting up and I guess because I’ve had cancer, they all want to do these tests to see if I have these rare diseases.  As a matter of fact, I have to go have my skull X-rayed to see if I have Paget’s disease, and then have an ultrasound of my abdomen to see if I have a tumor or lesion or cancer on my liver.  I’m assuming the tests will be negative and that this is all medical CYA, but since I have Blue Cross and all that stuff is covered, and since I’ve been putting it off for about a year, I’m gonna get it done this weekend.

While I was at my liver specialist, I had him draw my bloods.  Even when I used to eat fried foods on a regular basis, my cholesterol wasn’t past the high end of normal, although my triglycerides were.  But I went vegan for Lent, and while I haven’t remained completely vegan, I happen to like the lifestyle.  I take cream in my coffee every morning; other than that, I make my best effort to avoid all animal products  (although I am thinking about beginning to eat honey; I’m going to experiment with a daily dose of honey and cinnamon to see if it impacts my arthritis). So I got my bloods done last week, and even though they were looking at liver enzymes, I asked him to do a lipid panel.  Turns out my liver doctor also favors a plant-based diet, and when I told him why I wanted it, he was totally happy to oblige.  The net result is that both my cholesterol and my triglycerides are OFF THE CHARTS LOW.  Mysteriously, while my liver enzymes still appear a bit high, the levels have significantly decreased since my last blood tests.  In my mind, this is just further indication that I don’t need to be eating a lot of meat.  But I’ll leave the analysis and diagnosis to the doctors.  I’m just keeping watch over them.  I firmly believe that, while doctors are available to assist me, God has given me stewardship over this body, and it’s my responsibility to take care of it and sort of have a clue as to what goes on with it.  So I keep watch, as best I can.

My auntie was talking to me the other day about all the stuff that’s going on:  Sandy Hook, the Boston Bombers, the Government’s ineptitude at handling gun control… she wondered what I thought about conspiracies. 

To be honest, I do think there’s something going on, and while conspiracies may be involved, I don’t think they are the root.  This is despite the fact that the Mayor of Boston has just called the bomber guys “actors.”  It’s bigger than them, though.  If we look at our natural disasters (Superstorm Sandy, the Great Plains blizzard, the tornado in Mississippi) and look at our human tragedies mentioned above, along with the elected officials who prefer to unite against a president of color than to unite for the good of all – when you look at all that, it’s easy to get all eschatological and think that we are living in the last days.

While that may be true, I don’t choose to believe that.  The main reason I don’t believe that is because of how I read the Revelation of John, as an allegorical text and not a literal one; but I do choose to accept the Bible literally when it says that no one shall know the day nor the hour.  Why do I read Revelation allegorically and take the Gospel as Gospel?  Because Revelation was a vision, which by nature is mystical and needs to be explained (and there’s a whole political undercurrent that suggests John was speaking against political powers but had to disguise his references in the symbols in Revelation), but the GOSPEL is a record of the words of Jesus the Christ, AND this particular passage occurs in more than one place.

 
And if you look at it, it tells us that, despite all sorts of signs and all sorts of stuff going on, and people claiming the Messiah has come, that no one will know until He actually comes.  The Word also tells us to Keep Watch, and that’s what I think is key here.

I think it’s key to watch how the enemy harnesses natural powers and human powers and uses them for destruction.  Think of how many unfortunate people are suffering crises of faith because of the aftereffects of any of the events mentioned above.  That crisis of faith becomes a victory for the enemy.  I spend entirely too much time looking at stories about humans who have shorts in their wiring – mass murderers, psychopaths, and the like.  With many of them, both alienation and desensitization are key aspects of their abilities to commit atrocities and continue to live.

And then I think about how we are all constantly being alienated and desensitized.  When there’s a natural or man-made disaster on the news every night, our responses to it are not as genuine, not as intense.  Sure, occasionally America’s heartstrings are plucked when a bunch of white people get massacred, as at Sandy Hook and as was attempted at the Boston Marathon.  But over 440 school-aged children were shot in Chicago in 2012.  Only 60 were killed, but Chicago is only one city.  I know that in the South Bronx neighborhood where I work, two or three toddlers were killed during 2012.  The outrage was local, but isn’t the life of every child valuable?  Why doesn’t the senseless killing of a toddler in the South Bronx or a first-grader in Manhattan evoke the same sadness and outrage as the killings of dozens of first graders in New England? 

Why?  Because we as a nation have become desensitized to violence in inner cities, in large urban areas, and in communities of color.  When kids get killed there, it’s considered “par for the course,” but if they get killed in the suburbs, that’s somehow more tragic.  The fact that we, as a nation, appear to value the lives of some children more than others (or to consider the deaths of some more tragic than that of others) is a symptom of our desensitization. When we are desensitized, we don’t see things as clearly; we don’t keep watch.

The fact that we are so tied to our electronic devices (says the lady who regularly walks with a smartphone, a laptop, a mini-tablet and a laptop/tablet hybrid) – is a symptom of our alienation.  When’s the last time you went out to dinner with someone without wondering about your cellphone?  How difficult is it to have a conversation with people without being interrupted by cellphones?  How many times have you waited for a service person to finish an obviously personal cellphone call?  Why is it that “Please Turn Off Cellphones” or “No Cellphones Allowed” are no longer custom-made signs for doctors, but are readily available at your local office supply store? 

 

So I think there’s a conspiracy by the prince of this world.  That conspiracy plays out in a collective alienation of us one from the other, and in a mass desensitization.  As we are alienated one from another, we forget how much we need each other, that we are not completely autonomous, but that, as an interconnected Body of Christ, as an interconnected Human Race, we are (or have the potential to be) greater than the sum of our parts.  As we are desensitized, our tolerance for violence grows.  Look at the violence that occurs when we kill animals for food.  Look at the violence we visit upon those whom we consider “other.”  As much as we claim to be civilized, let someone cross us or espouse a viewpoint different than ours, and we are ready to visit violence (often thinly veiled as “the wrath of God”) upon then.

Keep Watch.  Where is Jesus in the midst of all this? Where is the love? Where is the compassion?  Where is the loving of your enemies, the praying for those who persecute you and who despitefully use you?  As much as we speak about being a Christian nation and having Christian values, it doesn’t seem that those values come out in the way we treat each other; they’re only apparent in the rewards we seek from God in the life to come.  How infantile is that?

…or how deceptive?  Keep Watch.

We Need Jesus

A couple of news articles today have broken my heart.  The first was of nine year old Justice Williams, who hung herself because “she had problems adjusting to the birth of her half-brother.”  Then there’s the case of the 13 year old in Georgia who hung himself safter being labelled a snitch.  Seems little Devin Brown saw someone with a knife, told the authorities, and was bullied so badly he hung himself.

I will admit to a perverse fetish for police and detective-type TV shows.  For a while, they seemed to be the only ones that actually engaged one's intellect and simultaneously entertained.  But lately I’ve had to stop watching some crime investigation shows because they are graphic to the point of seeming sensationalism.  Then I discovered the Investigation Discovery channel.  While it at first seems innocuous enough, I can’t help but notice that it chronicles humanity’s inhumanity to humanity, with titles such as “Dates from Hell,” “Blood, Lies and Alibis,” “Blood Relatives,” “Dark Minds,” “Catch My Killer,” Dead of Night,” Deadly Affairs,” “Deadly Sins,” “Deadly Women,” “Evil, I”, “Evil Twins,” “Facing Evil,” “Fatal Encounters,” “Fatal Vows,”  -- well, you get the point.  It simply seems to chronicle the worst parts of humanity.  We need Jesus.  These shows come eerily close to showing a satanic influence over the world; where is evidence of the Divine influence?

We live in a world where students believe they have a right to behave as they wish simply because they pay tuition; where common sense is not only not common but not recognized, and where parenting, increasingly, has become not a matter of morals, beliefs, conviction, but rather of political correctness and litigation evasion.  We need Jesus.

 

I’m not an eschatologist  (preferring instead the Matthean (24:36) and Markan (13:32) statements rather than the interpretations of the symbols in John’s Revelation).  I’m not going there.  Instead, I’m just going to Jesus, who said “If I be Lifted, I’ll draw…:” the same Jesus who told us to “Go into all the World,” the same Jesus who met so many people right where they were and taught them according to their needs and abilities.

I can’t help but think we Christians have failed if our desire were to be Christ-like, or to bring Jesus to a sin-sick and weary world.  Someone posted something similar a while back, but my thought is that the only people out there who reject the idea of a Supreme Deity are those who have not yet experienced the joy of knowing that Supreme Deity.  Should not the world see Jesus in us?  When we respond to the horrors, the tragedies, the inequities and inconsistencies of this world, how often do we bring Jesus into the situation, versus bringing ourselves?

How much could we revolutionize this planet if we really, truly, applied the Word of God in every area and aspect of our lives?  In all our thoughts, all our words, and all our deeds?  I used to shy away from writing things like this for fear that the “holy people” would somehow think me unworthy.  But I no longer am concerned about that. I’m concerned about the world in which we live.  I believe we need Jesus.

It seems that ever since we Christians decided to abdicate our religious practice to the monks and nuns (I’m talking about about 325CE through perhaps the eighth or ninth centuries, when we went from very intentional practices of our faith to a time when we drifted into supporting monks and nuns who devoted their entire lives to worship and contemplation) – but it just seems that ever since then we Christians have become increasingly less intentional about the practice of our faith.  And when we are not intentional about our faith, it shows.  We’ve allowed political correctness and religious pluralism to shame us out of celebrating our Savior; we’ve gradually abandoned the practices, habits, traditions and teachings that shored us up in our faith; we’ve looked to the East rather than to the Lord; and all the time our collective spiritual power seems to have  weakened.

I have to stop now because I have to go to the gym. Once upon a time, going to worship was just as much a commitment as going to the gym or going to dinner.  Today, it’s much easier to get someone to go work out with you or go out to eat with you than to go to worship with you.  If that’s not a sign that we need Jesus, I don’t know what is….

 

Leaving Montego Bay

Don’t think I got a chance to write yesterday, which is too bad because it was awesome.  We got up early and went to Good News CME Church.  We had worship with Rev. Cosmo Grant as the Worship Leader, and Presiding Elder Elroy Ewart doing most of the Prayers.  Rev. Jacqueline Yates of Tennessee read the Scripture, which came from 1Kings 18:18-21. I had the rare privilege of hearing Bishop Othal Hawthorne Lakey, the 44^th Bishop of the CME Church, preach.  He preached from 1 Kings 18:38, and his topic was “Setting the Church on Fire: And then the Fire of the Lord Fell.”  He started out by telling us that the key was "then," and would continue to build his sermon to illustrate that.  There was, he said, a tendency for people to put the emphasis on the fire in when preaching about this passage, but it's important to understand WHY the fire fell, which is why the stress was on the "then."  

In this passage, Israel was having a crisis of faith.  The question they were pondering was "who is really God?"  He talked about the voting process and different types of voting, but how when the prophets set up this contest to see who was God, only one vote mattered – God’s vote.  And God expressed God’s vote with the fire.  He talked about the Fire of God and about setting things on fire.  As he entered his proclamation phase, I found myself paying more attention to his mechanics than the message (no disrespect; he’d set it up quite well, he’s a preacher extraordinaire, and I was just watching his preaching style.  I had received the message.)  Anyway, when I came to, he was talking about his father and his older brother and how it was the older brother’s task to fire up a kerosene heater to heat their home on cold mornings.  The brother used to get up in the morning and gather the materials for the fire while everyone was cold.  The father finally told him to prepare the night before:  get the kerosene, get the newspapers, get the kindling (or tinder), and then in the morning, all that needed to be done was to strike a match.  

And this is when he tied it all together.  Remember, he said the operative word was "then,"  In the same way that his brother could quickly get a fire going WHEN things were in order, similarly, he said, when the church is in order:  when the officers are in order, when the altar is in order, when the pews are in order, when the officers are in order, when hearts are in order, when the Pastor is prayed up and in order – when everything has been properly set up, THEN the man or woman of God can come in and Strike a Match and Set God’s House on Fire!!!  He advised us to put or keep our houses in order so that we might be able to go out into the world, strike a match, and set our churches on fire.

At least, that’s what I remember.  We took group photos.  I gave the missionary who runs the Pauline B. Grant School, some of the bracelets I’d brought over.  After the photo, I tried handing them out to the kids, but they came upon me in a mighty way.  The most interesting part of this, for me, was a little boy who wanted some.  I was trying to pick out boy colors for him, and think I gave him black, gold and green.  He asked if he could please have a pink one.  And I sorta realized that I was in the islands where colors, even pastel colors or vibrant bright colors, are not restricted to women.  I asked for help distributing the bracelets, and a woman offered to help me.  I asked her to give any leftover bracelets to the missionary sister, but I don’t know if there were any left.  When I walked away, kids were getting several at a time, and adults were lining up for them.  During afternoon worship, I saw people of all ages wearing them.  It wasn’t a lot, but I know young folks like those things, and I like to think that spread a little joy.  Maybe one day when I have money, I’ll get a bunch made that say “JESUS SAVES” on one side and “THE CME CHURCH IN JAMAICA” on the other side.

We finished with worship, and returned to the hotel.  I tried uploading my dolphin video, but it never did.  By the time I post this blog, of course, I will probably have uploaded it.  I spent nearly all the break playing on my computer, and with half an hour left before dinner, showered and changed into jeans and a Council polo shirt (gotta represent the Council!).  We had dinner at a place called Jack Spratt, a touristy place nearby.  I chose the Escoveitch fish, and while the service was amicable and the portions were HUGE (I ordered a small, so was surprised when a whole fish came to me.  Mr. White(?, the Jamaican man who accompanied Gary our driver on all our journeys) explained that the small or large referred to the SIZE of the fish.  What I got was a small fish.  I ate as much as I cared to, but left enough for at least a whole complete meal. When I found myself looking at the remains of the fish and wondering about the state of its dental health, it dawned on me that, while I am an omnivore, I don’t need to be reminded of the fact that I’m choosing to eat another living creature.  The Escoveitch fish was a bit disappointing.  We were served some at the hotel that was DELICIOUS:  it was dried or seasoned, and covered with onions, peppers, pickles, and some scotch bonnets or some very hot peppers.  This was a fried whole fish covered with onions and peppers, just like the steamed fish was covered in onions and peppers.  There was nothing hot nor particularly tasty about it.

But the meal was good because of the fellowship.  I had a very interesting chat with Bishop Lakey about preachers in Full Connection in the CME Church who are not called to Pastor.  He had a very interesting idea – he explained to me the meaning of “supernumerary,” a status in our Zion, a term I missed on one of the exams I took (that’s like the only question I missed), and one that never made sense to me.  I couldn’t find it in the dictionary, and couldn’t process it, which is why it didn’t make sense.  It is a status assigned to people who are not able to serve, either due to sickness or some other extenuating circumstance, but who are not candidates for retiring from the ministry.  Bishop Lakey explained that the term “supernumerary” comes from the Latin super numerari, or “above (or over) the number.”  In the days of the Roman Legion, when a legion of soldiers was 1,000 or whatever it was, there were super numerari soldiers, extra,  or “above the number” soldiers, who were available to serve should one of the  regular number get wounded or killed or captured or whatever.  These were the additional, available soldiers who could serve.  Bishop Lakey thought it might be a good idea to broaden our definition of supernumerary preachers to include people like this.  That would, of course, include people like me – called to the itinerancy, but not necessarily called to the Pastorate.  This cadre of Itinerant preachers would have a broad and varied skillset, and be willing and able to assist the church by offering their gifts and graces as needed.  This was part of a conversation that started when Bishop Lakey asked what I’d like  to ask him.  Given his latest work, I asked him how he thought the CME Church was going to address the issue of sex and sexuality.  We talked about all the other factors that come into play when we read our Bible – how we want to take some parts of it literally but not others.  I shared with him my thoughts on the work of the brother at GTS, “Their Own Receive Them Not,” His thesis appears to be that black people have always been presented as sexualized in American culture.  This is in stark contrast to the pseudo-Victorian values often reflected in Christian teaching and praxis, so African Americans, in a search for respectability, have rejected anything appearing overtly sexual, and vehemently rejected anything that appears to be sexually abberant or deviant.  Bishop Lakey didn’t agree with this assessment;  he thought that the homophobia so prevalent in African American culture is a byproduct of the fact that, in America, one of the few places a black male’s masculinity is not challenged is in the bedroom.  We had quite an interesting discussion, and I still have hope for my church.  It’s not going to be an easy process, but I believe our Zion will grow and prosper.

I’m at the airport now. It’s 1:10, and my plane that was supposed to have departed at 12:41 has just arrived at the gate.  So we’ll be a little delayed.  Which is fine...

We got up this morning at I don’t know – 4 or 5 am?  Had to have the bag outside by 5, had to be at the bus by 6 or 6:15.  I slept most of the way into Montego Bay.  We stopped at some little market (like the African Market on 116^th, like the groves of vendors you find in any big city in the world), and I decided that I would spend $20.00.  I got a dozen keychains for $7.00, and two T-shirts for $1100 Jamaican, which I call $11.00.  I had about $150 or $175 Jamaican left, so I got what I wanted in the price range I wanted.  We all got to the airport, and I got checked in through Delta and then went with the group and walked through with Debbie, the lady from the Jamaican Tourist Board.  I left the group as they went to gate 2 and I headed to Gate 16.  On the way, I dropped about $100 more – I got a couple of cartons of cigarettes (yes, I know, I’m peddling death).  I’m opposed to cigarettes, but have a staffmember who smokes.  The price here for one carton is less than the price she’d pay in the States for three packs.  So I’m going to either give her this carton or sell it to her at cost, and then I’m going to make a profit on the other carton.  I think.  I have mixed emotions, as I feel selling cigarettes is somewhere between selling drugs and selling guns, but if they’re going to do it anyway…. And then I bought my staff some instant coffee in addition to the ground coffee in my luggage. I also bought myself a pound of Jamaican coffee in an espresso grind, which should last me for a while.  Finally, I bought myself a bottle of scotch bonnet hot sauce.  I saw a lot of stuff here that I see on the Caribbean aisles in the grocery stores, but I’ve never seen this particular hot sauce. 

One disappointment of the day was that I finally decided I’d have a pattie.  I walked all the way back to the food court, to the deli where patties are sold, only to find out they had none.  I did have some pretzels, but the outrageous prices here discourage you from buying stuff.  Back to the coffee thing: I said I’d seen this coffee in Dolphin Cove for $31.00.  I didn’t know if it was 8 oz or 16 oz.  I paid $8.00 for an 8 oz one in the grocery store.  Today in the airport, I saw the 8 oz for 12 or 15 dollars, and saw the 16 oz for $26.00.  So Dolphin Cove was even more expensive than the airport (although I was shopping in duty free).  Despite the outrageously overpriced items that cater to the tourists’ delight to be in Jamaica, and despite the fact that it's a fairly typical country that operates on a tourist economy, I have had a delightful time here, and am looking forward to my next visit.

Pictures related to this blog are located here:

A Sarong and a Camera

Got up early this morning and went to the ocean.  Finding it cold, I didn’t go all the way in; I just got myself wet.  There was so much stuff I wanted to do, but I didn’t know how to make it happen.  I had no resources that I thought I needed, so I went outside and took some pictures of a lizard.  They’re kinda flighty, so I sat still for a while, hoping it would come to me.  I was playing my “be one with the object” game  -- in this case, the object was a lizard – and as I did, I stopped long enough to realize the presence of God in nature.  Being still for the lizard reminded me that when we still ourselves for long enough, we can encounter God.  And then I began to wonder about all the busy-ness that occurs in my life and the lives of others who say we’re serving God….

So I had fun with the lizards, and I had fun at breakfast with our CME group. I decided to stay behind to try to get to Dolphin Cove.  The hotel charged $1.00 per minute to use the phone to call, but I did, and found there was a reservation available at 3:15. The next step was to wait for the bus driver, Gary, to see if he could get someone to take me for less than the extortionary price the hotel wanted to charg me.  Gary showed up, and he got a friend who was willing to take me to the Dolphin Encounter.  Since I’d used a coupon to book it, the total cost of a driver plus the actual dolphin encounter turned out to be less than what the hotel wanted to charge me for just the driver.

So I came back to my room, changed into a swimsuit, shorts and tee, carrying a bag with a sarong and a camera.  I headed to the beach for a minute, and then went back upstairs to wait on the driver.  All is well.

Gary’s friend Errol had agreed to take me.  Errol was supposed to meet me at 10, 10:30 for the three hour trip to Ocho Rios.  Waiting for him was such great training for me – I couldn’t be too upset since I hadn’t bothered to get his phone number and didn’t turn on my service for here.  I was completely powerless over the situation, and had to be comfortable in that powerlessness.  That was good for me.  I learned that lizards appear to be enchanted when you sing to them.  They stop and pose for pictures. 

When Errol hadn’t shown up  by noon, I decided to head back to the room and maybe brave the ocean again.  I went and took a panoramic picture, then got my laptop to try and Skype a member of the group to see if they saw Gary.  Just as I came up to the main hotel lobby area with my laptop, Gary appeared.  It turns out there had been an accident and Errol was delayed. Gary had been in worship with the phone off, and so had not gotten Errol’s earlier messages.  When he finally did get the message and understood the situation, Gary borrowed Rev. Grant’s car rather than use the van, and took me somewhere to meet Errol.  This would help us to make up some time, plus Errol was going to avoid the main highway and take some back roads.  The goal was to get me to the dolphin encounter by 3.

Except it didn’t work out that way.  He did take the back roads, but he’d confused Dolphin Cove with another tourist place that was closer. We called Dolphin Cove and they told me that no, they didn’t have any later appointments.  Errol and I decided we’d go for it anyway.  That brother DROVE!  I am a bit of a speed demon and take calculated risks.  I could probably give any NYC taxi driver a run for their money.  Errol is a Jamaican taxi driver and the brother gets ALL props from me.

We arrived at the dolphin encounter at 3:40 for a 3:15 appointment I’d told him was at 3:00.  They ushered me right into the 4:00 dolphin encounter.  It seems that package I’d bought entitled me to see the stingrays and sharks and all sorts of stuff, but since the package made the total cost less than what they’d originally quoted for the dolphin encounter, and since everything closed at 5, I opted to just swim with the dolphins and miss everything else.

WHAT AN AMAZING EXPERIENCE!!!! I did a dolphin swim in Bermuda nearly 15 years ago; this one far surpassed it.  We had to swim maybe 40 or 50 yards to the dock, then our dolphin (Misty, a 15-dolphin-years old half Mexican half Cuban dolphin) kissed us, and took us for rides on her belly (we hung onto her fins and she swam backwards), danced with us, sang to us, and did jumps and tricks for us.  Oh, and she swam back and forth in front of us so we could pet her.  THIS WAS SO WORTH ALL THE TIME, EFFORT AND ENERGY IT TOOK TO GET THERE.

So I bought the CD and DVD.  I’ll post a link to the video, probably when I get back home.  As I was leaving, I realized there’s a bit of a park on the premises.  This woman was winding down and asked me if I’d seen the parrots.  I explained that I just came for the dolphin encounter.  She had me come over and let me hold the parrots.  She put one on my shoulder, one on my head, and one in my hand, and then had some guy take a picture.  Here it is:

On the way back home, Errol stopped and let me get some Jamaican coffee.  It was in the same bag (not quite sure it’s the same brand and size) as I saw in the Dolphin Encounter gift shop (where they make you go to pick up your CD, and a different one to pick up your DVD).  It was $31.00 in the gift shop.  It was $7.50 in the little bodega we stopped at.

After I paid Errol, his lights started to go bad.  He’d previously had electrical issues and thought they’d been resolved.  So it took us four hours to get home, with him driving quite aggressively through the twisting and winding tracks they call highways (the state of the roads, apparently is an ongoing issue, so much so that many tourists use helicopters or air taxis from St. Elizabeth to Oche Rios, and tourism in general has subsided in the area.  This clearly does not sit well with the local residents, especially not with those who drive for a living).  He did all that with lights that were probably about as bright as parking lights.  Again, mad props to Errol.

Today’s lesson had to do with recognizing my powerlessness and learning to resist some of that need to be in control.  Sometimes, a sarong and a camera are all you need – you can cover yourself, and you can record what happens, but you can’t control events.  A sarong and a camera are good reminders that the only things I can control are my attitudes and my behaviors.

And because I can't resist, here are just a couple of pictures from the dolphin swim:

 

 

You can see the day's pictures here for the dolphin swim, and you can look here for pics taken on the trip to and from Ocho Rios. 

 

The dolphin swim video is here with video, but you can't see it on a mobile device.  If you're on a mobile device, use this link, but it won't play the music.

 



I kinda like that Ackee......

Yeah, I kinda like that Ackee!!!!

So it’s the evening of my second day in Jamaica.  I LOVE the place, although it’s a more than a  little disconcerting to me that I am literally steps away from the ocean and have not yet even gotten my feet wet in the Caribbean waters.  I did try tonight after dinner (thanks to Sophi B. for showing me how to wear a sarong around my neck like a dress!), and did at least find the trail, but it was too steep and unlit, so even I didn’t do it.  Prayerfully I’ll go down tomorrow morning and watch the sunrise or something.  Although I’ve got my balcony door open and am listening to the tide come in.  Not too shabby.

This has been quite a day!  Started out at breakfast.  Last night they had us order breakfast (I swore I wasn’t going to eat, since I don’t usually eat breakfast, but thought I’d give their vegetarian options of calaloo and ackee a try. 

So they bring me out this plate.  Here’s a pic:

And I’m looking at it, not wanting to be the person with weird dietary needs,  but also thinking I didn’t want to eat that many eggs.  So I say, “Um, Miss?  I asked for no eggs.”  “That not eggs.  That’s ackee.” “Oh!  OK, thanks.”  I sat down to eat, and it was WONDERFUL!  The ackee with peppers and onions had the taste and consistency of eggs with peppers and onions.  There was a boiled green banana, a piece of sweet potato, and a couple of slices of yams.  Yes, it was all starchy carbs, but I’m telling myself they’re complex carbs.  They were delicious carbs; so much so that not only did I order the same thing tomorrow, but a couple of people, after looking at my plate and my face, did the same.

We rode about half an hour, to Fortcharles, to  the Good News CME Church. On the way we stopped at the Joseph B. Coles primary school for children ages 3, 4, and 5.  We talked with the teacher about what they do, and took some pictures.  It was good to see, since this education of children is work that’s directly supported by our Women’s Missionary Society.  It may not seem like much, but before I forget, later in the day we were to meet a young Jamaican woman who got a scholarship from the General Conference and attended one of our CME Colleges, and who is now in seminary.  Even if it’s just one life impacted, that one life has a ripple effect.  It’s great to see this as it happens. I’m going to recommend that all our Missionaries make a trip down here.  Bishops Lakey and Reddick spoke with the teacher about their needs, we took pics, and we were  on our way.  One of the other members brought coloring books and crayons, and I brought the little bands, but since school is out this week, we didn’t get the chance to give them to the kids.

So we arrived at Good News CME Church, in Fortcharles, where the Reverend Colmie Simms is both the Pastor and the Presiding Elder.  I think we came in a bit early, but the praise team was already in place.  A few minutes in, I found myself clapping, dancing, and praising with abandon.  I am usually a bit judgemental about people who confuse genuine praise with enjoyment of good music, but this morning I realized that there’s something about a reggae version  of “Pass Me Not Oh Gentle Savior” and “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” (one is a hymn and one is an anthem; both are slow, stately, and generally regarded as inconsistent with reggae) – there’s something about the reggae versions of these songs that is authentic and touches one at the very core.  That was very cool for me.  It wasn’t about the music, after all; just like reggae resonates with many people in our popular culture, I found the reggae rhythms and phrasing, applied to our old familiar songs, resonated with me in a way that was new and completely different. 

There are, from what I can tell, three regions if the Jamaica Annual Conference:  the East Mainland District, the Southern District, and the Northern District.  Because of the Jamaican infrastructure (or lack thereof), some of these dedicated people travel 9 or 10 hours to get to conference.  So everyone wasn’t there at the beginning.  There were perhaps 10-15 pastors present out of a roll of 25 or so. 

As Presiding Prelate, I found Bishop Reddick’s style formal yet friendly.  It was interesting to watch him teach Methodist theology and CME polity casually, with remarks and appropriate object lessons. I had to catch myself and remember that his role as chief Shepherd most likely includes not only bringing new people into the fold, but meeting them all at their points of need, whether those needs are spiritual, educational, or theological.  It was particularly interesting to hear him talk about Wesley stressing personal responsibility as a counterpoint to Calvin’s 5 TULIP points (specifically irresistible grace), without ever getting into the categorization or terminology, but simply explaining the meat of the matter.

Right beside the Good News CME Church is the Pauline B. Grant School, which they opened up for us and of which I have pictures.  Before the pics of the Pauline B. Grant School, though, I found an ackee tree.  I took lots of pictures of the ackee fruits, on the ground and ripened on the trees, asking people until I learned that they open when ripe, to expose the black seeds and the delicious yellow flesh, which is what they cook to taste like eggs.

Morning Devotion was led by Rev. Shadene Stewart, the young lady I referred to above, who got the scholarship and is now in seminary.  That was followed by Bible Study by Presiding Elder (and Candidate for Editor of the Christian Index) Ore L. Spragin, Jr.  He broke open Acts 3:1-18 for us.  He has a very interesting style, one that’s very much like my own: he engages the congregation, inviting them to participate by reading the Word and by asking questions.  Then he contextualizes the passage, then goes through it verse by verse, picking out nuggets and feeding them. He left us with the question, “Is your faith in yourself, Jesus, or your past?” and the mandate that faith in Jesus will convict us, which brings about repentance or a change, and that change is key for a new life.

We broke for lunch (which was actually when I took the school pics), and I was able to see the baptismal pool behind Good News CME.  Because there was limited eating space, we ate in the Sanctuary (all except the Bishops and Presiding Elders, who dined privately).  We had our choice of baked chicken, curry chicken, or curry goat.  I had steamed veggies and peas and rice.  Once again, it was quite good!

After lunch was the Conference business.  Again, Bishop Reddick taught as he conducted business – he gave Disciplines to the officers.  I was particularly impressed with the way he explained the Discipline as our Covenant -- then he proceeded to tell each departmental leader or officer which pages outlined their responsibilities, securing their commitments that they would study and learn their roles by the next Annual Conference.  Along the way, he explained the demographic requirements for electing delegates to the General Conference. (note to self:  flowchart this process)  Because of concerns about getting visas before the next GC (and because the next Jamaica Annual Conference might be only a couple of months before General Conference), they elected delegates this year.  I’ll have to get the listing of who the delegates were and post it….

The business of the Conference actually ended early, so we moved on into Communion.  Communion is one of the holiest sacraments we observe.  Not much else to say about that.  It’s equally holy and equally awesome with a reggae backbeat.

We left after Communion.  Got back to the hotel about 7.  I’d asked Miss Melanie to check on transpo for me to Montego Bay so I could go swim with the dolphins tomorrow. They quoted me a price of $160 for the day.  I’m like, “Is that in Jamaican dollars?”  The price was  in US dollars.  And since dolphin cove doesn’t advertise its prices, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a bit pricey, so I can’t make a commitment to spending $160.00 on transportation – that’s nearly half of what I paid to fly from the US to Montego Bay!!  So I don’t yet know what I’m doing tomorrow.  One option is to pay $80.00 and go ziplining at the falls;I think I’m going to  talk to Gary the driver at breakfast and see if he knows anyone.  Another option might be to go to Conference tomorrow and go to Montego Bay on Thursday when Rev. Spragin has to go, anyway.  Perhaps I could split the cost and save someone from having to make another trip.  But first I have to get a response from the dolphin folks.

So we’ll see.  I have fully charged my helmet cam, and if all I get to do is zipline, it won’t be the end of the world.  It won’t be as much fun as ziplining and swimming with dolphins, but neither is a new experience; the goal was to zipline and use the helmetcam.  So we’ll see.

Right now, though, I’m going to bed.  My unedited pics from the day can be seen here:

First Day in Jamaica

About an hour into this country, my first impression was that Jamaica SUX!

Fortunately, that impression only lasted a moment.

Got off the plane to see a crazy long line for immigration.  After waiting about half an hour, I finally got  to the counter where the woman told  me that because I didn't  have the address of the hotel, she couldn't allow me to enter the country.  (And I'm pretty sure Jamaica's a tourist economy, so I'm going to myself, "really?  Is that your smartest move?  To discourage people from coming?"  But, I'm coming to Jamaica, so I go to the tourist board where a very nice gentleman named Stefan Anders says, “oh, you’re with the church group.”  He let me log onto his computer (because of course my iphone died as soon as I turned on the 3G…) and retrieve my emails with the hotel name, then he looked up the number, escorted me through immigration ("You’re a child of God.  You shouldn’t have to wait in lines."), and through customs.  At customs, when I told the woman I had some rubber bands in my bag, she made me go through another inspector who looked at me like I was crazy for even coming to him.  Both the stumbling blocks were black women.  The black men are awesome.

So Stefan said we were VIPs. The airport has no lounges except private ones for resorts that people are paying to go to, so I went to the VIP lounge.  The ladies there were like, “no, you’re not a VIP.  We have no knowledge of that.”  (In their defense, I think VIP is probably a brand, as opposed to our being VIPs through the tourist board.)

So actually, it doesn’t completely suck.  The guys are cool, the ladies are just plain weird.  I would like to write more now, but need to find my church hat and go look for my group.  But first I think I’ma get a patty and a ginger beer.  The only place I could wait is an outdoor bar, and people are smoking, which I don’t like.  But it’s better than milling around a non-air-conditioned airport. Really, folks?  This is the Caribbean. Why would the airport not be air conditioned?  It’s 82 degrees outside, and this is the first of April.

****************************************************************

Wow.  Been here a few hours now, and just being here  is an attitude adjustment!!!  It seemed that when I went back inside the airport the AC was on (maybe it's relative). After about half an hour of it cycling and my trying to restore it, my iphone miraculously resurrected itself. Between going outside to work on the iphone and computer and standing inside the arrival hall,  I waited for -- I don't know, a couple of hours?  I think every skycap in the Montego Bay airport knows me now. They play great music here, and when I'm bored, restless, or excited, I tend to dance.  I did a lot of dancing this afternoon. The rest of the CME group came, Stefan escorted them through immigration (they didn’t even have to wait in the line, although some of them have horror stories of the folks in immigration and customs, and the ridiculous Jamaican customs declaration form), and we all got into a bus with Bishops Reddick and Lakey.  We stopped at a restaurant where they’d pre-ordered meals for us.  And while I’m not officially vegan or veggie, I gave my jerk chicken away and made do with the peas and rice and steamed veggies.  No reason, really – except that if I’ve been eating vegan for the last several weeks, it doesn’t seem to me to be the brightest move to make a dietary change while I’m in another country.  The tummy doesn’t always revolt, but why risk it?

Jamaica, a former British colony, has that peculiarity of driving on the left hand side of the road.  I kept trying to put myself in a space where it could be normal or reflexive, but to me, it just seems like they’re driving on the wrong side of the street.  Of course, I’m dying to get behind the wheel!   It seems we spent about three hours driving steep and very winding hills through the beautiful countryside between Montego Bay and St. Elizabeth.  There was a storm ahead of us, and the changes in pressure sort of lulled me in and out of sleep.  My mind resisted the idea of sleeping the first time in a new country, but it was just sooooo mellow!  Along the way we saw groves of trees and tried to figure out if they were mango, orange, or lemons (and at some point the driver pointed out ackee trees, but I'm not sure which ones they were); we saw pelicans high in some trees; we saw LOTS of cows: skinny brown or red herds, big stocky Black Angus herds, big white Brahmas, and I don’t know what else.  Cows and goats.  Lots of cows and goats.  The driver also gave us a bit of history about St. Elizabeth -- it was the first place in Jamaica to have a hospital, telephones, or electricity, among other things.  This brother was obviously quite proud of St. Elizabeth.  We drove past so much stuff so fast -- this place demands time to explore it!

By the time we got to the hotel, my mood had changed completely. They greeted us with some fruit punch type drinks, and though we’d arrived early and they said our rooms weren’t yet ready, they let us in.  I have a huge room with a balcony that overlooks the ocean.  That pretty much trumps anything else that has or will happen on this trip.  I mean, it’s 10:30 or 11:30 at night and someone somewhere is playing music with a bass line so loud my lights are flickering.  Yes, it’s annoying, but I’m thankful that I have Goody powder (for those of you not from the South, Goody powder is like a powdered aspirin) and sleeping pills.  It’ll be fine. 

Dinner was a deliciously flavored pumpkin soup followed by a buffet of tropical salad (something long and white and shredded, with cukes and tomatoes and maybe some mango thrown in), canned green beans and carrots, potatoes, rice, jerk pork, curry chicken, and pan fried fish.  I had the salad and veggies.  There was an orange chiffon cake and chocolate cake afterwards.  I had those, too.

My room is a bit of a walk from the main hotel.  It’s down a bunch of stairs and through some not-very-well-lit vegetation.  I took a wrong turn coming back after the evening meal and got my feet all wet cuz I stepped in a puddle, and then I was by the swimming pool, and then I had to keep myself from going to the ocean because it is literally pitch black outside.  As much as I want to go hang out by the water, I know it’s not wise.  It’s cool from my room – all I can see is the white caps as the waves roll in.  I’m trying to figure out if the music is coming from next door or from down the beach somewhere.  I really can’t tell, but sorta think it’s a club or something down the beach.  I SO want to open the door and have the ocean lull me to sleep, but am not sure if the bass line would counteract it. There are a few options for breakfast tomorrow.  While I don't normally eat breakfast, I'm going to be adventurous tomorrow.  There's an option for ackee with saltfish or calaloo with saltfish.  I asked her to make me a vegan breakfast of ackee and calaloo with no saltfish.  We'll see.  If it's marginally tasty, it'll hold me til lunch; if not, I'll have my nuts and seeds.

Bishop Reddick read us the schedule for the rest of the week.  I'm not prejudiced because he's a fellow Dukie, but he is methodical and organized.  That's good.  This will be a typical Annual Conference, plus they’ll be electing delegates for General Conference.  I think Wednesday will be the perfect day to take off; I also think that, next time, I’ll take a couple of days either before or after the Conference to explore the rest of the Island.  They’re talking about doing it in low season next year; that would be good.

I know this is a bit of a pointless ramble; at the end of the day, it’s been another day traveling.  I’ve met more of my CME family and have come to a new country.  I’m pretty tired, since I’ve been up for about 20 hours now. But I feel great, and despite the functionaries I first encountered, am beginning to understand why people love this little island so much.  There’s so much more I could write – the people are just so friendly – but I’ll have to save that for another time.  I’m going to sleep now.

Here is a link to pics of the day.