So in traditional form of The Sister's Son, I've recently returned from a 6 month hiatus from my writings for no reason other than I had nothing to say. Well, that's not entirely true...
The honest to God truth of it all is that I've been through a shit-ton of stuff since June 6 when I published my last article
Labeouf Connection. And I really mean that too. I'm talking flat-out spiritually inarguable, fantastical experiences with the God above and the Asshole below. I'm talking about heeding a call and moving myself to Hong Kong where I've been changed and remade several times over. And I'm talking about a little internet podcast called The Weekly Re-Brew.
Shortly after the publication of Labeouf Connection, I travelled from my home in Calgary to Vancouver, where my plan was to visit with an old friend for a week, and then move myself over to Whistler (the ski resort) for another week to visit my dad. I was only half excited about this trip. My friend is a full-time missionary, having grown up in Pakistan preaching The Word with his family, and now having been involved in several missionary schools and trips, was only in Vancouver a short time before he headed into South Africa for another 9 months of doing the work of the Lord. I, on the other hand, was a burned out drop out on his way out to failure, not doing ANYTHING. I literally mean that. I would go to work for 10 hours a day to a job I loathed, and then spend my evenings getting loaded or high, and on the rare occasion that I stayed in that night, would engulf myself in television or DVDs and study them intrinsically in hopes that I would be inspired to write an article under the oh-so-clever pseudonym of The Sister's Son. In other words, I felt inadequate to my Vancouverite/Pakistani/Internationalite missionary friend, and certainly wasn't looking forward to having God shoved back in my face for what must be the 667th time in my life.
But HE had different plans...
First of all, I recognized that it was Seigneur Cannibis that was slowing me down to discovering where it was I wanted to go and what it was I wanted to do. So a week before leaving for Vancouver, I dropped it like I dropped school; without looking back. Of course, I'd neglected to realize that this missionary pal'o'mine wasn't exactly the drinking type, so when I got to Vancouver I found myself 100% completely sober for probably the first time in 6 months. And it was somewhat painful.
Sure enough, he didn't hesitate even for a second when it came to telling me about God and that He loved me etc. etc. (You've heard it all before). But I was bitter. I won't go into it, but you can pretty much see in all of my previous writings that me and the Big Guy weren't quite seeing eye to eye. And not only that, but here is this old friend of mine (when all I wanted to do was catch up with him) preaching the Good News to me, and I was detoxing. The headaches didn't leave all week, and I sweated half my body weight out of my forehead alone.
And then I started having dreams. Not just dreams, but VISIONS. They were so real, that to this day, 8 months later, I can still remember every image with a crystal clear distinction. I dreamt that I was in Hong Kong with my friend, and that I too was a missionary. It was an adventure and a half, and for those of you who have read my previous works, you won't be surprised to find out that I was in fact wearing the gear of
Indiana Jones. It was enough to excite me, but not enough to push me out the door. I told my friend, and he jumped up and down with excitement like a 6 year old who got the golf set that he wanted for Christmas. Ok, that was me, but my friend still looked like that. He started telling me with no lack of exuberance about a Missions base out in Hong Kong, and of all the different areas of Asia that they were reaching out too. He failed to remember once again however, that I just didn't care. So I put it behind me, not forgetting however, the realness that was my dream.
The next day, another missionary friend comes to stay, a petite American girl whose only negative virtue I could really list was that maybe she was TOO loving, if that's possible. As it turns out, missionaries tend to talk, and it didn't take long for this girl to learn about my dream, and it turned out that she'd visited this place in Hong Kong, and was now also trying to talk me into considering it. "Thank Christ," I thought, "that I'm outta here in two days."
Nope.
As it turned out, my dad had also had plans to chat with me about my future plans, and as he was as-of-yet unawares that I'd made up my mind to not finish my oh-so-redundant English major, I was nervous to talk to him. He's not exactly the most understanding guy when it comes to future plans and not following them under his direction. Few dads are from what I've gathered. So on my last night, having barely pulled through the week of swimming in my own sweaty clothes, intense headaches and way-too-real dreams, I was sitting across from this old friend of mine sharing a meal, and enjoying what should have been our last meal together for probably another year at least. I was just a stranded Calgarian while this man of God was traveling from Canada to South Africa to Nepal to who knows where. I told him about the upcoming conversation with my dad, and he told me that he'd like to pray for me.
Let me say something
here. Desperation is not a feeling or emotion unfamiliar to anyone reading this. How do I know that? Because its the only feeling familiar to us on an everyday basis. It's so easy to find this feeling, because it comes with sadness, lonliness, anger, hunger, constipation and diahrrea.
And at this moment in this silly-themed hamburger joint named SOPHIE'S, sitting across from one of my oldest friends whose offering me the one kind of aid I don't want in this situation, I feel desperate. I had explosive diahrrea of the mind as it were. So I said YES to the prayer. So here I am, a synchromysticism studying English Major drop-out detoxing looking like he's recently just come inside from a rainy day from all of his sweat, praying with a missionary to Jesus Christ for help. And that wasn't even the oddest thing. What was odd was the prayer that was said:
"God, please give [The Sister's Son] more time to find out what it is that he wants to do, what he's supposed to do. And give him the courage to talk to his dad about his plans, and help his dad to have understanding."What I'm about to say is 100% true. Two. 2. Tah-oo. Two Minutes later, another friend comes running into the restaurant just as we're about to pay for the meal. Before I tell you what he says, let me describe to you the
Sea-to-Sky Highway...
British Columbia is treasured by Canada because of how it looks. Put the natural resources, the Olympics and the people aside, this piece of land is gorgeous beyond compare. Vancouver is on a beautiful piece of oceanside property, and right behind it is incredible forestry and mountains. Now, the Sea-to-Sky highway's name must be starting to make sense to you if you were previously unaware of the characteristics of ol' BC. Now let me say this; Whistler, where my dad lives, is on the Sea-to-Sky Highway. Somewhere way up in the mountains. High enough that the Olympic skiers and boarders and bobsledders will all me darting down the mountainside come 2010.
So here I am on the Sea End of the Sea-to-Sky, en route to the Sky, when this friend comes running in. He tells me this:
"There's just been a massive landslide on the road to Whistler! Nobody was hurt, but the sound broke the windows of cars 30 kilometres away. It's 30 metres wide and 9 metres high. They say it's going to block the road for a week!"What?
Do you remember how many minutes it was before I first heard this sentence that it was prayed for something to give me more time? TWO! It suddenly seemed very clear to me that was God was trying to tell me something. Not only that, He was so annoyed that I wasn't already listening that he threw a MOUNTAIN at me! Fortunately I'm a great catch.
Because I was going to be sticking around Vancouver for an extra week, I ended up that night going to see a man named
Sokreaksa Himm, who had survived and escaped the Killing Fields of Cambodia, and had since found God, forgiven the murderers of his family, and now planted churches among the country. I mean come on! How do you do that? I have trouble forgiving my 7 year old brother after he takes the last cookie from the counter before I even get one.
I sat there and listened to this man, but all I could think about was this missionary friend, his missionary friend, and my missionary friend's missionary family's eye watching me from the corners of their eyes, already knowing that there was a next step for me to take, and how stupid must I be if I still don't realize it. I did realize it, and I took the next step.
That night I applied to go to the Missions Base in Hong Kong. One month later I got accepted. 4 months after that, I left. During that time, I helped start and host a movie review podcast called The Weekly Re-Brew. Just as the time for me to leave approached it really started to take off, and get some attention. It was hard to leave it, but I wasn't about to ignore God again. Someone throws a mountain at you, you listen, all I'm gonna say. Leaving the show was really hard, but what I never told the other hosts was that I prayed for that show to work every day. Since leaving, they've received two official sponsors, a host website and are just as funny and entertaining to watch as they were to film with! Check it out
here!
So now I'm in Hong Kong. I'm not gonna use this article to describe what I'm doing here. But The Sister's Son did not die in Calgary, and did not reform and vanish when he gave his life over to the Lord. No, instead he just has a few new view points (say that out loud, it's fun!), and it took him a while to start sharing them. So keep reading all, because I'm not ready to stop sharing.
Wrong Way was Way Wright when he wrote The Ferryboat Song. And I'm here to say this. It Really Is Better On The Other Side. It feels like this...
Don’t think me weak since I obeyed.
