Pyrite Dreams

A Criticism of Habakkuk's New Book, circa 600 BC

2011-05-26T11:42:00.003-05:00

Justice Prevails is the new best-seller from self-proclaimed prophet Habakkuk.^[1]

The title Justice Prevails is a rather heavy-handed title, seeming to rule out all aspects of God's nature other than justice.^[2] And the justice in the book is not really justice at all. Most of the book Habakkuk rightfully describes all the awful things that the Babylonians are capable of doing, but somehow a just God is just going to let them destroy the chosen people of God. Not only is the love of God missing from this book, but the justice presented is a distorted justice coming strictly from the mind of Habakkuk.

Habakukk starts his book out by asking questions. This relatively small book is full of questions and short on answers. In fact, no reasonable answers are given throughout Habakkuk's entire book. Even by the end, Habakkuk is left to steep in the answerless void that is his theology. A theology of an unknowable yet just God who uses wicked people to punish righteous people. And miraculously, somehow by the end he can still say he will rejoice in the Lord?^[3]

This book of Habakkuk's is dangerous theologically. It portrays God in an irreverent light: The "god" of Habakkuk is a god that can be questioned, a god unconcerned with the people he chose through our father Abraham, a god who would use heathens for his purpose. This is not the God of the Torah. It also portrays a God unconcerned with the wickedness of foreign nations. Did not God send Joshua into the land of Canaan to judge the wicked nations there? How can Habakkuk then write a book exactly counter to the message of the book of Joshua? They both cannot be true. How can an evil people be sent by God to destroy his chosen people? That is not justice! It does not even make any sense!

This kind of "prophecy" of Habakkuk's only leads to a liberalization of interpretation of God's word, a disrespect for God, and in turn the moral degradation of society. We have already seen this in respects to the Northern Kingdom and their prophets. Jonah made a failed mission trip to Nineveh, and the Assyrians destroyed Israel anyway. (Someone should have told Jonah that God is a God of Israel, not Assyria.) Hosea had a prostitute for a wife! A prostitute! No wonder God destroyed Israel with the Assyrians, for all the wickedness of their "prophets"! Habakkuk only follows in the liberal and heretical footsteps of Jonah and Hosea. What is next? A prophet who uses theatrics and imaginative visions to pull in the new generations like a lustful song? A prophet who spends an entire book unjustly criticizing God?^[4] May it never be!

This is (hopefully, obviously) a parody on some of the criticism of Rob Bell's recent and controversial book, Love Wins. In using Habakkuk, I am NOT trying to equate Bell's work with Scripture, or even endorse everything he says as right. I am instead trying to point out some of the intellectually dishonest criticisms of his book by criticizing a book that everyone would accept as the inspired Word of God with the same criteria that is being used against Love Wins.
I chose the title, Justice Prevails, because that also tended to be one of the big criticisms of Bell, that he ignored justice in favor of love. Here, I flip the criticism. Habakkuk seems to ignore love in favor of justice.
Habakkuk 3:18-19
A reference to other prophets that came after Habakkuk: Ezekiel (specific reference to Ezekiel 33:32) and Jeremiah's book of Lamentations.

The Quest for the Sword of UnTime

2010-07-10T21:37:00.006-05:00

This is the best argument I can make for the legitimacy of Twitter as a serious tool for communication in the 21st century. Without it, I could not receive essential information in real time in 140 characters or less. Below is my adventure, and make sure to read it from the bottom up. Click on the image for full size. Also, follow me @briefconceits for all my latest exploits.

(Click for full size and read from bottom up.)

Where's the Box for "Stop Mailing These To Me!"?

2010-06-16T15:11:00.004-05:00

I somehow got onto the Republican mailing list, and about once a week I get an annoying "ballot" that's little more than a pathetic gimmick to squeeze money out of me. I got so tired of throwing them away that I decided to fill one out. If I'm lucky this will finally get them to stop.

(Click for full view)

My Talk with God

2010-03-27T12:27:00.005-05:00

I have a pondering spot down by the river. I go there when I need to get away and do some serious thinking. I sit on a rock beside the ~~mighty~~ ~~rushing~~ ~~all-consuming~~ ~~flowing~~ trickling Arkansas River and contemplate the deep things of life. It is also a place I often talk with God.

My pondering place.

That is not quite accurate. It's more like I talk at God, and then God lets me sit there and stew for a bit. God and I have a strange relationship.

Last evening, it was time for one of those talks at God. That is not quite accurate, either. It was time to complain at God. When I feel something is going wrong, I feel like Job felt after all those awful things happened to him. In that moment, I feel like Job. I am Job. I feel no remorse in the moment that I have equated my petty problems with Job losing all his children and wealth, sitting in a pile of ashes scratching himself with a potsherd. That is totally me. And I will quote Job's same line to God, as if God hadn't heard it the first time with Job, or that God would now be moved to answer differently after he sees how bad I have it.

I would lay out my case before him and fill my mouth with arguments. I would know with what words he would answer me, and understand what he would say to me. Would he contend with me with great power? No, he would only pay attention to me. There an upright person could present his case before him, and I would be delivered forever from my judge.
~Job 23.4-7 (NET)

It was late at night, almost midnight, and I made the trek to my pondering spot which is about a mile from where I live. I just walk north up a suburban street until I reach the river and then follow the river to the pondering rock. It's not that I have to go to this specific place to talk with God. He's everywhere, right? This is more for my benefit. It eliminates all the other things that might distract me from properly complaining.

After I reached the river and made my way to my pondering rock, I looked up at the night sky and noticed that the stars were obscured by total cloud cover. God wasn't going to play the make-Eric-feel-insignificant-in-the-face-of-the-seemingly-infinite-universe card tonight. He probably didn't think my complaint was worth unfurling the heavens.

I sat on my rock, and I gave God a chance to talk. I always give him a chance to explain himself before I start on my complaints. He's never taken the opportunity, but you never know, right?

So after God doesn't speak, I start to speak. It doesn't really matter what my problem was this particular time (it never really matters). But after I finished God still did not talk. He let me sit there...

...and sit there...

...and continue to sit there...

...until finally I come to a realization that I knew the answer. In fact, the answer had been staring at me in the face the entire week. And I suddenly felt stupid, inconsiderate and arrogant in the face of the Almighty God.

So I said a quick apology and returned home. He doesn't say anything back, but I imagine it would be something like, "See you next week, Eric."

I told you God and I have a strange relationship.

South Africans Love the Colonel

2010-03-12T15:15:00.000-06:00

One of the most jarring aspects of my trip to South Africa was the fact that no matter where I went, I was haunted by the ghost of Colonel Sanders. Nowhere was this more poignant than in the town of Eshowe, KwaZulu-Natal which has a population of just over 14,000 people.

On one of the main streets (Osborn Road), there is a KFC that always seemed to be doing brisk business the several times I passed by.

But not even a kilometer down Osborn Road is there another KFC that also does very brisk business as well!

South Africans love their Kentucky Fried Chicken almost as much as we Americans love our Starbucks. There is one on every corner!

Zulu Hymns

2010-03-12T06:19:00.001-06:00

I had the opportunity to spend time with a church in Eshowe, KwaZulu-Natal where they have a dual language service in both Zulu and English. I recorded a few of the Zulu songs that were sung while I was there. Zulu has sounds that are not present in English that sound like clicks. You can catch a few of those in some of the songs. You might also be able to recognize an old familiar hymn or two in there as well.

Even More Kruger National Park

2010-03-11T07:04:00.012-06:00

Baby Warthogs

2010-02-15T11:07:00.006-06:00

While in Kruger National Park we came across some baby warthogs that were butting their heads together (as male children often do). I took a small video with my camera. Sorry for the quality.

More Kruger National Park

2010-02-15T11:06:00.000-06:00

Venda Song

2010-02-11T08:28:00.003-06:00

Here is a brief recording of one of the songs sung at the Venda services I mentioned in a previous post. It wasn't recorded with the best of equipment (being out in a rural area with no electricity), and I tried to clean up the audio as best as I could. This recording does not do the song service justice, but I hope it gives you at least a taste.

I think you can probably pick out the woman I was talking about. I don't know her name, but I absolutely love her enthusiasm!

Lone Creek Falls

2010-02-04T03:42:00.000-06:00

Kruger National Park

2010-02-04T03:33:00.000-06:00

I visited Kruger National Park for a day, and came back with many many pictures. There are too many to put into one post, so I will spread them out over multiple posts over multiple days.

It was overcast, and rained much of the time I was there (but truth be told, I was thankful it was not unbearably hot, which is how it can get when it's not raining). Of the "Big Five" as they call them (elephant, rhino, African buffalo, lion and leopard) I only saw elephants and rhinos. But I immensely enjoyed the trip, and I got to see some amazing scenery and animals up close in the wild.

South African-isms: Hey

2010-01-31T16:24:00.000-06:00

Hey is a fairly versatile word in American English, but on the lips of a South African the word hey takes on transcendental qualities where it no longer is simply a word. It is the word. I have compiled a list of the meanings I have discovered hey to have in South African English. I am sure this is by no means an exhaustive list.

Isn't it?
Don't you know?
Well, that's what I think anyway.
Don't you think so?
Whatever.
Well, that's just the way things are.
Et cetera.
Somebody tell me I'm wrong!

Mpumalanga Province

2010-01-31T16:21:00.000-06:00

I traveled from Louis Trichardt in Limpopo Province to White River in Mpumalanga Province. Here are a few pictures I took while traveling through Mpumalanga.

A lot of the roads in South Africa are paved (or tarred as I've heard them say it), but many are not. After a hard rain, dirt roads tend to get pretty bad. I wish this picture was in 3D so you could see just how bad it was.

I'm beginning to think that Colonel Sanders is the President of South Africa. Seriously.

School's out!

Sparletta

2010-01-31T16:16:00.000-06:00

Cream soda is green in South Africa. Crazy.

Some Things You Won't Find on the Road in America

2010-01-31T16:14:00.000-06:00

There are a few things on South African roads that stick out to an American (beyond driving on the left side of the road). Here are a few of them:

Passing within one lane.

Cardboard license plates.

Kudu crossing.

Elephant crossing.

Hippopotamus crossing.

Memories of My Grandmother

2010-01-27T08:36:00.000-06:00

I attended a Venda-speaking church in Limpopo Province this past Sunday. They had a dual-language service, with translation into English or Venda (depending on the speaker), but the songs were completely in Venda. The song books they used simply had the lyrics to the songs with English translations under them. They were truly beautiful songs, and I gained an appreciation for the beauty of Venda that morning.

Sitting behind me a few rows back was one woman who belted out the songs as loudly as she could with great zeal and enthusiasm. I could not help but be comforted by that.

My Grandmother Faye would always sing loudly in church. When I say loud, I mean loud. I remember as child whenever we would visit my grandparents, I was always so embarrassed by my grandmother. You could always hear her. Sometimes she was louder than the whole rest of the congregation combined! On long notes, her voice would ebb and rise and grow louder still until you wondered whether she was still singing, or whether she had started screaming (or at least that was what I wondered back then).

Later, I had come to be more tolerant of my grandmother's exuberance. In fact, I came to not be embarrassed by it, but proud of it, inspired by it. She didn't have the same self-doubt I had. I'm always so self-conscious about what others may think of me, that I sometimes shy away from doing what I want to do. My grandmother sang her heart out.

Now that she's gone, that is one of the memories of her that still sticks in my mind more clearly than most all others.

As I listened to this Venda woman belting out songs in a completely foreign language on a continent on the other side of the world, I was brought back to memories of my Grandmother Faye. I couldn't help but smile, and sing along with the Venda as best I could manage (but still not so loud).

Limpopo Province

2010-01-27T08:20:00.000-06:00

More Thoughts on South Africa

2010-01-27T08:13:00.000-06:00

My week in Louis Trichardt was spent mostly in the company of several men from Zimbabwe (one from Mozambique, and another from this area of South Africa). I sat in on several discussions. Some of the most interesting were when debates started about the strength of various African currencies against others. It was almost refreshing not hearing anything said about Euros or US dollars (though dollars did briefly come up since they are being used in Zimbabwe).

It was also interesting to hear them complain about how young people were being negatively influenced by black American rappers. The one they mentioned more than any other was "Fifty Cents" as they said it in about the most annunciated fashion possible.

"This Fifty Cents, he's a bad influence," one said, "Why would he even have a name like that? Fifty Cents? Kids, they wear their pants down below their waist, and they are so baggy. Why are they baggy? And they wear their cap to the side, and act mean…"

On that note, not necessarily about morality, but the influence of American culture on South Africa can be seen almost everywhere. I have humorously alluded to it by noting that Colonel Sander's face is everywhere in South Africa. As an American, I always thought that McDonalds was everywhere, and I have seen ten KFCs for every one McDonalds I see in South Africa.

Especially in Jo'burg you see all sorts of advertisements for American TV shows and movies. I saw one billboard not far from the airport that was advertising a local South African News team, and there pictured in the middle (looking as if he was part of the news team) was President Barack Obama!

I don't listen to Alicia Keys even when I am in the States, but I have inadvertently heard her song Empire State of Mind about New York several times in the States. I have heard it more times in two weeks in South Africa than all the times I've heard it in the US. ( I've also heard the 1980's hit Africa by TOTO twice since I've been in South Africa as well.)

I don't know exactly what to think about all of this. Partially, I'm disappointed in a way, because I want to see more "South African" stuff. Partially, I'm surprised by just how much American culture permeates throughout the rest of the world. Partially, I'm humbled by the fact that I don't think we as Americans realize just how much our actions, just the things we choose to listen to and watch, affect everyone else.

Maybe part of that is good. Maybe part of that is not so good, as my Zimbabwean friends pointed out concerning "Fifty Cents."

South African-isms: Howzit

2010-01-27T08:09:00.000-06:00

"Howzit" is short for "How is it?"

I have a habit of saying "howdy" when I greet people. It is not a terribly common greeting in the part of the country I'm from, so it's more of a personal quirk of mine. Even though "howdy" is short for "how do you do?" when said in America it is equivalent to "hello" or "hi."

The proper response to "howzit" in South Africa is "Fine, thanks" with a possible "and you?" added in at the end. When a South African hears me say "howdy" they respond as if I said "howzit" by saying, "Fine, thanks, and you?" This throws me off because I'm just expecting to hear a "hello" and now I have to tell them if I'm fine or not (which you always say you are even if you're not, but that's a different topic for a different post).

We may both be speaking English, but sometimes I wonder if we're speaking the same language.

More Experiences on the Bus

2010-01-27T08:08:00.001-06:00

I woke early on Monday morning to a dark house with no power (having been knocked out the afternoon before). I was taken to the main bus terminal in downtown Johannesburg, where I would take a bus to Louis Trichardt, Limpopo Province (not too far from the Zimbabwe border).

The bus was scheduled to leave Jo'burg at 9:00 am, and scheduled to arrive in Louis Trichardt at 2:00 pm.

We did not leave until about 9:30 am. I was ushered to a bus that I was told was mine, and the man loading luggage asked where I was heading. "Louis Trichardt," I say with some confidence that I was finally on my way.

The man looked at me as if I were speaking some unknown language (sometimes in South Africa I feel as if I am). He asked to look at my ticket and insisted I was supposed to be on another bus. I was in the right line. They inspected my ticket. This is a bus they directed me to. He was boarding other passengers with the same ticket as me. After standing there awkwardly like an American, and after he took another passenger's luggage, I insisted he load mine.

I sat next to a young man who had been standing behind me in line, and I tried to strike up a conversation with him. I figured if I could endear myself to another passenger who was heading in the same direction as I was, then I'd have less chance of being stranded somewhere where I wasn't supposed to be. I felt more and more comforted as other people in our queue filled the bus, but sitting on the other side of the bus was a man that I distinctly remember seeing from a different line. I tried to put that out of my head. Maybe he just looked very very similar, with the exact same luggage.

It was not long before we arrived in Pretoria, and stopped at the Pretoria station. I thought I was on my way. My ticket distinctly listed Pretoria as the first stop. I was on the right bus. A few passengers disembark, and then some concession guys selling drinks and snacks (and one guy trying to sell watches) enter, and I buy a Coca-Cola. The guy I was sitting next to says he's going to the loo, and so he leaves. He comes back a minute later asks me where I'm going, and says I need to get off… apparently I wasn't on the right bus, after all.

The scene outside was a madhouse. All of these passengers that had boarded in Jo'burg were now getting their luggage in Pretoria. I felt a little comforted that I wasn't the only one confused, but that the native South Africans were also confused, and some visibly angry. (Perhaps, because I wasn't expecting a smooth ride, I took this with a little more ease.) I got my luggage, and ended up talking with another South African. I never got his name (or I did, and forgot it), but he was planning on visiting the States in a year or two, and upon hearing my voice asked if I was an American and then asked me questions about America.

The stranded passengers were all pretty much together, and I found out from them that apparently we were scheduled to disembark at Pretoria and board another bus all along, but no one but the bus company knew. Our bus that was supposed to be waiting for us was still in the shop, being made roadworthy, and it was still going to be another thirty minutes before it would pick us up.

I've learned that African time is much slower than regular time. The seconds and minutes seem to stretch and last a bit longer in the Southern Hemisphere.

So, eventually, the bus comes, we all board, and more than an hour behind schedule, we are on the road again. Roadworthy must not mean the same thing it does in the US either, because this bus rocked back and forth to the point I felt seasick, and even at the slightest incline the bus slowed down to what seemed like 10 kilometers an hour. One of the passengers asked at one point, "Should we get out and push?"

I decided to sit by myself this time near the rear of the bus, and take pictures as we went along. These can be found in a previous post.

After a few hours we made a pit stop for a few minutes. I spent a while outside talking with the South African I talked with in Pretoria, when he noticed a huge screw lodged into the side of one of the bus's tires. I told him I would've preferred if he hadn't told me that was there. He showed the bus driver, and the bus driver shrugged. Nothing he could do about it until after he had finished his route.

Almost to punctuate his indifference, not more than twenty minutes on the highway again, we pass by a stalled bus and stranded passengers standing in the median.

But thankfully nothing worse than rocking back and forth and slow ascents travailed us.

A woman sitting directly in front of me at one point offered me a stick of gum, and I accepted. Upon hearing her voice, I asked if she was an American, and she was. Amber was the first American I had run into in my time in South Africa so far. She was from Washington State, and this was her second trip to South Africa. The first time she had been in Cape Town, but this time she was going to work with a small non-profit organization that worked with health education (mainly dealing with HIV/AIDS prevention for children) for nine months or so out near the Zimbabwe border.

We discussed our different experiences in South Africa, and eventually a couple native South Africans started talking with us, asking us about America, and the differences between here and there. I found it interesting that one of the South Africans asked if America was how it was always portrayed in cop films, with all the gun violence and gangs running around. It seemed odd to me that America seemed more unsafe to her than South Africa (after having seen all the extra security measures South Africans go through for peace of mind).

On the way, I saw a giraffe standing not far from the highway, but it passed by before I could get a picture of it (the bus not being on an incline at the time).

I finally reached Louis Trichardt at about 5:30 pm.

The Bus from Johannesburg to Louis Trichardt

2010-01-19T11:35:00.000-06:00

I took an all-day bus ride from Johannesburg to Louis Trichardt. I rode on a bus line called TransLux, and it was an interesting experience. We rode from Jo'burg to Pretoria, where those headed to Louis Trichardt had to disembark to another bus (however, they did not tell us that until we reached Pretoria). Then we had to wait in Pretoria for about thirty minutes or so while our bus was made "roadworthy" which must not mean the same thing it means in America, because whenever the bus hit even a minor incline, its speed dropped to about 10 kilometers an hour.

On the bus, I met several interesting people, including the first American I've seen since coming to South Africa. Amber was planning on staying in South Africa for about nine to ten months working in health education with a small organization that works out in Limpopo Province. Amber and I got into a discussion with a few native South Africans during the trip about the various differences between America and South Africa.

During the bus ride, I also got to see a giraffe standing not too far from the highway. Sadly, my camera was not fast enough to take a picture of it before I went out of sight.

These pictures are in the order they were taken during the trip. Click on any of them to enlarge.

A soccer field lined with barbed wire in Pretoria.

As we entered Limpopo Province, for a moment I thought I was back in Kansas.

This is what most of the scenery looked like for a long while until we got to the mountains.

A mosque in Polokwane City.

The Colonel is following me wherever I go!

Security

2010-01-19T09:00:00.000-06:00

I have often heard the older generations of Americans lament at the moral degradation of the country. "We didn't use to have to lock our doors at night," they pine, "Just no decent folks left it seems." I have come to discover they don't know how good they still have it... I don't know how good I have it!

I think this will be shocking to most any American viewing this. It was shocking to me, and I was told about it beforehand. The norm in South Africa seems to be centered on security of the home with high walls topped with spiked, barbed or electrified fences. A metal barred door latches in front of the front door where commonly in America there would be a mesh screen. Electronic gates bar entry into the driveway.

You look down a suburban street, and it is lined on both sides with all of these various walls, fences and gates designed to keep people out.

Businesses, playgrounds, even churches are all surrounded by these security fences!

So I don't want to hear Americans complaining about the "travesty" involved in having to simply lock a door.

Hector Pieterson Museum

2010-01-16T05:29:00.001-06:00

I visited the Hector Pieterson Museum in Soweto. In 1976 there was a student uprising in Soweto to protest the use of Afrikaans (a form of Dutch) in teaching, seeing it as one of the main symbols of white oppression. Violence broke out, and many students were killed during those protests. Hector Pieterson was the first casualty of the violence. Sadly, photographs were not allowed inside the museum.

I was with Trevor, a native of Soweto who had experienced some of the violence in Soweto as a child, and he related to me a lot of what the museum commemorated. Trevor was a little disappointed that the museum did not spend much, if any time, on the whites who supported the blacks. Just in the timbre of Trevor's voice, you could tell that this was a subject of great importance to him, and he was very interested in making sure that I understood all that happened.

One of the most surprising things was the use of torture and assassinations of prominent black leaders by the Apartheid government. It was an eye-opening and appalling truth that I had a hard time wrapping my head around. I briefly tried to relate some of the more prominent events that led to the end of segregation in America to Trevor, but even President Eisenhower sending National Guard troops to Little Rock did not seem to even compare in the immense gravity of what was happening in South Africa a couple decades later.

There was a portion of the museum located outside that consisted of bricks each labeled with the name of those killed in the student uprising suspended in a sea of gravel. Walking among the names was a sobering experience.

Outside the museum was also a memorial to the event. Here are a few pictures of that memorial.

Soweto

2010-01-16T05:24:00.000-06:00

Here are a few images from Soweto, a township southwest of Johannesburg (South West Township).

Very Stuffed Crust

2010-01-16T05:19:00.000-06:00

I was told by a South African that Americans have boring tastes in pizza. After experiencing South African pizza, I will at admit that that is true (though I'm not necessarily sure that means it's better or worse). Here is a portion of the menu from a pizza chain called Debonair's:

Click image to make it larger.

In the lower right hand corner is a stuffed crust pizza, but the crust is stuffed with a pork sausage, which in turn is stuffed with cheddar cheese… and they say Americans are exorbitant.

The Face of Johannesburg

2010-01-15T12:45:00.001-06:00

There is one face that I have seen more than any other since I have touched down in South Africa. It is a face that has followed me from America. He smiles at me, taunts me. I can never escape his ever-watchful glare.

Colonel Sanders!

I am not kidding. He is everywhere! You would think he was the mayor of Johannesburg as many places you see his face plastered.

Kwa-Thema

2010-01-15T00:09:00.000-06:00

Here are a few photos I took while in Kwa-Thema, which is on the eastern side of Johannesburg.

As Opposed to...

2010-01-14T04:04:00.000-06:00

Here is something that I came across while driving through Johannesburg. It passed by quickly, but hopefully you can still make it out.

That's right. REAL Meat & Chicken!

... it actually makes me more doubtful to the claim when it's proclaimed upfront like that...

A Few Initial Reactions to Africa

2010-01-14T03:59:00.001-06:00

I had always known the world was round. My father had an old yellow globe which I would spend hours looking at when I was younger. I knew we lived on the top-half, so that explained why the Earth was planted firmly beneath us. I always wondered if people in the bottom-half of the world experienced life upside-down, or worse, clutched onto the grass so that they would not fall into the blackness of outer space beneath the Earth.

I later found out about the spinning of the Earth and gravity, and all of those things that explain how we live on a ball suspended in nothingness. I can remember standing outside school during a recess break closing my eyes and "feeling the Earth move." I was certain I could feel it spinning. I just had to clear out all thoughts and I could feel it.

I stood outside in the warm African sun with the city of Johannesburg in hazy view in the distance. I closed my eyes, and I swear I could feel the Earth spinning, and spinning a different way than I had ever felt it before. Something feels different, yet I cannot quite place my finger on it.

I don't know exactly how to explain my first initial reactions to Africa. It's different from North America, but many things are really the same. Or is it that it's the same as North America and many things are different?

My only experiences so far deal mainly with the city of Johannesburg and the outlying suburb to the south that I am staying in. There are a few things that I have noticed off hand, that are different to an American straight off the plane.

One of the most obvious things are driving on the left-hand side of the road. I, thankfully, have not been put into a position (as of yet) where I have had to endanger the lives of countless innocent South Africans by driving myself. It is strange to ride on what should be the driver-side of the car with no steering wheel. I have been surprised that no matter how long I ride along, and no matter how much I convince myself that we are safe on the left-hand side, every turn made receives the immediate visceral reaction in my head of, "We're on the wrong side of the road! I am going to die a horrible and frightening death!" which then is quickly tempered by another thought, "No, dummy, the left side is the RIGHT side! How many times do we have to go over this?"

In terms of cars and driving there are a few other noticeable differences: The vehicles for the most part as smaller. The roads are also much narrower than the roads in the US. I was also surprised by how many people walk the paved streets of Johannesburg (and I'm interested to find out if this is a common thing in other places in South Africa). There are many places where there are no sidewalks, so it makes sense to see people walking about on those streets, but even where there are sidewalks present, people are often walking down the middle of the street where vehicles are driving past (very closely in some cases due to the narrow roads).

There are a few other things that remind me I am no longer in North America. The trees are different, and it's hard to explain why. These trees are definitely more tropical in nature, but they are different from the tropical trees I've seen in Florida and other places in North America. There is something about their shape, their leaves, their size (they don't seem to grow as tall as most trees in America do) that makes them uniquely African. Perhaps that is the best descriptive term to give them: African.

Another small but noticeable difference are the bird calls. They are much different than anything I have heard throughout the United States. They are very beautiful, and another reminder that I am somewhere new.

In terms of weather, I am told that the heat at this time of year should be sweltering, but it has not been that way, yet. It has been a very pleasant 20-something degrees Celsius, which has no relevant meaning to me whatsoever. All I know is that it has been a welcome change to the bitter cold of the past few weeks in Wichita. Summer showers have crept up out of nowhere, and disappeared as quickly as they came. Last evening, I fell asleep to the sound of mighty thunderclaps. For a boy who grew up in the American Midwest, that was the most comforting similarity of all.

South African-isms: Hold Thumbs

2010-01-14T03:49:00.000-06:00

To "hold thumbs" is to hope for the best. It's pretty much used in the same way that Americans say "cross your fingers."

I'm holding thumbs that I understood the usage correctly.

The Flight

2010-01-14T03:48:00.000-06:00

My morning began very early. I was at the Wichita airport a little before 5:30 in the morning, to begin my more than 24 hour trek across the world to South Africa.

My flight was not until 7:30, and Wichita is not a very busy airport even at its most congested, but I am one not to take chances when it comes to flying. I would rather be there early and wait a few hours, than to spend every grueling second in anxiety-ridden panic wondering if the security line will move fast enough for me to actually make it to the gate.

I flew from Wichita to Chicago, where I had a few hours to wait until I made my next flight to Washington-Dulles. As I made the journey from one side of the Chicago airport to the other, I came across a statue of Abraham Lincoln just sitting there out in the open. I took a picture just because.

President Lincoln bids me a fond farewell.

With still a few hours to wait, I bought lunch at a food court nearby, a personal-sized pepperoni pizza. It was the worst pizza I ever had. The crust was like cardboard, the sauce was like ketchup, and the cheese was like soft plastic. America, I thought, was not doing a good job of making me want to stay.

From Washington DC, I would board the plane to Johannesburg, and almost as soon as I reached the gate for my flight, the boarding process had begun. I quickly pulled out the couple books I wanted to be stuck with for the next eighteen hours or so, and boarded the plane.

I had a window seat with an almost perfect view of the wing of the airplane. Only a tiny triangle of something other than plane in the upper left-hand corner of the window was visible.

My view of the plane from my seat.

I sat next to a woman, Tiffany, who I found to be a very interesting person. She was a law student from Baltimore who was going to be interning for several months at a law firm in Cape Town. As far as "18 hour airplane buddies" go, Tiffany was a good companion to have.

As the flight began, and the normal safety spiel was recited, a warning about turbulence was given. "Do not be disturbed by the occasional turbulence we will get," the head steward said, "Turbulence is not dangerous. It's much like visiting your in-laws for the first time: Really uncomfortable."

The flight from DC to Johannesburg was broken up in the middle by a layover in Dakar, Senegal. The stop in Dakar was a revelatory moment for me. I was on the African continent. This trip finally felt real. I was really doing this. It wasn't some elaborate fanciful dream that my mind had been deceiving me with for several months.

We spent about an hour at Dakar. There, passengers headed to Dakar disembarked, and a new flight crew replaced the first one. It was around six in the morning Dakar-time as we left Senegal, and through my tiny slit of viewable space, I spied an interesting statue in Dakar that I tried my best to take a picture of as we were taking off down the runway.

Dakar, Senegal taken as the plane was taking off.

Finally, we reached Johannesburg. It was a little after six in the evening on Tuesday South African-time when I got through customs. I had finally made it.

The Churches of Panera

2010-01-07T10:20:00.001-06:00

A couple Sunday mornings ago, I sat in a Panera Bread enjoying a breakfast before church services. On either side of where I sat, Bible study groups were gathered at opposite sides of the store. I marveled at the interesting scene before me. In my head I named the two groups, and then an entire dialogue developed in my head.

Rightside Panera Bread Church

Do not be swayed by the larger more diverse group on the left side of Panera Bread, dear children. For did not Jesus say in Matthew chapter 25 that he shall separate the goats to the left, and they shall be cast from his presence into eternal punishment? Assuredly, only the Rightside Panera Bread Church is the true church. Be not deceived!

Leftside Panera Bread Church

At one point, there was only one church at Panera Bread. We preferred the left side of the building because of the superior lighting in the morning. We also desired to spread butter and various jams and jellies on our breads. For the bread of Panera Bread is a good bread, but is in need of condiments to make it palatable.

Rightside Panera Bread Church

If the bread of Panera Bread was meant to have additional condiments, would not the bakers have made it thus? Truly, to add beyond what the baker intended is an abomination to the bread of Panera Bread which is already a superior bread in need of no additions.

Leftside Panera Bread Church

Your religion is a bland and undesirable religion! Next you will be telling us we cannot add cream and/or sweeteners to our morning coffees.

Rightside Panera Bread Church

You dare add your own variations to the coffee which was brewed to be a sufficient coffee for all who may partake? Heathens! Sinners!

Leftside Panera Bread Church

Miscreants! Pharisees!

Disclaimer: Not intended as a statement concerning all churches.

Preparing for Africa

2010-01-01T13:18:00.000-06:00

A new year has come. I fear it will take me several months before I stop dating all of my checks "2009".

With a new year comes new possibilities, new opportunities, and new prospects for a fulfilling life. In less than two weeks, I will be embarking on a truly new adventure for myself, and though I feel wholly unprepared, the excitement I feel is barely containable. On January 11, I shall leave for South Africa.

A picture from a friend in South Africa.

I shall be in South Africa for four weeks. Other than very brief excursions into Canada, this will essentially be my first international trip.

I'm not sure exactly what to expect. I know several South Africans (some now living in the United States, and some I shall meet during my travels abroad), and I am familiar with much of its history (being the international political junkie I am). But if I have learned anything in my life, it is that no matter how much you learn from books or secondhand knowledge, it never quite prepares you for firsthand experience.

With that in mind, I make these resolutions as I prepare for my journey to Africa:

I will keep an open mind and an open heart.
I will not prejudge anyone based upon my own cultural preferences.
I will endeavor to come to a fair understanding of the people I shall meet.
I will try as many new things as possible.
I will take what I learn in Africa, and apply it to my life to make me a better person.

I will be updating this blog for the foreseeable future with accounts of my trip, the things I learn, the people I meet. I hope you will join me as I journey into new experiences this new year.

Grant Loves Mariah Carey

2009-12-16T11:56:00.000-06:00

I received a request for a sketch. It was:

Sketch yourself sketching George Peter Alexander Healy sketching Abraham Lincoln being interrupted by Kanye West while sketching Taylor Swift.

I know that this meme is ancient by internet standards, but I could not resist the ridiculousness of the request. Here is my ten minute sketch of me sketching George Peter Alexander Healy sketching Abraham Lincoln being interrupted by Kanye West while sketching Taylor Swift.

Click on the picture to enlarge.

Operation X-mas Tree

2009-12-14T08:12:00.001-06:00

The following events are highly confidential. The names of those involved have been obscured to protect their identity. I am risking my own neck by simply divulging this information.

Ms. J— was determined to have an authentic Christmas tree for her apartment, so that's what we set out to find one December afternoon. We had permission to scout out and take a tree from the property to the north, so J—, H—, and I set out to find the perfect Christmas tree.

Most of the trees we found were too tall or too small. The ones that appeared to have a good shape to them, only had a good shape from one particular angle, but with a slight turn looked scrawny and pathetic. We were not about to have any Charlie Brown tree. We needed a good tree.

Good enough maybe for Charlie Brown, but not good enough for us.

After much time scouting, we eventually decided to take the tree we had first examined. It was a bit taller than what J— liked, but it seemed to be the fullest of any of the possible trees we could take.

We had a handsaw, and it was quite a job sawing down the tree. We each took turns, and at about halfway through the trunk, I thought I could hurry along the process by pulling at the tree. I ended up splitting the trunk up th middle almost a foot from where we were cutting (oops!). With some handy saw work, I was able to salvage the tree, with a portion of the bottom of the trunk still split.

Then there was the matter of getting it back to J—'s apartment. We had trekked quite a ways. H— used her skills in Girl Scout knot-tying, and tied the rope we had to the tree, and made the rest into a harness which J— wore "Fiddler on the Roof" Style. She insisted on this since I had done most of the sawing.

H— and J— dragging our coniferous prize!

After getting it back to J—'s we went through several trial-and-error attempts at setting it up. First we determined that the split trunk could not work, so we cut off the split part (the tree was still pretty tall), and tried again. That was just one sentence, but that took much longer in real life than it did to write.

On inspection of the tree, we found it to be lopsided, and prone to tipping over. It seemingly had grown in size since we had cut it down as well. Branches were splayed out unevenly in many directions. The three of us went about with a pruner taking pieces off here and branches off there in the vain attempt of making the tree un-lopsided as well as shapely and beautiful. We kept taking off branches and branches, but it just did not seem to do any good.

Eventually, somehow, we ended up with J— balancing the tree with her feet while laying down (sadly, those pictures did not turn out well). It was at this point that it was decided that our afternoon and effort had been a waste.

Operation X-mas Tree was dead, but we still needed to dispose of the body. So we ditched the tree out back, leaning it against another tree, so that none would be the wiser. Then we swore each other to secrecy that no one must ever know of our failed attempt at Christmas cheer. (For you, dear reader, I have broken that vow... on pain of death, I believe it was.)

So while the ideal of an authentic Christmas tree remains in our hearts, take this story as a cautionary tale that sometimes it might just be easier taking a short cut to holiday bliss...

...but it's not nearly as fun!

Tonight Show Sharpie

2009-12-10T17:19:00.000-06:00

I rarely win anything, but my luck changed a couple months ago when I won what will undoubtedly be passed on to my children, and my children's children, and my children's children's children with hushed reverence and sacrosanct awe.

I won a The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien branded Sharpie.

I know. I was speechless at first as well. Here is what came in the mail.

"Eric! Dudebro! Congrats on winning ... wait for it ... a BRAND NEW MARKER!!! Yes! - Aaron :)"

[Aaron Bleyaert is the Tonight Show blogger who held the Sharpie contest. Follow him on Twitter @BigBley]

I must admit that not only did I win a priceless family heirloom branded with my favorite late night comic, but I also won a new word that has since become a staple in my everyday vocabulary to the chagrin of my loved ones: "Dudebro."

That is not all! I have since discovered that this Sharpie has special powers beyond being totally sweet. It is also magical!

Here is an example of my attempt to draw a dog with a regular Sharpie:

And here is my attempt at a dog with The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien Sharpie:

Not the best dog ever drawn, but at least a 100x improvement over the first attempt. That is the power of this marker!