More endings and new beginnings.

Yesterday was our last full day in Ireland, and only a pinch of it was in Belfast. Wow. I’m a real bundle of emotions right now.

We woke up ridiculously early on Thursday so we could grab a cab to the train station and make our way to Dublin for our return flight. Wait, did I mention we were taking the train to Dublin. Oh yeah. We’re taking the train (big smile).

I’ve never ridden on a train before, and it was quite an experience. Looking out our window we had a great view of a beautiful Irish countryside, the sun shining through the clouds, glimpses of the ocean… The majestic beauty of God’s earth was there for the viewing as it wizzed past us on our two hour ride. I slept most of the way. Yeah, I’d like to say I was riveted by the beautiful scenery, but really I was just sleepy. Move over rain-on-a-tin-roof, the peaceful rocking of a fast moving train is now the absolute best sleeping environment I know of. Of course, Sam saw my baby-like sleeping state as a real Polaroid moment, and made sure to get several shots of me as I was dead to the world. What are friends for?

Another cab ride later we acquainted ourselves with our hotel room for the night. This place was just a bit more swanky than the hostels we were used to, but, we kept in mind that we were only here for one night and tried not to get too attached. That afternoon we were faced with one soul mission: deliver the information we had gathered during our two and a half week occupation of Belfast to our employers. Since we were without phones in the foreign land, we went to meet our contact at the Dublin airport after only sending few Facebook messages. This was not our usual contact that we had met with earlier in the trip, but another worker in the organization. We had never seen him, and he had never met us. So, with only a brief description and a general meeting place picked out, we headed to make the drop off.

We got to the airport and did the only thing we knew that would guarantee us finding our man: we started randomly walking around looking for an American looking guy wearing khaki shorts. Full-proof. And, thankfully, it actually worked. As we reached the end of a particular sidewalk, we passed a big guy who kinda pointed at us and said “you fellas looking for me?” Indeed, it was our man. We made the drop, made quick friends with a good-natured guy originally from Arizona, and ended up bumming a ride back to the hotel.

I tell ya, it was so good to talk to somebody who sounded like me. Well, remotely like me. It quickly came up in the conversation that I have the most country accent on this particular continent. Even when I try to fake a European accent it comes out country. I can’t escape it. And, I’m perfectly find with that.

We enjoyed talking with our new buddy, and the short hang out time turned into going to eat together. We started this trip by eating at a wonderful Portuguese style restaurant called Nando’s with the our main contact, and guess where we ended it? At Nando’s, getting to know yet another friend in the ministry. Coincidence? Me thinks not. Endings and beginnings my friends, endings and beginnings.

This trip has been great in a lot of ways. There were some really tough times that I had to deal with. Sam has his moments, but those are for him to muse over. I know that I learned a few things about God, a lot of things about myself, and a whole lot of things about a wonderful culture that I never knew anything about before. I don’t dare decide how I actually feel about this trip yet. I’ll have to wait till I’ve been back a few days, and then take some time to process everything that’s happened. Reading back over my own blogs will help a good bit I think.

I do know for sure that God has blessed me and Sam both tremendously. We had a great opportunity, and good will come from it. We started this trip with great expectations, and now we are both ending it with expectations even greater. The work that we’ve done will make the way for the Kingdom of God to spread. That’s intense. For the time being, that’s how I feel about this trip right there: I feel like I’ve been used by God. I’m so excited to be going back home, and to see my family. I’m very excited to get back to work Dry Creek camp for the summer, because that’s another adventure for both me and Sam get to start as soon as we get back. But, I can leave this country knowing that God used me. He just finished using me in Ireland, and now He’s going to begin using me again. I’m cool with that.

 -Ethan Bossier

Houston, TX. Almost home.

Last visits, lasting memories.

It's our last day in Ireland.

The permeating feeling of finality juxtoposed uniquely with the bright, warm, joyous day yesterday to create a sense of both being present and absent from the places we visted.  We enjoyed ourselves, making the most of the little time remaining in Belfast... but ever present was the taint of absence.

Physically, we got up early and made our way to the Culurlann, one final time, for our last Irish lesson with the elderly group that adopted us.  "The American scholars" they called us.  We spent the morning among them, laughing and learning, trying not to imagine that we would probably never see any of them again.

We ended up not getting an interview with the teacher, a man well described in Ethan's blog, "The little things, that's what," afterall.  What we did get was a generous packet of information on the Irish language to add to our massive collection of pamphlets and a copy of the old Irish song, "The Lakes of Pontchartrain" to take back home.  It's the one thing that is guaranteed to come up when someone in Ireland hears that I'm from Louisiana. ... I've never had the heart to tell any of them that there's really only one lake... and it's really more of an estuary.

It was only after we were walking back up Falls Road, away from the Culturlann, that we realized that we had gone without so much as a goodbye to the place.  Maybe the quiet solemnity that arose out of passed opportunity was tribute enough to the building which had contributed most to our cause in Belfast.

We had already decided that, for lunch, we were going to go back to the Subway that had begun our financial crisis all those weeks ago on our first day into the city.  Then, for dessert, we were going to walk a little ways down to an "Authentic Home-Made Itlalian Ice Cream" shop we had spotted from the bus, in the hopes that they'd have the elusive Honey Comb flavor.

The girls who had treated us so kindly when we were lost, confused, and without cash, were not working.  Two unfamiliar faces served up our subs, and we ate them in the contemplative silence that generally characterized our attempts to make final, lasting memories.

To my delight, there was a spot for Honey Comb at the ice cream shop.  To my dismay, it was empty.

Ethan quickly offered up an alternative.  Feeling more optimistic, warm in the sunlight, and with the hope of candy infused milkshakes, we strolled amiably back down to That Wee Cafe.  For the final time, we entered and were greeted by the, frankly gifted, young man behind the counter responsible for the brilliance served up inside.  Ethan finally got his Reese's milkshake, and I finally settled on a Snickers.

It was while we were waiting for our milkshakes that our thoughts turned to more important things.  If this man could make a living crafting such delicacies out of milk, icecream, and candy... then it served to reason that we could make a killing back home if we tried something similar.  Ethan's exact words are hard to recall, but they were something along the lines of, "Somebody buy me a blender, and I'll figure out the measurements!"  Not wanting to settle for the mundane, I suggested that we try a new flavor, and specialize in that.  First, though, we'd have to find someone who could whip up some amazing snickerdoodles.  Not just the ones that are gotten out of a tin can, but the soft, yet crisp, warm and gooey, yet firm, cinnamon sprinkled, vanilla wafted variety.  We'd then buy them in bulk for a cut of the prices, and chop them up for our hit snickerdoodle-milkshakes to be sold out of our apartment next semester.  It could happen. ... Patent pending.

We walked back down the road to catch a bus, sipping the creamy candy-flavored concoctions, savoring every last drop... because we didn't know when we'd have another like it.

Finally we caught the bus to City Centre and made our way to the bus/train station where we purchased our train tickets to Dublin for the next morning. 

Having done all of our shopping the previous day, and with very little remaining on our agenda aside from finishing the narrative map for the CeLT, we took the bus back to our hostel.  We then walked into the Farset International for the final time.

Ethan composed his last blog in Ireland, and then, after discovering that he had no cash, made a trip down the road to find an ATM so he could pay for our final order of Chinese delivery.  We ate it watching Doctor Who, and then settled down for bed early so we could make the train the next morning.

It's been an interesting two and a half weeks  in Belfast.  Nothing quite like I had expected.  There have been lots of ups and downs as we've both grown and glimpsed how far we still have to grow.  At the end of our time here, I'm honestly not certain how useful we've been to the CeLT and to the Kingdom.  We collected a lot of information, but, to me at least, it doesn't seem like enough.  I can't help but feel as though there is more I could have done.  And there is. 

One thing this trip has brought to my attention is how efficient I've become at working quickly and alone.  This doesn't fit Ethan's style at all, and so we've both had to cope, very uneasily at times, with working together on a single project.  Really, I probably could have gotten more done if I had been given full control to do everything myself... but that would have been against the purpose of the entire trip.  If brothers in Christ can't unite under a single effort and cause, then how could we ever expect the Irish to get along?

I just hope that, when it's all said and done, a time approaching very rapidly, our time in Belfast will have created more than just lasting memories.

- Sam R. Franklin
Last Day in Ireland 

Treat cho-self.

There was no way in the world that Me and Sam were gonna spend this much time in such a neat city as Belfast and not take some time to play tourist.

So, it was prearranged that Tuesday was to be the day that we treated ourselves. Great food, tour the sights of Belfast, and do as much shopping as our wallets would allow. After all the intense study and research we had been doing, a day to just relax and enjoy was really starting to sound great.

We awoke to a lovely Irish day outside, and realized that one small issue stood between us: both of us were critically low on clean clothes. We proceeded to talk to the hostel manager, who gave us a bit of an under the table deal, in the form of letting us use the industrial sized washing machines in the hostel cleaning room. We agreed, and didn’t even baulk at the small fee. A few Pounds was better than selling our souls. Or, smelling like the souls of gym shoes, which was our only other option.

With each of us freshly showered and wearing clean duds, we embarked on our grand adventure. As we walked to the restaurant district of town, I asked myself a question “should I be so indulgent as to have a Red Bull?” I find a guilty pleasure in energy drinks, and I try to only have them as special treat. I repeated the question out loud to Sam and his reply came back as a hardy “treat cho-self!” Armed with my favorite beverage, and beginning to find ourselves very hungry, we continued our search for superb dining.

It was then that a truly tremendous thought occurred to me. I don’t have truly tremendous thoughts very often, but when I do, I usually share them with Sam to make sure I’m not just imagining that its actually even a good idea in the first place. I asked Sam if he would be at all opposed, since it was a very special day for us, to go to a restaurant called Fridays, even though today was only Tuesday? He informed me that he saw nothing wrong with it at all, and so we proceeded to have an incredible steak and shrimp dinner at T.G.I.Friday’s.

Now that we had certainly treated our bellies, we decided to treat our-selves to a complete tour of Belfast via tour bus. These open top buses are really popular, and they hadn’t been on the list of things we needed to do for our main objective. While we were actually working on our Irish study objective, we were mostly concerned with the traditional Irish areas of the city, not the main stream stuff they show the tourists. But, since today was intended for our leisure, we hopped on that two-story convertible and let the tour guide lead us through the hot-spots of this classic old city. The tour included a trip through the ship-yard that built the Titanic, Shankill Rd. that is home to the British loyalists community, and the Falls Rd., which me and Sam were all to overly familiar with. Although, it was a neat experience to view all of these areas from a touristy point of view.

Tour completed, it was time for some shopping. I hated the idea of coming home from Ireland not armed with a shillelagh. And we also needed a few gifts for some folks back home. We found ourselves in a small shop called The Wicker Man, and it was full of traditional Irish crafts and gifts. Sam and I obtained a few items to bring back to a few very special people, primarily our mommies, and we even treated ourselves to a couple of small souvenirs to remind us of our trip. Sam gifted himself with a patch that he intended to apply to his man-bag, and I am now proudly sporting a shamrock bracelet. We treated our selves. Unfortunately, my search for a shillelagh went unsatisfied.

Our search for something else truly epic did not return void thankfully! Sam and I had heard that there was a large statue that’s stands in tribute to C.S. Lewis here in Belfast. We had to search all over, walk for what seemed like miles, and consult multiple locales, but, we were soon rewarded with the discovery of one of our most favorite authors. There, in the courtyard of the Holywood Arches Library, stood ‘The Searcher’, a life sized statue of one of Lewis’ characters about to enter the legendary wardrobe. Me and Sam where happy to a point that approached a juvenile level, but our excitment was warranted, and we used it as a wonderful photo opportunity.

To complete our day, we intended to go back to the hostel, order take-out, and watch Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows (another item Sam obtained on our adventure today, especially a treat because it is not out on DVD in the States yet). We were, however, pleasantly surprised when I approached the desk attendant to place our order.

I asked “hey, can we please order some take-out?” She leaned in real close, glanced left and right quickly, and with a certain coyness in her accent the lady sultrily asked me “would you boys like some pie?” I could only answer with a eager nod of my head and she waved her hand that indicated that I should follow her. Now, when she said pie, I was thinking pecan pie, apple pie, something along those lines. My sweet tooth is always in the mood for a treat, so you can imagine my confusion when I was lead to the cafeteria inside the hostel and my new best friend started loading down a couple of plates with some sort of mashed potatoes and meat mixture, along with some yummy looking French fries. Apparently, some kind of retreat had just finished eating and the left-overs were gonna be thrown away anyways. I put on a good poker face, and graciously accepted the meal.

So that night, Sam and I reflected on the things we had done that day. We ate a gorgeous lunch, got some great pictures, found Lewis, bought some neat stuff, and overall just spent the day enjoying the blessings God had made available to us. We have had a wonderful time on this trip, and its been a great experience for us both, and we had all but wrapped the whole thing up with this little “us” day of ours. So, to end it all, we feasted on the wonderful, unprecedented offering we received from our friend at the hostel. For if we’ve learned anything in the last 3 years of college, we have learned this: whenever somebody offers you free food, don’t ask questions, just treat cho-self!

-Ethan Bossier
Last Day in Belfast

The adventure of ethan bossier.

The year was the year of our Lord, twenty-twelve. The day, twenty-first of May. In this account I shall, to the best of my ability, recount the circumstances leading up to and surrounding the somewhat unique tale of the particular quest undertaken upon that day by my friend and colleague, Sherlock Hol… Ethan Bossier.

Thus far in our journeys amongst the natives of that great Emerald Isle, colloquially referred to as Ireland, we had undergone great lengths to document photographically all that we encountered of importance for the records of those under whom we are currently obliged. Quite naturally, circumstances arose which prevented us from acquiring proper pictorial documentation in every situation, and so, it was with this at the forefront of our minds that we had planned to spend the day retracing our steps through Belfast, that capitol of the North, revisiting previous locales for the purpose of acquiring their image for our records.

It came about one lazy Sunday, the account of which you may have already read by the hand of Ethan Bossier, that, try as we might, we were unable to successfully circumnavigate the massive amount of typographical work we had allotted ourselves to its completion. This all but confounded our intentions to reexamine areas previously visited, as there quite honestly are not enough hours in the day. Indeed if it had not been for the ingeniousness exhibited by someone very close to myself, all hope of successfully accomplishing both tasks would have proven nearly insurmountable. Upon the proposition brought forth from my lips, that, indeed, the pair of jobs could be gotten done in a singular day, my good friend Ethan Bossier readily and bravely volunteered for the more dangerous of the two responsibilities.

It was unanimously decided that I would remain at our lodgings in 217 Farset, Springfield Road to bring about the end of our computational endeavors whilst Ethan Bossier would venture forth, quite solo, into the city to acquire the pictorial accompaniment we so sorely lacked. We first sat down to a luncheon accessible by way of the kindly staff found within our current residence and consisting of what was called steak-burgers complimented by a hearty serving of largish chips. It was after this that Ethan Bossier sat down to compose the account previously mentioned and display it for interested parties to peruse at their discretion. The time was nearing ten after two, in the local custom this would have been fourteen-ten.

On abouts fourteen-fourteen, Ethan Bossier stood, announced the deed had been done, and proceeded promptly to the lavatory. Upon his emergence from therein, he made his departure for the city at fourteen-twenty-one. At fourteen-twenty-two he returned to ensure that I was in a ready position to take visual note of this momentous occasion. I was, and so, at fourteen-twenty-three, with great solemnity, Ethan Bossier made his final departure from 217 Farset, Springfield Road and advanced up the cold stone path to the city beyond. My documentation of the moment lies herein:

I was not to hear of my friend again until sixteen-forty-nine. It was during this time that the bulk of my work was done. I retired to the lobby, my computational equipment upon my lap and the lavish music traditional to the region in my ears, to transpose data collected from a number of our adventures into easily accessed documents, always with the expectation that Ethan Bossier could attempt contact at any moment.

I received a message from the very man, cryptic in its formation, upon the minute of sixteen-forty-nine to the effect that he had successfully acquired the first two of his objectives and was proceeding rapidly to the acquisition of the third. I composed a response post-haste affirming my reception of the news, and awaited a reply. It was during this time that I made a discovery via map resources at hand that the fourth area to which Bossier had tentatively set his sights, the Shaw’s Road, while perfectly befitting the descriptor of our interests, had no locations of a photographically noteworthy nature. Hastily, I sent word of my discovery back to my colleague. He had not yet ventured far from his point of connection, and so, receiving my message, he inquired as to ascertain my intentions concerning his assignment. I confirmed my source, and he readily agreed to leave off that particular leg of his journey. His final message to me at that time, expressing his intention to acquire the third objective before once again establishing contact, was received at seventeen-o-four.

It was later revealed to me that prior to his first contact, Ethan Bossier had suffered an uneventful visit to the Cluain Ard bar, his first objective, and then proceeded to the densely populated Cathedral District of West Belfast. He there took documentation of St. Mary’s Chapel, that unique Catholic structure housing weekly services in the language of Irish. Having never so much as darkened the door of an institution of the Vatican, and with a mind as curious as Ethan Bossier’s, it is no small wonder that he took the opportunity to endeavor to enter. What followed next has only recently come to my knowledge. Aware of his lack of insight into Catholic custom, Ethan Bossier stood in the back and deduced from a distance, removing that signature hat of his out of respect. He would later assure me that his presence had made little to no impact on the praying populace therein, with the exception of a singular “old lady to the left,” who had gazed upon him in such a way as to make him question his own reasons for being. Ever observant, Bossier had carefully scrutinized the behavior of one younger woman who had entered after him as she dipped her fingers, just so, in holy water, as is befitting the Catholic tradition, and made a sign before kneeling to pray. Quickly adopting the skill of disguise he has become renowned for, Mr. Bossier likewise dipped his fingers, crossed himself, and, having failed to observe what properly followed, made his leave of St. Mary’s.

What happened between the time of his first contact and his next, I have no knowledge, and will make no attempt at conjecture.

It was at seventeen-sixteen, some mere twelve minutes following his last message, that I next heard from Ethan Bossier. His message, again cryptic, stated that he had successfully acquired pictorial documentation of all three locales and sought to send them to me for confirmation. I remarked my assent to the transfer, but hastily revoked my acquiescence upon his avowal that he had procured some thirty-one images in his travels. I suggested that he return to the comforts of 217 Farset, Springfield Road so that I could assist in the processing of his achievements. He asserted that he wished to ensure that he had indeed acquired all that was required of him before retiring, but I was compelled to insist that if, in thirty-one attempts, he had failed to accomplish the task at hand, I feared he never would. Seeing the logic in this, he consented and penned one final message at seventeen-twenty affirming the beginning of his return journey.

During the time that elapsed therein I was pleased to bring an end to my computational undertaking.

Finally, at eighteen-eighteen on the dot, four hours and eight minutes after departing, I witnessed the reappearance of my friend, Ethan Bossier. Likely still recovering from the remnants of some needed disguise, his returning words were uttered in the foreign enunciation native to the Arabian regions, “I have returned from my adventure.”

In celebration of two jobs well completed in the service of our Lord and King, Christ Jesus, I supped upon Chinese delicacies that evening in the familiar accommodations of 217 Farset, Springfield Road with my friend and colleague, Ethan Bossier.

-Dr. Sam R. Franklin
3 Days Left in Ireland

A lazy day of discovery.

Once upon a time, there were two Americans, who laid around and did nothing all day. Like that’s ever gonna happen…

Unfortunately, it does happen, all the time in America in fact, and yesterday it even happened in Ireland. Oh sure, we got a decent amount of work done, but to my hyper-active little soul it seemed like we didn’t do a blasted thing.

We had intended from the start when planning our weekend that Sunday was to be a computer work day. So, we slept in to recuperate from a late night of music and partying (ok, it was mostly music),  and rose to open our laptops and begin arranging  the tons of information we’d been blessed with. I sorted through pictures with a decent amount of success, and Sam transcribed several of the interviews we had made so far.

In keeping with the true spirit of our journey that Sam reminded us both of, I’m going to tell you a bit about these interviews, so you can understand these dear Irish people. After all, that’s the point of this trip, to gain and spread knowledge of them, not of us. First we talked to the principal of an Irish-only speaking school here in Belfast by the name of An Droichead. This school is under the same roof and name as the cultural center where we went to the concert on Saturday night. This lady was very passionate about Irish, and as Sam pointed out in his last blog, both she and An Droichead are very concerned with pushing Irish culture forward and seeing that future generations continue the tradition. She spoke to us with an insider’s knowledge of the school system and told us all about the Irish medium schools. Many of the kids that start out in these schools at the age of 5 come from English speaking homes. Their parents understand the importance of knowing Irish, so they send their kids to be immersed in Irish at these state funded public schools. The kids are exposed only to Irish in the classrooms, until about the age of 11 when they are taught English, but only as a second language. These children, if they continue through the Irish medium schools through graduation, will grow up truly bilingual, as they are immersed in Irish in the majority of their daily conversation, but are taught English as a formal subject and from hearing it at home.

Our next interview was with the awesome people that work at the Culterlann. This community center is more concerned with preserving the history of the Irish culture and language, reminding people of their past and heritage. It stands as a wonderful compliment to the efforts of An Droichead. Our interviewees spoke of the differences between Catholics and Protestants, which unfortunately is the main object of Irish history. They went into detail about the struggle that some bold souls went through to preserve the Irish language in a time when the ruling government went to an awful lot of trouble to blot it out. But, history tells the story and now many Irish schools, civic centers, and other celebrations of Irish heritage are both allowed and eligible for funding from the British government. Huzzah.

The interview that was the most fun to conduct was with our Ceili

dancing instructor. If ever I had to pick out someone from a foreign country to take me in, I would want Mrs. Mara to be my grandmaw. She is a very sweet old lady, full of energy and always laughing away any trouble or inconvenience that might arise. She told us how she learned Irish through her husband, who grew up a fluent Irish speaker and now teaches advanced Irish courses. She talked about the community of Irish, how it brings people together. How she was talking with some friends of hers in Irish on the street one day, and as she turned to leave she absent mindedly thanked a perfect stranger who held the door open for her, in Irish. “Go raibh maith agat” she said, and was pleasantly surprised when his reply came back “ta failte rote.” The stranger explained that “you’re welcome” was about all he knew how to say in Irish, but the fact that he had tried brought a great joy to Mrs. Mara, and definitely brightened her day. That’s the kind of thing that Irish does. It brings people together. It provides a common ground that human beings desperately long for, whether they know it or not.

As we reflected back on the content of our interviews and the pictures that went with them, Sam and I were filled with a sense of awe. And with a sense of hunger. We needed nourishment, of a significant nature. It was on our venture for food that we witnessed even more the spirit of Ireland.

We went to the front desk and asked if there were any food places relatively close we could eat at, and you cannot fathom our joy when we found out that the Chinese food joint down the road delivered! The lady working the desk at our hostel was more than happy to call in our order, and we were again delighted at the hospitality of the Irish people. We ordered our respective dishes, continued working until our food arrived, and never even got out of our jammies.

After a delicious meal of sweet-n-sour prawn and chicken fried rice, we were laying down in our beds simply digesting, enjoying the fact that we never actually left the hostel all day long, when Sam had a gloriously dumb idea. It was one of those ideas that he wasn’t entirely serious about, but it didn’t take much to talk him into actually doing it. Sam sat upright in his bed, looked over at me and said “man, lets go get some root beer floats!” A few minutes later, we were dressed and walking the short way to the local convenience store to buy root beer, ice cream, and cups.

On the way, we got to see a small part of Irish life that we hadn’t noticed before. Being it was Sunday afternoon, very few shops were open, but many people were still out and about, seeing friends, visiting one another, etc. The most noticeable thing though was the kids. The kids really come outside to play on Sunday afternoons. It was the neatest thing ever to see older guys out in the yard practicing hurling (think of Lacrosse, only you play with flat paddles), little girls skating down the sidewalk, and these awesome little dudes who were having a full blown Jedi war with their light sabers. Its so good to know that, even in a country so foreign as this one, light sabers are still cool. 

-Ethan Bossier

4 Days Left in Ireland

Turning coins.

We've reached a turning point in our journey.

Yesterday we moved from our hostel in the city back to the hostel we started out in for our last short week in Belfast.  In a lot of ways it felt like coming home.  We took the Farset International Youth Hostel for granted last time we were here.  It wasn't until we moved into what amounted to closet space with a bunk bed and a sink in the city, accompanied by the roar of traffic, jackhammers, and glass-shattering garbage trucks early in the morning that we realized how good we had had it at the Farset.

Needless to say, we were practically singing with joy on the cab ride back to the quiet, homey little hostel on the hill overlooking the city where the beds are soft, the blankets warm, the bathrooms private, and the tv... there at all.

As befits our custom on hostel-moving day, as soon as we were in our room, we both dropped our bags, kicked off our shoes, and settled down for nap-time.  Ethan has a habit of turning the tv on and then not watching it, so as he slumbered I lay awake watching a special on Hitler on Yesterday, the UK version of the History Channel.

Eventually, after two hours of Nazi conspiracies and the daring British who unraveled them, I nudged Ethan awake and suggested we head into town for lunch.  We still had our interview with our Ceili instructor on the books for that afternoon, so we needed to be closer to town to catch a bus to meet her at the Culturlann later, anyway.

Feeling adventurous, we continued our tour of foreign cuisine, and wandered into a Chinese noodle bar called Chopstix for some amazing food.  On this trip so far we've eaten Indian, Portugese, traditional Irish, British, and now Chinese... we even tried UK McDonald's "Great Tastes of America" burger line...  I've been to Texas several times, and I promise I've never tasted anything like what was in that Texas BBQ burger.  After Chopstix, we meandered into McDonalds so Ethan could use the wifi to work on his blog, and I ordered a Starburst Mixed Berry milkshake so we wouldn't look like solicitors. 

As our scheduled interview time approached, I coerced Ethan into giving up his blog efforts so we could make it in time to catch a bus... which we missed.  We ended up getting on a bus leaving at the same time we were supposed to meet our Ceili instructor for her interview.  Luckily, she was waiting on us when we got there and was more than happy to answer our questions.

Her love of the language, the culture, and life in general reminded me of something important.  The reason we're here.  People like her.


We're here to care about people like her.  To care about the things that she cares about.  We've been far too self-absorbed.

Looking back over the blog entries we've made it's easy to see a certain self-interest.  They're all about us.  To a certain extent, that's to be expected in a blog.  We're telling about what we're doing here.  But, on the other side of the coin, what we're doing here isn't about us at all.  It's about the Irish people.  It's about learning as much about them as we possibly can in order to share what we've learned with those who care enough about them to come after us.

We've done a lot of learning and very little sharing.

I hope to change some of that with this blog.

Who are the Irish?  They're artists.  They're fun-loving, craic-finding, happy-go-lucky, take-life-as-it-comes people.  They're passionate, flaring up to fight because someone looked at them the wrong way, but amiable, quickly befriending someone after shouting insults at them.  They're lovers of art, of  the written word, of poetry and novels, of painting, of murals and sketches, and of music, both traditional and popular.  They're proud about their heritage; happy to share it, and willing to die to protect it.  They're burdened, weighed down under the strain of years of oppression and occupation by religion, government, and poverty.  They're spirited, rising up to sing and dance in the face of their sorrows.  They're people, just like anyone else.

Last night we got to join them as people.  Ethan wrote about the Andy Irvine concert at the Culturlann, and how he felt the sense of community and unity growing up out of the music.  I sensed it then, too.  But last night we attended another concert.  This time at An Droichead; it was a band called Goitse (pronounced Got-sha) made up of young Irish people and one young man from Philedelphia.  And I think Goitse best embodied what I love about the Irish people: a diverse community enjoying life, past and present, and one another, erupting into a spirited ferver of art and soul.  An unveiled yearning for life and joy hidden behind the shroud of circumstantial affliction.

If you want to know what that sounds like, watch the video at the bottom of this entry.

I also realized last night that the cultural centers we had been visiting here both represent this passion for heritage and life in different ways.  They're two sides of the same coin.  Culturlann is about holding onto knowledge of the past; An Droichead is about focusing that into the future.  This is the spirit of the Irish people.

Last night in the crowd of people celebrating music and hope for the future of a traditional style, I could sense that, though we never uttered a word, we were all speaking the same Irish language.

And this is how it was meant to be.  Missions isn't about bringing people in to look like you.  That's selfish.  Missions is about going to people, celebrating with them, weeping with them if necessary, and growing so that both of you look more like Christ.

We've reached a turning point in our journey.  In more ways than one.  It's our last week in Belfast.  We're going home soon.  I'm just sorry it took us this long to see the other side of the coin.

Who are the Irish?

- Sam R. Franklin
5 Days Left in Ireland

Music and unity and music.

“Music is the universal language of mankind” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I woke up yesterday morning with a weird feeling. It was almost… energetic! Yeah, that’s what is was. We had a plan for the day, and I was very much excited to get it done, anxious even. I’ll even go as far as to say that I was pumped! I looked out the window to see that we had beautiful weather, which meant that we could easily complete the picture taking portion of our mission. Thus encouraged, I jumped up out of the bed, threw my clothes on and proclaimed to Sam that I was “ready to do this deed!” Since I’m usually a very slow riser, as I’ve described in some of my earlier blogs, Sam was a little bit surprised. I’ll be honest, I even scared myself a little.

Before we got down to business, we made a run into town. Sam needed some kinda cord for his tablet, so we went to HMV (the equivalent of Sam-Goody). Browsing through the computer parts easily evolved into browsing through the movies and music, which evolved into looking through the massive poster collection. Every few flips of the display posters had us saying, “hey I know who’d love this one”. A great idea struck us and we started grabbing posters left and right. After all was said and done, we bought 15 posters to take home as gifts to different people. The idea of our friends and roommates each enjoying their own posters and us taking the time to think of everybody’s personality and which one they would like best, really made me miss a lot of good people. I’m enjoying this trip, and the blessing are everywhere, but its gonna be incredible when I get back to the people I love.

That afternoon, we got our act together and finished our picture taking out on Falls Road. We reviewed our objective, initiated picture–taking protocol, and moved like a couple of well trained commandos. Yes, we turn as many situations as possible into a Call of Duty metaphor. It makes things more fun that way.

That night, we went to a traditional Irish music concert at the Culterlann. The room was small, holding maybe 50 or 60 people after they added extra chairs to fit the sell-out crowd. The lights were low except where the short stage was lit. We could see several instruments already set up next to the unseen musicians chair. After a few minutes, a lady from the Culterlann introduced the opening act. The curtain in the back parted and out walked a young lady, who introduced herself in Irish, and then proceeded to belt out a beautiful Irish ballad, in Irish!

I couldn’t pick out any of the words, but music is an art form that transcends language barriers. The song was about longing for something. It expressed a deep longing for something that was once lost, maybe a lover, or a place that felt like home? It was a bit sad, but not mournful and hopeless. It was about a love that was just out of reach, but not forever gone. I envisioned the writer of the song, on a long journey, that would eventually find them back in their hometown, that they love so much, and they only sing this song to hurry the time along. That’s the emotion that the song struck me with. And I find it really hard to think that I was the only person in the whole room who felt something similar to that.

After the young lady sung a few other songs, another in Irish and one in English, she Introduced the main performer for the evening, the one and only Andy Irvine. Out walked this old songwriter (who to me looked an awful lot like Kris Kristofferson), who picked up his odd looking guitar, spoke into the mic, and instantly had the whole room under his spell. We listened as he sang songs about little old ladies, places he had visited, old friends he once knew, drinking and good times, long lost love, and about County Antrim in the spring time. There was even an interesting little ditty about cross-dressing sailors. He talked to the audience between songs, told a few stories, and was gracious enough to take requests at the end. It was a doozy of a concert.

But somewhere in the midst of the evening, among the audience of mostly Irish speakers, a few other Europeans, and two clueless Americans, a connection was made. There for a little bit, almost as soon as the first song started, we were all on the same page. Feet tapped, hands clapped, eyes closed so that heart and mind could focus even more on what the ears were picking up. That crowded little room full of people became one unit, and we were all enjoying ourselves. That’s the power of music. It unites people.

Later as I was thinking bout it, I thought “man, if only we could stay like that all the time.“ And then I realized that of course, I’m not the first person to think that. A ton of philosophers, hippies, and musicians have all had that thought and even went so far as to try to put it into practice. Its even a very common mindset across the whole country of Ireland, everybody just wants what’s called “music and Craic”, or music and good times. But, sadly, even that’s not enough. Human beings still wont let their differences lie, they wont take time to welcome in their fellow man, to accept diversity and just get along for anything. If you read the book of Romans, you’ll find out that unfortunately, its sorta our nature to be that way.

So, as soon as the concert was over, even after the encore, we left and everybody went back to being different again. That took my mind back to the one thing that truly does unite estranged humans. In the body of Christ, we are all one. You can have believers from different countries, different backgrounds, and formerly from different religions come together and have the greatest common denominator that ever existed. But even without that commonality, its worth reaching out to our fellow man in order to reach them with the message of Jesus, isn’t it? We shouldn’t be unwilling to find, or even create, some form of commonality between people groups in order to reach them. That’s exactly what me and Sam and the CeLT are doing here now, with the Irish language.

So the next time you run into somebody that’s not like you, try to speak their language, whatever that may be. Open up and be on the lookout for something that will untie you with them, instead of concentrating on differences. That’s kinda what Jesus did after all.

-Ethan Bossier

Day 14 in Belfast

Dependent and dependable.

I began the day yesterday burdened by sin.  As is often the case when I have a guilty conscious to work out, I pulled out my journal and began to trace my feelings back to their source, opening myself up to the Lord’s correction.  I finally allowed myself to be very honest about what we’ve really been doing here.

I wrote the following:

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said that we need to depend on God.  I guess I had hopes that saying it enough would finally make it happen.  That’s really the thing that’s been bugging me these past couple of weeks.  We observe our failure, write about a lesson that could be got out of it to send back home via our blog, and then live just like we have been, having ‘learned our lesson.’

I honestly can’t say that we’ve ever fully committed to relying on God.  And that’s wrong.  We’ve been fooling around half-heartedly with going places and checking Facebook… and somehow, only by the majestic grace of God, the work is getting done anyway.  That’s not how it should be.

As children of the most High King, our entire lives should be devoted to pursuing Him and His work.  May our Father have mercy on us for ever thinking it’s okay to sit around all day on Facebook, trusting that He’ll get something done for us.  Jesus has done more than enough for us already at the cross, and though we can do nothing without Him, with Him we can accomplish so much more than we have.

I said it about the Irish people last week, but now I see that it holds true for us as well.  Our creativity and potential  is being squandered by the state of our spirits.  We don’t really believe in what we’re doing, and so we don’t try to do it as fully as we should.

May our Father forgive us of that and help us.  May He fill us with His Spirit and not let us get complacent.  May He send His consuming passion into our hearts, igniting a fire for His work and His kingdom.  May we never be satisfied in doing nothing, but may our lives overflow with joy as we trust fully in Him.  Dependent and dependable for the sake of His kingdom.”

Freshly convicted, I forced myself to share this with Ethan, who readily agreed that we needed to buckle down and seriously commit to getting work done.

With a fresh mindset, we decided to forego Starbucks and get a head start on photographing the entirety of Falls Road, the most Irish speaking community in Belfast.  The idea behind this particular portion of our assignment is that, when it’s completed, if done correctly, we’ll be able to create a sort of virtual prayer-walk down the road.  I grabbed both my cameras as Ethan suited up with his borrowed camera, and we set out for the bus stop.

When we stepped outside it was raining.  Undeterred, I tucked my expensive Sony camera into my Gore-Tex water-proof jacket, and pulled out the cheaper of my two cameras.  After the walk to the start of Falls Road, we stood in the downpour discussing strategy.

We couldn’t simply walk down the street both taking pictures of everything, because that would be impossible to sort through.  We also couldn’t capture only one side of the street.  Neither could we shoot directly down the road, or we’d only get pictures of the road and miss the buildings on either side.  After hashing through the logistics of angle and image compositing, we came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be for one of us to be on either side of the street.  Then, together, we would cross-shoot the street, each taking a picture every so often, when we had reached the end of our previous photo.  This would, in the best case scenario, create two reels of images that could be composited into a sort of panorama of the street.  So, strategized and ready, we set out, carefully watching each other for signs that it was time to stop and take another picture. 

It didn’t take long for my memory card to fill up.  This is the same camera and card I brought last summer, and so it was already full of two summers worth of memories.  Obviously, I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of them, so thinking quickly, I swapped out memory cards with the expensive camera hanging around my neck and snuggled safely in my jacket, and we continued down the road.

It’s very hard not to look conspicuous, walking at the exact same pace across the street from each other, stopping to take pictures at the same time.  We decided, if questioned about our strange behavior, we would play the eccentric card.  “Because nobody ever questions eccentric people.”

Luckily, though we got a few strange looks, no one ever inquired, and we progressed quickly down a large portion of the road before, almost simultaneously, our cameras died just outside That Wee Café at noon.  So, of course we stopped in for lunch.  I took the time to re-swap memory cards and play around with my other camera. 

I’m generally afraid that if I take it out too often, I’ll end up breaking it, but the more I play with it, the more I absolutely love my Sony Alpha.

After lunch we decided the best course of action was to return to the hostel to let our cameras charge while we got some computer work done.  While Ethan wrote his blog for the previous day, I transcribed half an hour’s worth of interviews into Word documents.  We finished around the same time, and with newly charged cameras, we ventured back out.

We’ve never been lucky enough to catch the bus that stops outside our hostel, so when we found it waiting just outside the door, we quickly climbed aboard, hoping it would take us to City Centre where we could catch the bus back to Falls Road.  After riding a route through very unfamiliar territory, I spotted a familiar landmark that can easily be seen from Falls.  Nudging Ethan, who until then had been lost in The Best of Sherlock Holmes, I motioned at the giant spheres that meant we must be near Falls.  He didn’t hesitate in pushing the button that signaled the driver to stop, and we hopped off… 

As the bus pulled away, I got the sinking feeling that we weren’t exactly where we thought we were.  I was right.  We were on the complete opposite side of the spheres, without a clue as to how to get to Falls from there.  After asking for directions at the conveniently nearby Spar, we were back out in the rain, meandering toward the landmark that had betrayed us.

We were actually kind of hoping that we would finally be able to figure out what exactly the giant sphere within a sphere was or stood for, but even from close-up, we were entirely baffled.  As seen here:

Just on the other side of it, though, we discovered a shopping mall we had marked on our list of places to check out for Irish speakers.  As far as we could tell, there weren’t any. 

Farther up (literally, it was a hill) the road, we finally stumbled out onto Falls Road, a few blocks up from the Culturlann.  Tired from our adventure, and with only a couple of hours to go until our next Ceili dancing lesson, we decided to continue our photographing the next day, and enjoy a light dinner of “spicy chicken goujons” at the Culturlann.  Our dinner conversation mainly centered around pinpointing the exact location of the goujon within the chicken.  We decided it was probably near the nuggets.

Eventually, our foreign Ceili dancing partners entered, and shortly after them, the instructor.  She regretfully informed us that she would not be able to do our interview then, because she had been called to do a Ceili session at the conclusion of a local business meeting immediately after our lesson, but we rescheduled her, so hopefully we’ll get an interview out of her, yet.

The Ceili lesson went beautifully, though it was cut short by our instructors need to get to her meeting, and, since we’ll not be in Belfast next Thursday, she gave us hand-outs so we can practice back home.  Ethan was most pleased with this.  Look out Louisiana.

Out early, and with nothing immediately on the agenda as far as work was concerned, we agreed to hang out with the foreign girls back at a nearby apartment complex.  It was refreshing to spend time with people our own age with similar interests, and it was an awesome reminder that people are people regardless of culture or location.  Sitting there, watching Aladdin with girls from Holland and Germany, and talking about tv shows like Lost, Heroes, and The Big Bang Theory really helped put things in perspective.  We’re all not quite so different as we tend to think.

We finished the evening with a little cross-cultural experimentation on humor-transference.  Let’s just say we can now bill our web-series, The Apartment, as an international success.

- Sam R. Franklin

Day 13 in Belfast

The little things, that's what.

And then there are those days when you look around and ask “ok, now what?”

Yesterday was one of those days. I must admit, I wasn’t all that excited about writing this blog. Not because something bad happened, but because I’ve had to look at Sam probably two or three times today and ask him “hey, what all did we do again yesterday?” Uneventful. At least that’s how I feel.

Please understand that that’s how Ethan feels about it. That’s not entirely true. In reality, some fairly neat stuff went down yesterday. That morning, Sam roused me out of bed earlier than usual so we could go to the Irish conversation classes at the Culterlann. Please understand that I was just getting used to our usual morning lineup: Sam getting up early, me taking my sweet time going from physically getting up to actually gaining consciousness, and then us going straight to the nearest Starbucks for coffee and wi-fi. I was beginning to enjoy this ritual, so I was a little out of sorts when we had to jump up, grab the early bus, and soon afterwards be fit for human interaction with the Irish speakers. It took a little determination, but I made it happen.

At the class itself, we actually had a really great time. We sat in the corner while a group of about 25 senior citizens did their best to give us just enough of a hard time to make us feel welcome. They succeeded. It was quickly pointed out that we were the youngest people in the room by a good 30 years, and then we were almost force-fed a plateful of tea, toast, and orange slices. The section of material they were learning was much farther advanced than anything me and Sam have studied so far, but I still think I learned more in that two hour session than I have in all the hours I’ve spent listening to tapes and pouring over books trying desperately to learn this language.

The more I listened to the older man who was leading the class, the more excited I got. He was a retired teacher (as many of those present were) who had grown up in the countryside, lived through the time of Irish rebellion, and now had a firm grip on the language, and also a talent for explaining it. His teacher-like tone would frequently fade away into his normal conversation voice as he would interject some kind of old country boy illustration to drive home a point he was trying to make, or gave an example of a certain word form. Many of his comments would make us laugh, or lead into some other story from someone else that turned out to have nothing to do with the language, and we all had a good time. For just a little bit there, I was transported back to Louisiana College were I sat under Dr. McFadden as he tried desperately to teach us Greek. It was the most at-home I think I’ve felt this entire trip.

That afternoon, we did an interview with Effie, the receptionist at the Culterlann, who me and Sam have come to regard as a personal friend. Her interview was especially unique because she was aided by another guy that works at the Culterlann, who gracefully butted in on our conversation. Two-for-one interviews? We didn’t mind that a bit. This guy even gave us a very key piece of information, telling us about a pub that allows ONLY Irish to be spoken within its walls. Definitely something we’ll need to make note of in our research. He was even gracious enough to drive us in his personal car to show us where it was located. People are just cool like that here.

We broke for lunch at a little café near the Culterlann. In fact, that was the name of the joint, That Wee Café. It had been highly recommended too, so we figured we’d better try it out. We were not disappointed. My bowl of chili, and Sam’s fish and chips were most excellent, and the milkshakes were phenomenal! Definitely a much needed treat.

We went to Starbucks that afternoon to use the internet and get caught up on some work, which for me mostly resulted in chatting with friends on Facebook. Very pleasant, and enjoyable. We went back to the Culterlann for a more beginner’s level Irish lesson that was scheduled for that night, only to find out that it had been canceled. With nothing else to do, we made our way back to the hostel to call it an early night. We made our plans for the next day, mentally worked out some problems with our research methods that needed addressing, and ended up having nerdy conversations long after we’d turned out the lights. It turned out to be an enjoyable, if not extremely productive day, that left me asking myself what in the world I was going to write my blog about.

We’d had a good day, no question, but nothing to write home about. Nothing extremely eventful, no huge revelations for me to blog about, nothing. I was a little concerned, and somewhat disappointed. But even now, just since I’ve started writing these few pages, I have realized one small thing: sometimes, its all about the little stuff. Sometimes, you expect something big and shiny, when all God intends for you to receive is the small things. If there was anything I think God meant for me to learn from yesterday, it was to enjoy the little things. Sometimes, His blessings come in the form of a great meal, or nice weather, or nice people, or awesome conversations with a great friend. We often overlook these priceless blessings as we hurry about our daily lives. Looking back, I deeply regret not taking time to notice them, or to stop and thank Him for those things yesterday. Those moments are gone now, and I’ll never get them back. Oh well, no use in just being sorry now. The only thing to do now is to keep an open heart and an open eye out for the next ones.

Ok, I have to say, as sincere as those last few lines were, I can’t stand to end a blog on that depressing kind of note. So, in order to brighten things up, please let me say that if any of you ever get the opportunity to enjoy a peanut butter milkshake, do not pass it up. They are fantastic!

-Ethan Bossier

Day 12 in Belfast 

The spirit (of/in/and) belfast.

Sometimes I'm certain that our work here is getting done in spite of us.  Most times, actually.  Last summer God was teaching me that I must depend on Him; the lesson this time seems to be that He's not dependant on me.

Yesterday was in our planbook as "Church Day."  We were going to walk around West Belfast and visit every church we could find, asking if they spoke Irish or had Irish language services. 

I don't know why I even bother to come up with a plan for the day anymore.

If you haven't yet detected the pattern of our days here, I'll describe it for you.   We start at Starbucks, fail to accomplish what we set out to do for the day, and accomplish something else instead.  Yesterday morning we spent longer at Starbucks than usual.  Ethan was lost to the world, fervently and feverishly writing his blog, so I took the time to follow up on some online leads we had gotten from the principal at An Droichead, occasionally glancing up to look out over Arthur Square and The Spirit of Belfast.

Arthur Square happens to be just a block north of City Centre, and in the center of the square is this big silver circular vortex of interconnecting rings called The Spirit of Belfast.  I'm not entirely sure what it symbolizes, but it certainly looks cool.

It didn't take me long to sort through and verify the information given us at An Droichead, and so, when Ethan had finished his blog, we set out to begin "Church Day" by walking to the only Irish speaking church we had heard about in the area, the oldest Catholic church in Belfast, with the intention of asking the priest if he knew of any other local churches that minister to Irish speakers.  We didn't expect to find mass in progress when we got there.  Slightly disappointed, more than a little hungry, and having lost our only church lead for the forseeable future, we revised the plan and struck out in search of an authentic Irish pub for lunch.

We had gotten another hot tip from the An Droichead secretary that the John Hewitt Bar was "great craic," so we made that our goal and wandered up to North Belfast, relatively unknown territory in our travels so far.  By what could be interpreted as sheer happenstance, we ended up meandering out onto this wide expanse of stone stretching out to a grand cathedral.  After walking all the way across it unwittingly, we happened to spot a historical landmarker that identified the area as Writer's Square, a celebration of Belfastian writers carved into the stone beneath our feet. 

Turning quickly round and looking down, we found that we stood not two feet from a familiar name.

Understandably, we were ecstatic that, at the very moment when our plan for the day was in question, we wandered onto a dedication to the man who inspired the title of this blog.  Perhaps our wanderings shouldn't be interpreted as happenstance after all.  I was reminded, again, that though things weren't going our way, and we weren't accomplishing what we had set out to accomplish, the Spirit was still guiding our steps in Belfast.  We were not alone.  And, though we couldn't see it, the Lord still had a plan for the day.

We took time to go back and retrace our steps through the square, reading about Belfast from the words of those who knew it best.  How could we have missed the engravings on our first pass through the area?  I think that maybe we were so narrowly focused on getting to where we had planned to go, the John Hewitt Bar, that we hadn't seen an opportunity for learning literally right in front of us.  I wonder how much of the trip so far has been spent just like that.  I wonder how much of our lives are.

Eventually, after taking a great number of pictures and reading everything carved into the ground, we were happy to discover that the bar we had set out to find was just across the street from the square.  Again, I wonder how often is it the case that, when we let go of our goals to take part in the little opportunities that are presented to us along the way, do we find ourselves right where we wanted to be after all?

The John Hewitt reminded me of every pub I'd been in last summer.  It was Ethan's first authentic Irish pub, so I let him soak in the atmosphere and did my best to point out all the little tidbits I recalled about how things are run.  After lunch, we set out to explore North Belfast, planless.

I remembered that, while researching Belfast before the trip, I had seen something about a statue of C.S. Lewis somewhere in the city.  Inspired by Writer's Square, we decided to seek it out.  ... First we had to seek out wifi so we could find out where the statue was.  North Belfast turned out to be not quite as wifi friendly as City Centre, and by the time we finally found wifi, we were all the way back at Castle Court shopping centre not far from where we started out.  And it turns out that "The Searcher", the statue of C.S. Lewis entering the wardrobe, is across the river in East Belfast.

We decided to put off searching for "The Searcher" for another day, and to do some shopping while in Castle Court.  I've been needing a new watch since before we left on this trip, and I had begun to despair that all the watches in Belfast were of the expensive, designer variety.  That's when I discovered the beautiful store that is Argos.  Basically the whole place functions like a giant catalog of technology.  You browse everything they have on computer displays, write down the number of what you want, bring it to the cashier, and they go and get it for you from the back.  I found the watch I was looking for for 20 pounds, and we ventured back out into Castle Court.

Every Irish language center we've visited so far has more or less drowned us in helpful brochures, pamphlets, guides, and maps, all stuffed to the brim with information on the state of the language in Belfast.  Both of our bags were overflowing with useful information.  What we lacked was a way to preserve and organize it all.  So, next on our list of things to buy was some sort of binder to fill with pamphlets to hand over to the CeLT.

We couldn't find anything of the sort in Castle Court, and so we put it off as something to buy later and struck back out into the city.  Going nowhere in particular, we came across a bookstore we had been in with J R.  I thought I remembered seeing some Sherlock Holmes novels with new BBC Sherlock covers inside, so we went in.  While Ethan perused the big Marvel book of The Avengers, I ventured upstairs searching for Sherlock.  Instead I was confronted with organization binders at the top of the stairs. 

Coincidence?

We got the binder, and Ethan got himself the complete works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes.  Shortly after, we passed the store I had remembered, and I got a couple of BBC covered Sherlock's.  Shortly after, we passed a foreign import store, and Ethan got himself some American peanut butter.

Loaded down with pamphlets, fresh optimism, and Sherlock Holmes, we returned to the hostel for the day and set about getting things organized.  Ethan amassed all of the pictures we've taken so far on his Mac and started sorting them into folders by location and purpose while I cataloged the pamphlets into the new binder and finally set up a file-system for categorizing the information I was typing up on my external harddrive.

By the end of the day we had completely revolutionized our storage system and taken huge steps toward a unification of organizational schemes.  Words associated with corporate efficiency are buzzing around in my head now.  Production Costs.  Ledger.  Synergy.

We set out to do one thing and failed, and then, by the guidance of the Spirit and no will of our own, we accomplished something entirely different.  Our work here is getting done in spite of us.  Though we're completely dependant on the Lord, He isn't dependant on us... and there's something freeing about that.

The Spirit is indeed working in Belfast.

- Sam R. Franklin

Day 11 in Belfast

A pleasant symphony.

And after the cold desolate Sunday, there came a warm symphony of human emotion on Monday. That doesn’t happen too often in the States, now does it?

We awoke on Monday morning not quite knowing what to expect, wondering if it was a good idea to leave our nice warm beds. But, Sam vetoed my suggestion that we stay indoors all day long, so off we went. It was a good thing to, because yesterday was an excellent example of pleasant Irish weather. The wind calmed itself down to a gentle breeze. It never did get very cold at all. And between the times of sprinkling rain, the sun peaked its face out from among the clouds. Rain or shine, the clouds here are something to behold. Its not uncommon to look up and see small, wispy white clouds that make pleasant shapes in a blue sky, while just beyond them (meaning higher up in the sky) you can see a large looming mass of grey thunderhead. The thunder never comes, only the gentle rain, but still, it’s a sight to behold.

The nice weather gave us a renewed vigor to go and explore, and God blessed us with a goldmine in the form of a school/cultural centre in a lesser known Irish neighborhood. I’ll admit, at first we felt like a couple of creepers walking right up to the chain link fence of this elementary school, waltzing right through the open gate, and down to a large building in the middle of the school grounds that we sincerely hoped was the public community center. I ventured up to the only access point we could find and bravely buzzed the call button. I will admit, our hearts began to sink a little when nobody came to the door.

But Ah! Our efforts were not in vain after all! After a bit of a delay, we were warmly greeted by a lady from the community center and it was all sunshine from there. We were tossed around like a bouncy ball from one school official to another, each one more pleasant and helpful than the last, answering our plethora of questions as best they could, speaking Irish with us and helping our boldness to grow. We ended up talking to the principal of the school, a delightful lady whose scatter-brained personality made me feel right at home. We walked away with our first formal interview, an entire page of leads to follow up on throughout the city, and more than a little spring in our step.

The rest of our day was a series of minor ups and downs. We spent the majority of the afternoon uploading pictures and doing online research at McDonalds. We went back to the Culterlonn for Irish lessons only to find the place all locked up and nobody around. While standing at the bus stop waiting to head back into town, the bus that was supposed to stop just passed on by. Twice. Sam pointed out that some goobers had parked in the bus lane were the buses are supposed to pull over in order to pick up passengers and with no where to stop with out halting traffic the bus drivers just kept going. I figured it was just cause we were Americans. Once we walked to a different bus stop and finally caught a ride, we were kicked off at the end of the line, in a different part of the city than we were used to. Come to find out, we were only a couple of blocks from very familiar territory, but it was enough to get us turned around. Needless to say we ended up lost. We kept our optimism however, and laughed our way through the northern streets of Belfast. Once we found our way again, we decided to stop for a bite and then head back to the hostel.

It was at KFC that I had one of those quite conversations that I tend to have with myself. The ones that sometimes end up with me having a pretty neat little thought. I realized that even after the good day we’d had, and in the middle of this city full of people, and sitting across the table from Sam, I couldn’t help but feel a little tinge of…. lonely. I explained what I was feeling to Sam and we verified that even though it wasn’t the best term, lonely was close enough to describing what was going on inside of me.

It was that kind of feeling you get when we’re in the middle of a crowd of people and still feel like you’re cut off from everyone else, although, not quite in the depressed, sad country song kinda way. I felt the desperate need for intimate… yes, that’s the word I was looking for, intimate… human contact. If you’ve never really felt this way, then I can’t explain it to you, its something you have to experience. Normally, Sam is perfect for these situations, he’s always got a interesting thought and a kind word to offer at these times. But, I’d been with this guy every minute of the day for the last 10 days, and I needed something… fresh. As I voiced my feelings to Sam, he completely understood, and even helped figure out the best way to describe what was going through my head. When I figured out what was going on, my first reaction was to hurry back to the hostel, buy an hour’s worth of Wi-Fi, and get my intimate interaction fix on Facebook. Chat with friends, message people, stuff like that.

That’s when it hit me. Here I was failing to follow my own advice again. Sorta. In my last blog, I pointed out how our first reaction when times are tough should be to run to God. Well, what about when times aren’t so tough? What about when times are good and we just need to tell somebody about it, and enjoy a little emotional intimacy with someone? Shouldn’t we run to God in those times to? God doesn’t just want our troubles, He wants our joys to. He wants to see the happiness on His children’s faces and feel us share our lives with Him. I knew that, I’ve always known that, but I don’t think it had ever really sunk in until that moment.

I went back to the hostel, curled up on my bed, put some soft music going through my iPod, and just rested in God. Prayed to Him, told Him about our day. Now, I don’t claim to hear actual words from God, but I get impressions, changes in my mood that can only come from Heaven. And at that moment, I felt peace. I felt the symphony coming to a pleasant end. I felt God placing a hand on my shoulder and whispering “now you’re starting to get the idea.”

-Ethan Bossier

Day 10 in Belfast