Below are several low quality pictures taken from my phone over the Christmas break.
After Sandra dropped us off at the Stuttgart, we were informed that would could not board the plane to Atlanta due to "weight and balance restrictions."
We put our 3 heads and GT degrees together and decided to take a train to to Zürich and attempt to fly out of that airport. So, 6 hours, 5 trains, and 20 Euros later, we arrived at the Zürich airport.
Yeah...welcome to Switzerland.
Base Camp. After being bumped from the Zürich flight to Atlanta due to the notorious "weight and balance issues," we set up shop at the airport's Starbucks. Though in most cases, I am completely opposed to Starbucks for reasons such as burning their coffee to normalize their bad, unfair traded coffee and not giving water to firefighter's amidst the 9/11 attacks, I really appreciated their comfy and 24 hour availability of their couches.
Resting at base camp before venturing up to Mt. Terminal E through the Security Check Point Pass. Those Swiss passes are notorious for being difficult to traverse.
One thing I love about the Swiss the their immaculate over attention to detail. Example: After successfully passing through security and customs, a sweet young Swiss girl greets everyone on the tram via a series of video screens adjacent to the tracks. After, smiling, she gives the window a Swiss kiss. I'll admit, I may have blushed a little.
(flying over the Swiss Alps. And that's not a glacier, those are the clouds...in case you're wondering)
Thankfully, Chris and I got on the flight the following morning. Seems that the third time was in fact the charm. Sadly though, Tyler did not make the flight list. With regret, as we pulled away from the gate, we glanced out of our first class window and I swear I could feel the tears building up in Tyler's tear ducks. So, Chris and I toasted to his honor and then selected the filet mignot for lunch.
After arriving in a very foggy Atlanta and getting bumped from the flight home to Roanoke, I elected to stay a few days in Atlanta and visit friends even though my luggage continued on without me to Roanoke. Luckily, the timing worked out well. Leland, best buddy extraordinaire, happened to grace us for the first time since being deployed to Hawaii as a Marine officer.
One thing I have learned is that distance and time can have no effect on strong friendships. The adventures and stories we have shared in the past hold us together like a strong cord. Also, pictured are Logan and Emily. They're pretty cool too.
Picture here is my lovely sister, Leah. I rented a car and drove up to Winston-Salem through a snowstorm to spend some time with her. I also learned that Winston-Salem is founding a new minor league baseball team this spring. They will be called the Winston-Salem Dash. Let me know when/if you get that.
As you can see, the pre-Christmas snow left its mark on our driveway. I spent 2 hours clearing it with pictured snow blower. This day was the first time my father or I had ever used one of these things. And like most testosterone-filled males, give us a gas-powered machine and we see a new toy. One would work for a while and the other would come up and say, "Um...I think it's my turn," and take over for a bit.
View from my front yard at sunset
Christmas pictures with the family.
My brother, Jack, loving Christmas.
Tug of war
I have a very affectionate dog.
Frying one of the two turkeys on Christmas Day. In my family, we always eat well.
Speaking of eating well, I was gifted the Pat Conroy Cookbook by my parents. First off, if you are looking for a great novel to read, pick up a copy of Beach Music by Mr. Conroy. A friend put it quite well when he told me, "Chandler, I been reading Beach Music. And when I say 'reading,' I really mean 'loving.'
Not only does Pat understand and speak words to what it can be like for a male growing up in the South (wonderful and treacherous), but he views eating in a different way than most American men and doing so change my perspective on food.
All that to say, above is one of the recipes taken from his book that I cooked for Ryan, also best buddy extraordinaire, and myself one evening in Atlanta. It is a grits casserole. Turns out combining Southern staples like grits, eggs, sausage, cream, and Tabasco can age beautifully over the course of 45 minutes in the oven.
New Year's Eve began at Ru San's....
Followed by the Band of Horses concert at the Tabernacle. Simply wonderful.
..
Well, the countdown ended, midnight struck, one year/decade ended, and another began.
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
After the band.....of horses finished their set, they invited the opening performers and both band's assistants, managers, and whoever else they felt like inviting to the stage to join them in a song to start the new year/decade. The song of choice was Michael Jackson's inspirational hit 'We are the World.' What a way to start fresh and anew to sing a song in unison with over a thousand people about unison and choosing to better the world with our decisions. And though it may sound cheesy and may have been a bit, it was a pure and good moment I hope i never forget. Latching arms, smiling, and swaying, every person in that concert hall jump-started the new year and decade focusing on us as a world, loving it, and loving one another.
Yes, those are cop cars, 5 in fact.
Upon returning to our car in a park somewhere in Atlanta after doing a little geocaching, we found two police officers next to the car. When seeing 6 figures appear from the woods, one police officer instantly uttered something into is walkie-talkie and suddenly, 4 more cars, blue lights a blazing, came for back up. So, looking at the numbers: 5 Atlanta police cars, 10 Atlanta police officers, and 6 white suburban kids. Overkill?
After explaining geocaching to each officer, two license checks, and multiple conversations, we were free to go.
You know, I feel like I am a respectable, semi-cultured young man. I live in Europe, speak German, have a degree from Georgia Tech, well-mannered in the etiquette fine dining, treat women with the respect they deserve, and know how to "suit up"....but sometimes, I love being a southern redneck. I spent a couple of days in Madison County with my family-in-law. After a hearty breakfast at the Brantley estate, Tyler asked Daniel and I, "So, y'all wanna walk through the woods and shoot at anything that moves?" I believe the response is evident by the picture above.
After dawning a .30-30, .308, .22, 16 gauge, 12 gauge, and even a .38 Luger with a Nazi emblem bearing holster, we started walking through the woods. Though it was cold, we traversed over the fallen, frigid leaves one loud step at a time. Though we were "hunting," we really just wanted an excuse to get out of the house, feel manly, and catch up on each others lives. We succeeded in all areas. We ended the day atop a small ridge overlooking a creek watching the sunlight fade from the forest. Three cousins, who have known each other since shortly after their births, sat on a log and talked. We spoke of direction, life, dumb mistakes, great memories, and even girls. In that moment, I thought, "This is why we came out here."
And for good measure, we saw a squirrel on the walk back home and filled its tree-top hole with 4 different types of ammo.
I love the South. I do. Simply put. Despite past dilemmas and even current ones, my heart belongs on Southern grounds where the soil is rich and the air thick. It is what my heart and senses know and can comprehend. By definition, I am southern as some would say, 'the day is long.' My earliest memories include a long porch with a big swing and and learning the art of a gentleman's hand shake by practicing on my faithful golden retriever, Joshua. The path through the woods to my neighbor's house was well worn and included a downed oak that I suppose I have to thank for early lessons in balance. As a young southern boy, I had a respectable bed time that came before the sunset during those lasting summer hours. I lay awake starring out the window watching the sky pinken and listen to the hymns of whippoorwills as I fell asleep gently as a feather to the floor. Looking back on the simplest of times, I can feel the South around me just like the thick air it produces. After my mother bore a pure baby boy in Athens, Georgia in 1984, I started to soak it all in. Like a new sponge thrown into water, I soaked in the South and it became me and filled me. From pronouncing 'Dad' with two syllables and 'y'all' becoming everyday vocabulary, I was invisibly and unknowingly inked southern for the rest of my life. Permanent and gratefully.
I long for those "Southern moments" time to time. Each one soothes my soul and puts my tension at ease. A walk down the great oak lined drive at Wormsloe. The smell of marsh lowlands approaching Savannah and stepping on the cobble-stoned streets downtown. I'm sure you've had them, southern or not. Moments and times you sense history itself is looking down on you from above, nodding with gratitude at every occurrence southern genteel tradition is applied in day to day life. Feeling something old and grand. Knowing the path you walk on was paved, figuratively and literally, by the men and women who built my beloved South.
These intangible moments come in numerous variety. I have experienced grounds, even waters that tie me to the past. I have walked along the pathways and squares of the Roman Forum while feeling myself brush by white robes of emperors and senators. I have quietly paced on castle floors of marble and heard the strong and piercing booted steps of battle worn royalty echo in great halls. I am no emperor nor do I have royal blood in my veins. I am Southern male. Fearfully and wonderfully made. And unlike my time in Italy or Germany, when I find myself encapsulated by moments of the South, I am drawn into the past by my beloved southern lands, my ancestry touches my soul, raises my curiosity, and warms my heart.
As a young boy walking down River Street in Savannah or fishing in the pungent marshes, I would image the before. I picture the sun-worn people whose heals rubbed the same smooth stones I walk on after entering the port city on swift, wind-loving vessels. Along my grandfather, father, and uncle, I cruised the same channels and salt streams lowlanders looked for their next catch of blue crab or flounder. I have walked the streets and alleyways of Charleston and felt the pride and arrogance of old-South royalty by taking in the curved stairways, high porches, and hundred year old, color coordinating shutters around flowing panes of glass. I have trodded the silty, dry soil of plantation horses beneath the Wormsloe canopy. The strength of great oak and frailness of Spanish moss swaying like synced pendulums in the humid breeze. I take each step slowly in attempts to soak in and honor the times of before.
Those moments were surprisingly trumped by a weekend I will forever remember...pleasantly of course. Jacob, Ryan, Drew, Luke, Elliot, Lena, and I were well hosted by the Halford family of Memphis, Tennessee. The last afternoon of our Labor Day trip, we decided to go on a horse ride through the cotton fields along a spur of the Mississippi River.
I learned the joy, frustration, and difficulty in attaching a lead rope to a brilliant horse named Sage. Hollis, head of the Halford homestead, his daughters Rachel and Clara, Jacob, Luke, and I walked through the uncut pasture towards the wise Sage and wildly rambunctious Lucy. We fanned out and herded the horses westward in hopes to drive them into the stalls beneath the trees in order to catch and rein them. After high-stepping through the pasture grass for a few hundred yards, bringing the defensive fan closer, Lucy and another horse, calmly entered their stalls where the smallest and youngest of us, Clara, bravely hooked a lead rope around Lucy. But, Sage didn't enter his stall. "He's smarter than that," Hollis yelled. "He knows what we're up to. Don't let him out!" And as we drew closer and closer, Sage became more flustered and nervous. In we came and Sage was spinning looking for a way out. Ten feet now and he snorted. "Don't give him a way out!" Hollis said. Closer. Closer. Then Sage bolted. His hips sank down, front legs lifting inches off the ground, and hooves found grip in the soft earth, muscles flexing. He strode through a wooded area, leapt over a fallen tree, and galloped like thunder past our defense and into the open pasture.
I haven't spent much time around horses. I experienced and felt what true horsepower looks like and means on that September day. I learned to view horses in the same manner as other dangerous, yet intriguing things like fire, rifles, and girls: more respect, the better.
Eventually though, we guided Sage into a small corral to be reined by Hollis. But, not before him fleeing successfully twice more.
Above the pasture, at the barn, while Hollis selected and adjusted saddles for each horse, I spent some time with my soon to be ridden horse, Stretch, in attempts to "get to know each other." Stretch was the Halford family's first horse. Solid dirt brown. 34 years old. Blind in his left eye. "This horse DOES NOT make mistakes," Hollis assured me. I rubbed his head and looked into his one good eye. Swatted the humming bird sized horseflies away, saying things like, "Hey buddy. You doin' okay? Ready for a ride?" trying to connect with my horse. But, after touching the muscle and bone of this thousand pound beast, my mind had trouble placing him in a category. My eyes saw his lungs expand and contract. I watched his eyes blink and tail sway. I heard his nostrils expel air in snorts and nays. Sight and sound told me he was living. But, then I touched him. I rubbed his long face that was sturdy as concrete. I would smack him to shoo the horseflies that would bite and bother and he wouldn't flinch. Felt like slapping a large, mossed-over stump.
After each horse was bridled and saddled, we departed for our short ride before dark.
Setting off, there was something special in the air. Whether it was the fact that Hollis trusted us with his horses or that we got some time to ourselves. Ryan, Drew, Jacob, Elliot, Luke, and I have shared our lives together. At one point, eight of us were living in a six-man apartment on Tech's campus. They are my brethren, the wanted brothers of my youth, and there is an unspoken love between us. The door is always open, the couch is always available, and an embrace is never far off.
After walking through a field of tall grass, which swept the horses' bodies but still beneath our feet, the boys and their horses entered a wooded canopy. The shaded relief from a dog day sun was welcomed by me and surely the other guys and also the horses. I felt the thud of every horse step as my entire body would rise and sink in rhythm. Ducking under branches, slowly approaching downed logs to make sure the horse saw what was coming.
Finally, we came to a wide expanse a of cotton fields divided into shapes by straight lines of medium aged oak trees. The soil became more fertile and more soft, and our gallop increased in pace. As we cantered by the budless cotton plants, we saw a break in a line of trees several hundred yards to the West. What we saw silenced each one of us. Over the cotton plants, through the great oaks was a setting sun with the most vibrant of pinks I have ever seen. More brilliant than a neon on sign, and more natural bird's nest.
The break in the trees was the westward, perpendicular path to the one we were currently on heading north. Immediately, our minds synced and we took off in a herd of horse and young man. Turning the corner onto the western path, we put the sun behind the trees again, but we knew if we could get to the break in the trees in time, we would see the most amazing of sunsets. Heading down several hundreds of yards atop a tan, fine dirt path, there we were. Racing the sun. I have never felt more in tune with another animal or with my southern heritage than in that moment. We ebbed and flowed atop the galloping steeds, syncing ourselves with each stride, finding the proper rhythm with a pounding metronome. We thundered along in the pursuit of natural beauty in Tennessean cotton fields. We found ourselves in this moment smiling with clinched jaws as brothers with a simple goal. The search of natural beauty.
We missed it. Before we reached the line of trees where met the path, the sun had departed for that day and we missed embracing the fullness of that hot pink sun we only had a moment with to treasure. That glimpse burned itself into my memory and forever will I want to capture it again. But, such is life. The glimpses, the moments of purity we are given keep us in the pursuit of more.
Moments... Certain ones imprint themselves on us to the point where it stings the soul because it is not use to that amount of beauty, emotion, or love. An honest hurt of goodness comes around time to time. We may not expect it or understand it, but one thing it does for sure is make us feel, and feeling is good. Feeling is living. Feeling keeps us going. Feeling a baby grab your finger with the entirety of its hand. Feeling the beat of one's heart quicken every time a certain someone walks in the room. To feel is to live.
My friends and I reside in a different time zone than perfect. We stumble and we mess up, but by God we live and we love it.
I love the moment in Field of Dreams where Ray Liotta's character Shoeless Joe Jackson recounts his adoration of the simplicities of baseball he misses after death. He talks about that amazing feeling of fresh cut grass under your spikes and that unforgettable smell of a leather glove one receives when hold a baseball glove to your face.
America's greatest pastime is more than a game. It's sensual experience and even magical, especially for a young boy seeing his first major league ballpark. Walking through the concrete halls seeing the most vibrant colors beaming through every gate he passes. If you ever want to understand the color green, go to a night game and observe the grass. It really is an amazing experience. The noise of the crowd surrounding a perfectly groomed field that is lit so perfectly no shadow can be found. Crunching on peanuts shells as you descend to you seats. Watching your heroes warm up so nonchalantly. Not knowing how a man can throw a ball that far without a strain. The anticipation of the first pitch. Cheers and boos. The Chop. The wave. The lightning crack of the bat. Cokes. Hot dogs. Learning how to eat sunflower seeds and roasted peanuts like a man. It's a sensory overload and all you can do is sit in your seat, legs dangling above the concrete and look up to your father in pure bewilderment. A hand on the shoulder says it all. Without warning and words, a moment is shared between father and son. The love of baseball has just been passed down to another generation.
There isn't a long list of things I miss terribly from the United States. I miss my family and friends (so help my if I had neglected them). I miss biscuits and sweet tea. And I miss baseball. I miss Tuesday summers where college students get buy one get one free tickets. And of course we always went for the $1 tickets (when they had them) and then $2 tickets. Grabbing some KFC across the Northeast entrance and enjoying a good pitching match up.
In conclusion (that's a lie), my baseball memories are fond and run deep. This past Sunday, I went to my first baseball game in Tübingen. Yes, they have baseball in Germany. Tübingen actually has a club team, The Tübingen Hawks (http://www.hawks.de/). Seriously...I was as shocked as you are now. They play in the 2nd Bundesliga in Germany, AAA basically. But, I will be honest about the level of playing. Let's just say...there was significant arc to the pitcher's pitch. That's all I will say.
It was a beautiful day. The field was well groomed. The sky was a sunny, cloud mix and family, friends, and fan filled the stands (a fourth at least) to cheer on the home team. It was the last game of the season and there was a pig roasting over an open fire behind the concession stand.
For a few hours, we (Chris, Nate, Philipp, Pia, and I) sat in the bleachers, cheered, talked about baseball, and went threw a bag of David Sunflower seeds. Thank you Nelson Davis. The entire afternoon, I could help but feel like I was in an episode of Twilight Zone. I was sitting on metal bleachers, chewing ranch seeds, and watching baseball with the smell of a charcoal and pork in the background. It felt odd...it felt like home. It was exaclty like the US except for a few things. The biggest being everyone spoke German. The second, and most significant, was that between innings, everyone drank beer. Not kidding. Players would send others on beer runs to the concession stand between innings and the most surprising was that the umpires drank beer between innings. I have pictures to prove it.
So, that was my Tübingen Hawks experience. Was it different than home? Yes. Will I remember it forever? Yes.
I'm watching 'Marley and Me' again for the umpteenth time. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend doing so, especially if you are a dog-lover as I am. Happily and tragically, I have had several dogs in my life. My first memories included a golden retriever named Joshua. I still find it remarkable that he would let me attempt to ride him such as a horse while not once biting or growling at me. I remember removing all the money I had, at age 4, from my red Velcro wallet and handing it to a lady in a house in Florida to buy another golden retriever, Jericho. Yeah, we were going to have a dog named Joshua and another named Jericho. Leave it to a southern preacher to come up with such names. Good names. I remember coming home with the new puppy only to find that Joshua had died. Only a short time later, my mother approached me and told me that Jericho had gotten run over by an elderly lady in the church following a get-together at the house in Winder, GA. I recall not letting my parents bury Jericho without me seeing him for one last time. For the first time, as a 4 year old, I understood death seeing his small reddened body. It may be different in other families, but as Creels, we treated our dogs like family members. For Jericho, we had a fitting procession and a proper burial with a mound of stones covering the grave.
Then came Freckles, shortly after, a highly active beagle. Sadly, a car literally struck again. After staying with my aunt Cindy and uncle Steve, I came home and the first thing I did was call for Freckles. I remember the awkward silence and my mother looking down and then up to me as she broke the news. I took a walk in the woods.
We moved to Centreville, Alabama in November of 1990 and a soon and constant question was asked, "When are we getting a dog?" The question was answered in a Valentine's Day gift. As a 2nd grader and my sister in 4th, we received a black lab my father named Sheba. When the "Big Snow" of '93 hit, Sheba was mere a pup having to jump up above the snow to find her way. She got lost and was returned to us by our neighbor, Marsha Adams, wrapped up in a towel shivering. As she grew, so did her loyalty. Every day as the Mr. Cottingham, my bus driver, dropped me off at my house, there sat Sheba awaiting my return. My cousin, Madison, even stated Sheba as one of her favorite cousins for a kindergarten assignment.
I must say, during the "Sheba Era," we bought another golden retriever in an attempt to have two dogs. Very tragically, our new puppy, Liza, chewed on a poinsettia plant, was poisoned, and was put down during the fall of my 5th grade year. I can still picture her face as she slightly crooked her head sideways and perked her ears in saying, "Chandler, where are you going?" as I left the house that Friday morning.
After several years of swimming in the Cahaba River and being the best dog that a young, squirrel hunting boy could have, we moved to Vinton, Virginia, a place where 'snow' took a whole new meaning. I'll always remember being the first to wake up on winter mornings to find Sheba sleeping on the couch, which was forbidden by my mother. She would wake, lift her head to see me, and simply put her head back on the pillow. But, when she heard my parent's door open, Sheba would quickly bolt from the couch and lay at my feet. In the spring of my senior year in high school, we had to put Sheba down after a surgery and struggles with cancer. She's buried up the mountain behind our house in Virginia overlooking the valley, which she often did in a "lioness" like fashion.
In the spring of my freshmen year at Georgia Tech, as I randomly visited home from Atlanta, my parents got a new puppy. An Icelandic sheep dog we eventually called Jack, short for Yellow Jacket Creel, became my parent's third child after Leah and I left the nest. He is overly curious, appropriately affectionate, and almost a "scaredy-cat" thought he puts on a courageous facade. Mom calls him my brother and he sleeps curled up by my side when I am at home. He even smiles every time I come home.
Dogs...so much joy.
A dog's perspective on life is so much better than our own. A rub of the belly...a scratch behind the ear is an utmost heavenly pleasure for a dog. I beg you to ask yourself, when was the last time you appreciated a pat on the back or a hug from a loved one in the same way a dog appreciates fetching a water-logged stick in a lake.
I hope I don't offend anyone in pointing out that 'dog' spelled backwards is 'God.' I'm not saying dogs come anywhere close to our loving Father, but if God is love, it is hard to ignore the overwhelming love a dog gives to anyone who will receive it. I once went a calender year away from Virginia and without seeing Jack. When I came home after being gone for so long, how did Jack act towards me? He greeted me unconditionally. I bent down and he all but tackled me, licking my face, and he looked to my mother and back at me as if to say, "Look Mom, my boy has returned."
"A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor...clever or dull...smart of dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?" - Marley and Me
I believe we can learn a thing or two from dogs, as the well-respected Dale Carnegie agrees. I would go further in saying that most dogs, in a good home, experiences the same amount if not more joy in a decade lifetime than we do in ours.
The very attributes we strive for are naturally found in dogs: complete gratitude, unconditional love, tender affection, unparalleled loyalty, and pure joy.
I'm dripping with sweat, my muscles are tight, and my heart is heavy.
This past week will go down as an all-time favorite. Two of my cousins, Tyler Brantley and Travis Thomas joined me on my first vacation days since I have been in Tübingen. The route is below.
Tyler and Travis left this morning for the Frankfurt airport traveling by train. I gave Tyler my cell phone to use as an alarm last night and as I crawled back in my bed after hugging out a goodbye, I recalled the exchange of my cell phone. I searched that house but couldn't find it. I hopped on my bike and sprinted to the train station to head them off. Tyler actually left my cell phone on a chair at Unterwegs. The quick journey may have ended up being somewhat "pointless" but I was able to say goodbye again.
As Tyler and Travis packed last night, I couldn't help but begin to miss them. I'd be lying if I said everything in Tübingen has been a breeze. There is so much I still don't know about my team here. So, when someone from my pre-Germany life came to visit, it felt like a little slice of home. When Tyler and Travis showed up, I felt more like myself than I have in a long time and even others noticed it too. I found comfort in them, hanging around them, and referring to our pasts together by saying, "Remember that time..." and following it with a great memory.
I was talking with my friend Christina last night. She told me about how she's realizing how she has so many roots in Atlanta and it has become her home. Like Christina, my home is where my roots are...wherever that may be. I can remember 3 different houses Tyler has lived in. I remember the day Travis was born. Those roots run deep. Last week, home came to visit me. And it was good.
I miss those guys...and I miss home. But, back to work growing new roots in Tübingen and making Unterwegs a home to those who need it.
Here is a quick video of my first May Day wandering. We met in front of the train station at 11am. We got back to Unterwegs at 9pm. We rode, we talked, we laughed, we took a break, we picniced, we took more breaks. It was great.
I firmly believe that to understand where we are, we must first look to the path behind us and see where we have been. I find myself recounting my past from time to time by looking a pictures, reading old journal entries, or even just remembering what was...
Many may know, some might not, I took a trip during the summer of 2007 that encapsulated who I am and who I want to be. It made me and it changed me. These four weeks included a long trip to the great state of Montana with three of the best friends I could ever wish for. Why Montana? Because...that is where we were supposed to be. We heard and heeded the call to go West to search for something in the wild. Something untameable and great. We searched for God, adventure, and ourselves. And I think I found all three.
I have always...always felt and believed one could find, even connect with God, much better in His creation rather than man's, as did my brothers on this trip. We rented a cabin, for $20 a night, smack dab in the wilderness. We called Birch Creek Cabin on Thief Creek Road our home for 3 weeks. Two rooms and two sets of bunk-beds turned out to be paradise.
Many people ask, 'What did you do?' I always have the same answer, 'Whatever we wanted to do.' Most days consisted of sleeping 'til 9 or 10. During the morning hours, we all had a common respect for one another and gave each other space. For the first 2 to 3 hours of the morning, we would all read scripture, write our thoughts, and pray. This was the first indication that I knew Montana was where I needed to be. After a lite lunch together, we made plans for the day. Most of the time, someone would ask the group, 'Want to go fishin'?' Naturally, the answer always was an enthusiastic 'yes.' We would spend the next hour or so staging a militaristic attack on the trout of western Montana.
And so we went fishing...real fishing...fly fishing. We spent hours in high mountain lakes and valley rivers below seeking Rainbow, Cutthroat, or even Grayling trout. We caught many and kept a few. The fate of those we kept inevitably ended up in our bellies as we sat around the kitchen table content talking about the day and about life.
But, naturally, we had fears of the wild. Because our outhouse stood 40 yards from the cabin, going to the bathroom at night was an adventure of itself. We were in bear and cougar country, during a season where we heard of a mauling a week. Being the boys who grew up in the suburbs that we were, every nightly trip to the outhouse included wearing a headlamp and carrying a shotgun. A bit overkill we realized after the first week.
That month changed us in the same way someone tunes a piano. We all came back to our center. I became Chandler Perry Creel. With no distractions (internet, TV, phone service, connection to the world), I became myself, the self God wanted and wants me to be. If there is nothing to grab your focus, you end up looking at yourself and looking at God. So we became in tune with nature...in tune with ourselves...and most importantly, in tune with God.
One of my favorite books is A River Runs Through It.
A favorite excerpt from that book is as follows,
...my father believed that man by nature was a mess and had fallen from an original state of grace. Somehow, I early developed the notion that he had done this by falling from a tree. As for my father, I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician but he certainly believed God could count and that only by picking up God's rhythms were we able to regain power and beauty.
We found our power and it was quite beautiful. Despite being completely "uncivilized," we found what we were looking for...God and ourselves with Him. As God gave Adam a garden, I believe God gave us Montana, a place where we could walk with the Lord while having no distractions.
With none of the distractions that have become normal in our day to day lives, we listened.... We picked up on the rhythms of God and nature and lived how God had intended. Instead of fighting or struggling through life, we flowed with it. We spent time with Him. We fished for food and spent hours talking over dinners that lasted 3 to even 5 hours...just in fellowship.
We had each other... God became a very actual presence. It's hard to hike 4 miles up a mountain to find a 109 acre lake with white sandy beaches and crystal clear waters and not see the face of God.
Take a glance at these pictures... I see four guys surrounded by what they were looking for.
Finding ourselves on the lakes, rivers, and stream God carved out of the earth, I am brought back to a line from A River Runs Through It.
Long ago, rain fell on mud and became rock. Half a billion years ago... But even before that, beneath the rocks......are the words of God. Listen.
And so we did...
As the four of us spent hours casting our lines to and fro, we got lost. The feeling of a flow and momentum of one's line on a fly rod became like a pulse. It flowed and it fed our souls. Back and forth. Back and forth. Surrounded by snowy peaks and glass clear water, we lost ourselves and found where we needed to be. We became a part of God's creation and we became ourselves. We found a harmony and a "oneness" with the wilderness. We surpassed the earth and water and found the words of God underneath.
Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories...
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words...
Here is a copy of the poem we discussed in class today...all in German. Sehnsucht Je mehr wir verstehen, daß nichts so leicht zu machen ist wie ein Fehler, je mehr uns die Frage umtreibt, ob, warum schon die Zeit Schuld bringt je zahlreicher die Verhöhnungen werden, die Schreckensnachrichten, die Schatten der Gefolterten und Getöteten - um so mehr wächst die Sehnsucht danach, daß wir füreinander endlish bessere Auslegungen sind, daß nicht so viel weiter verstellt ist, daß wir mehr vom Leben vor dem Tod spüren, daß der Augenblick sich erwärmt, wenn wir zusammen reden, gleich jetzt, an einem sochen Tag, der als Schnee kommt.
Longing The more we understand, that is nothing to be made so easily like a mistake, the more the question worries us, whether, why already the time brings guilt the more in more great more numbers the mockeries become, that fright messages, the shadows of the tortured and killed - all more the awake grows the longing after that that we are for one another finally better interpretations, that so much further blocked is not, that we sense more of life before death that the moment warms up, if we speak together, equally now, at a such day, that comes as a snow.
Somehow, this German poem managed to stir something within me even though I didn't comprehend every word. It made me think of the length of a life, my perception of its length, and how long it will actually seem at the end. Don't ask me why. But, our teacher asked us to summarize what we thought or felt in one sentence. I thought and what came to the surface was a fear...a surprising fear actually.
I suppose it started in college. I look back at myself as a freshmen and I find it funny/sad how much I thought I knew when I was 18. I remember feeling more secure about myself as a senior in high school than a 2nd year, even a 3rd in college. Of course, one could say that was a false sense of self in high school. In just over half a decade, I have seen my world turned upside down and shaken...not stirred. I went to Georgia Tech wanting to become an architect and battle the 'form over function' trend. Yeah, I went there. But here I sit in Germany a minister, and I smile at that 18 year old boy, shaking my head, thinking, 'If you only knew what God has in store for you.'
Life has changed. My perceptions of God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the Church, people, ministry, and even my country has changed. But, today I'm talking about my life-changing perspective change about life. Here are a few things I have learned in that last half decade: - Those coincidences aren't that accidental. - When God speaks, I better listen. - I do need my family...sorry it took a while. - Learning is simply realizing how little you actually know. - I am not indestructible and I can break. But, with 3 titanium plates and 24 screws, I am surprisingly mendable. - Contrary to my 18 year old mindset, life does not last forever.
And the last lesson finally brings me to my fear I hinted at earlier. I have a fear of not living life. Yes, that may sound surprising coming from a guy that's part metal and currently living in a foreign country for the 2nd time, but seriously, I'm scare that one day I will look back and have regret. I've always like the quote saying, 'Live life like you mean it.' I guess you could say I have a fear of regret. I fear that one day I will look back and think, 'I wish I would have...blah blah blah.' So, here is the phrase I came up with to sum up the poem: (moving the statement to the center for dramatic effect)
'Je länger wir warten, bis Leben zu passieren, desto mehr verpassen wir.'
Translation: 'The longer we wait for life to happen, the more we miss.'
My thought is, 'Huh. Not bad for a 24 year old who knows he doesn't know anything.' But, what I do know is that I have longing to see all that there is to see, do whatever there is to be done (except for the bad things), and not only meet, but get to know all the people God puts in my path. Language school as helped with the last one. There's a Greek girl who hates all things new, an Indian girl who is studying at South Carolina and is looking forward to her first football game this fall, an Australian girl who wants to work with Bread for the World, and a lady from Sri Lanka who, judging by the raspiness of her voice, does not believe in drinking water. Every day is interesting and brings something different. Yesterday it was a girl from Kyrgyzstan.
But to live life with intention... Like so many things, the concept is simple, but the actual practice is hard. So many times, we watch movie or read books and think of how awesome it would be to have that adventurous life. I say, 'Why not me? And why not you?'
Globalscope Germany has an official name now: unterwegs
Though we have been using the term 'imkeller' for our website, it was never our intention to keep that as our name. 'imkeller' which translates to 'in the cellar' was used only for temporary purposes.
But, now we have a name. The rest of the team and I have been brainstorming of what the name of our ministry should be. Several names have been thrown around. Things that translate into 'The Lighthouse', 'The River', and others for example. But, 'unterwegs' has stuck with us for months. We have prayed about it, researched its connotation, and have asked several Germans about what they think. All have resulted with positive signs. So, we all decided it should be so. I'm sure you are wondering just what exactly 'unterwegs' means. 'unter' in German means 'under' and 'weg' means 'way.' So, the literal translation would be that 'unterwegs' means 'under way.' But, the closest translation and meaning is 'along the way' and 'on one's way' being a close second.
Jim Kautt, a pastor at the local Christian Church, who actually hails from the Republic of Texas gave us some words of advice to keep in mind. He says, "The Neckar flows into Tübingen. The Neckar flows through Tübingen. The Neckar flows out of Tübingen." Tübingen is split by the Neckar River. Jim's advice is in regards to the flowing waters of the Neckar, but also about the flow of students throught the University of Tübingen. The students flow into, through, and out of Tübingen.
I have stood and watched the flow of the water. I have watched the current and followed the water and its contents down stream. As the water passes, I have realized that the waters I observe will never flow through Tübingen in the same way again. And just like the water, I watch students go about their day. They flow from dorms to class rooms rippling with friends and classmates, but they all are inevitably flowing downstream to the future. As campus ministers we have a small window to create relationships and show students the love of Jesus. The average German lives to be 79 years old and the average student will stay at University for 4 years. Our window is 5% of their lives. But, on the bright side, university students are more likely to be open to new ideas than at any other point in their lives.
So...unterwegs...along the way. As Christians, we ought not to ever be satisfied with who we are as Christians and we should never be satisfied with the work we do on earth for the Kingdom. If I ever say, "You know what. I think I have finally arrived at being a Christian. I'm going to stop striving for more," please slap me across the face.
The fact is, I will always be on the path towards Jesus. I should never stop moving forward. I will, for the rest of my days, be 'along the way'. I meet people on the bus, in the gym, at the cafeteria, on the soccer field, and anywhere else 'along the way'. Our campus house sits on the busiest street in Tübingen. People walking, driving, and biking are constantly passing our house 'along the way' to wherever they are going. 'unterwegs' will be a ministry where boys and girls can spend time at 'along the way' to becoming the men and women God wants them to become.
All we can hope is that God will bless us...along the way.
We put our 3 heads and GT degrees together and decided to take a train to to Zürich and attempt to fly out of that airport. So, 6 hours, 5 trains, and 20 Euros later, we arrived at the Zürich airport.
Yeah...welcome to Switzerland.
Base Camp. After being bumped from the Zürich flight to Atlanta due to the notorious "weight and balance issues," we set up shop at the airport's Starbucks. Though in most cases, I am completely opposed to Starbucks for reasons such as burning their coffee to normalize their bad, unfair traded coffee and not giving water to firefighter's amidst the 9/11 attacks, I really appreciated their comfy and 24 hour availability of their couches.
Resting at base camp before venturing up to Mt. Terminal E through the Security Check Point Pass. Those Swiss passes are notorious for being difficult to traverse.
One thing I love about the Swiss the their immaculate over attention to detail. Example: After successfully passing through security and customs, a sweet young Swiss girl greets everyone on the tram via a series of video screens adjacent to the tracks. After, smiling, she gives the window a Swiss kiss. I'll admit, I may have blushed a little.
(flying over the Swiss Alps. And that's not a glacier, those are the clouds...in case you're wondering)
After arriving in a very foggy Atlanta and getting bumped from the flight home to Roanoke, I elected to stay a few days in Atlanta and visit friends even though my luggage continued on without me to Roanoke. Luckily, the timing worked out well. Leland, best buddy extraordinaire, happened to grace us for the first time since being deployed to Hawaii as a Marine officer.
Picture here is my lovely sister, Leah. I rented a car and drove up to Winston-Salem through a snowstorm to spend some time with her. I also learned that Winston-Salem is founding a new minor league baseball team this spring. They will be called the Winston-Salem Dash. Let me know when/if you get that.
As you can see, the pre-Christmas snow left its mark on our driveway. I spent 2 hours clearing it with pictured snow blower. This day was the first time my father or I had ever used one of these things. And like most testosterone-filled males, give us a gas-powered machine and we see a new toy. One would work for a while and the other would come up and say, "Um...I think it's my turn," and take over for a bit.
View from my front yard at sunset
Christmas pictures with the family.
My brother, Jack, loving Christmas.
Tug of war
I have a very affectionate dog.
Frying one of the two turkeys on Christmas Day. In my family, we always eat well.
Speaking of eating well, I was gifted the Pat Conroy Cookbook by my parents. First off, if you are looking for a great novel to read, pick up a copy of Beach Music by Mr. Conroy. A friend put it quite well when he told me, "Chandler, I been reading Beach Music. And when I say 'reading,' I really mean 'loving.'
New Year's Eve began at Ru San's....
Followed by the Band of Horses concert at the Tabernacle. Simply wonderful.
Yes, those are cop cars, 5 in fact.
You know, I feel like I am a respectable, semi-cultured young man. I live in Europe, speak German, have a degree from Georgia Tech, well-mannered in the etiquette fine dining, treat women with the respect they deserve, and know how to "suit up"....but sometimes, I love being a southern redneck. I spent a couple of days in Madison County with my family-in-law. After a hearty breakfast at the Brantley estate, Tyler asked Daniel and I, "So, y'all wanna walk through the woods and shoot at anything that moves?" I believe the response is evident by the picture above.
