Games

Pink plastic tea cups

Tipped up, pinkies out.

It is play—but how formal!

How normal it is

To sit here, Astroturf

Beneath our toes. It grows,

I think. Though slowly,

Rising from the field:

The smell of mud, and drums.

Blood runs to the sky.

Guns may kill, but scars

And stripes can only save

A dead man.

The weather’s fair today.

Here’s cotton for your ears;

A cloth, for the smell.

Faith

If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men. (1 Cor. 15:19)

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Security sources have warned of an al-Qaeda plan to send teams of gunmen to crowded places to kill civilians. They said cities in the UK, France and Germany were thought to be targets for the militants, in attacks analysts feared could be similar to the 2008 atrocities in Mumbai. (BBC News, 3 October 2010)
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I set my netbook on the kitchen table and began to search for flights, half-heartedly. My original flight had been canceled because of a strike, and it would be easy to use that as an excuse for backing out on the trip.
"Maybe God doesn't want you to go to Paris," my roommate said with a laugh. I laughed too, nervously. I'd had the same thought. But I wasn't committing to anything, I was just wasting time on travel websites. That way I could say I tried.
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6 October 2010, 1:01PM
Well, I booked a flight to Paris. I hope it was the right thing to do. I didn't remember the terms I had set forth last night until it was too late. My motives were at least partially pure. I really didn't want Alexis to spend the weekend alone.
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Alexis called while I was skyping with my mom.
"Her bus hit a car on the way to the airport," I told Leigh, covering the ear piece on my headphones as if that would keep my mom from hearing. "Everyone's fine, though. It wasn't a big deal."
"Aren't you starting to think maybe this trip isn't a good idea?" My mom's voice garbled through the bad connection.

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It is nearly impossible to walk two abreast on a Greek sidewalk, because every few meters the path is interrupted by a knee-high, metal pole intended to prevent cars from parking on the curb. In addition to these green obstacles, trees grow through the bricks and dumpsters line the streets, so that a successful walking experience usually involves weaving back and forth from one side of the road to the other, trying to avoid cars and buses in the process.

The sun shone down brightly as I made the usual trek to campus. I saw an old Greek man coming towards me around a dumpster, so I stepped into the street. A car came from behind and sped past, barely missing me on the narrow road.
The man looked me in the eye, and I expected an unintelligible scramble of Greek to follow.
"Be careful," he said gently, pausing for emphasis before continuing on his way.
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7 October 2010, 6:50AM
I'm sitting in the Athens airport, trying to convince myself that these people look French. The gate isn't labeled, and not an employee is in sight--we were supposed to board thirty minutes ago. I see a man with a "Paris: Top 10" travel book, so I guess that's a good sign. I'm nervous about public transportation. Once I get there, I mean. It's supposed to be a primary target. I guess I would never know if I really trusted God if I never took any risks. But what does that even mean? Trust that I'll be protected? That I'm immune to sickness, impervious to attack? I haven't been promised anything. 

No...no, that's not true. I've been promised life. The kind that won't end when this body dies.