To preempt the question that everyone asks, I’m going to Fargo because I was asked to work with the video crew (I assume as a cameraman) for the last week of shows from Impact World Tour, the group I’ve worked with overseas in the past. No biggie, I can scoot over a few states for 5 days to do live video shooting for some performance shows.

Well, this morning that’s changed.

I was told by my technical director today that he won’t be able to join the team for the shows. I’d expected him to direct the video crew. In addition, there have been changes with the gear and team we’ll be using. So now it looks like I may be directing the video myself. I’ve done this twice before: once for something like 12,000 people on my first tour in New Zealand (yeah, that was stressful) and again for a show or two last summer in the Philippines (the first show was with non-native English speakers on camera). So while I’m relatively inexperienced, this should be pretty easy by comparison. But I may not be directing, because depending on the team we round up, I may be required to be the technical producer during the show itself. I did this for a couple small shows in the Philippines as well. It’s a bit more weight, but really, while it sounds big, and will definitely be fun, it’s a bit easier. I need to make sure the camera team knows what to expect and help the director during the show. Sound should be a cakewalk and the lighting tech is phenomenal and worked these shows for years.

My tech team director just wanted me to be ready to make whatever we end up with work and pull off the show. I’m game!

Earlier this month I was reading posts from Jeffery Zeldman of his perspective during and after 9/11/2001. He lives in New York and it was fascinating to read first-hand recent history accounts of the event. I also read an article that referenced other news pieces about what was happening in the week or two leading up to the attack. As vaporous as online content is, I know using a blog to record thoughts and events is hopeful at best, but considering it is my profession to work on the web and I own my own domain and website, it gives me a much greater hold over my content.

I’ve been told a few times that I’m a good writer, a fact which even helped me secure a web design job once. So I’m thinking of writing more, perhaps less deep so that I can do it more frequently. But so often I feel like sharing my thoughts on different topics or news items, and getting into this habit will help me.

Topics like how the web is changing so much and won’t be the same again. I love the coding practices and community of designers these days, but man, I really miss the simplicity of working on the web from 10-15 years ago. But really, that’s a much larger topic for me and would be best in person, so consider that a teaser to entice you to seek me out face-to-face. You can take me to coffee and we can talk about social psychology, Orwellian states, and being human. Yes, all of that from that above linked article on the end of the web as we know it.

With that intro to why I’d like to be writing a bit more, here we go.

In actuality, this whole rapture end-of-the-world business has been unsettling to me. Something is just wrong with the whole situation, and I’m not talking about the obvious. Sure, I’ve poked my fun, laughed at the jokes, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It isn’t just the situation either, there’s something wrong with us.

Last night, I told a friend that I had thought about throwing an End of the World party, or at least a See-Ya-Later-All-Us-Christians-Are-OUT party, but that as amusing as it would be, it just seems a little, well, blasphemous. I’m a Christian, I believe Jesus. I suck at following his example, but I still believe in it. Which means I also believe that there’s more to life than this mortal coil. I don’t know how this so-called rapture will happen, or what the prophesied return of Jesus will look like, but I think it’s wrong to so blatantly scoff at the idea of it. I went to a birthday party instead.

As a Christian, I’m supposed to be looking forward to the return of Christ. I know 99.99+% of Christians believe literally in the Bible verses that say we don’t know when it will happen and it will be surprising. But I haven’t heard any Christians talk lately about how excited they are for that to happen. Instead, it’s laughter and derision. Sure, that’s because some guy who apparently knows the Bible better than anyone ever is predicting dates and hours. But I find in myself not a desire that he be wrong because it would show him to be a loony bin , but frankly, because I don’t feel ready for it. Remember that verse about the sheep and the goats? (Matt 25:31-46) Or Matthew 7:21-23:

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord’, will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only one who does the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?’ Then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; go away from me, you evildoers.”

Let’s be honest, verses like those are a little scary. Do I think I’m a horrible human being? No. Am I knowingly trying to use and abuse the name of Jesus for my own gain? No. Do I sometimes disconnect from the real meaning while I’m working audio / visual for an evangelistic performance tour? Yeah, it happens. Have I walked by the hungry, the needy, the thirsty, the sick, and ignored them while hoping they don’t look at me? A lot.

Selfishly and with earth-bound thinking there is still stuff I want to do. Places I want to see, things I want to accomplish. In that sense, I don’t feel ready. But in another sense, I feel like I’m failing my savior and my soul by skipping like a goat past the homeless guys under the bridge by my office. At best, it would be downright embarrassing if Jesus came back right now.

I could be, but I doubt I am, alone in this.

Which leads me to think: We’re doing it wrong.

But you know who is excited about the rapture? Who really cannot wait for it to happen? Atheists. And pretty much the rest of the world. Atheists are stoked for the rapture! They’re planning post-rapture parties and getting ready to loot the left over stuff. I’m pretty sure as much as they don’t believe in a god, they really want this one part to be true.

Because then we’d all be gone.

Wait, what? All the Christians are gone and the rest of the world throws a party?

We’re doing it wrong.

If we’re too busy making sure our pets are taken care of to the point that we are ignoring people, something needs to change.

Actually, as silly as it sounds, in a weird illogical logical way, that isn’t a horrible idea. If the rapture is going to look like the Left Behind series, wouldn’t a good pet owner make sure their animals weren’t left out in the cold to die when Jesus takes the owners home? But wouldn’t a good Christian care more about making sure their neighbors (in the broad Jesus sense of the word) were cared for, or better yet, came along with them instead?

This is the crux of the whole issue: the response that the “non-believing” portion of the world is having right now is shining a light on the fact that Christians as a population are viewed as crack-pots, not a loving and serving people that the rest of the world would miss. Think of it this way: when you move away, do you want to be missed and remembered by people? When you die, do you want people at your funeral because they will miss having you around? Apparently, when Christians leave, they won’t be missed. Yeah, there will be a goodbye party, but it’s not the kind you want.

Christians don’t love and care for people and the world enough that they will still want us around. The rapture? Good riddance.

Ouch.

I’ve had at least three people seriously ask me when I’m moving here (not to mention many half-joking questions) and four serious offers for visas to help with residency. Also, the immigration officer I spoke with suggested, off the record, that I find myself a nice girl. I met with this officer because the customs officer who stamped my passport upon arrival noted my many other NZ visas and asked when I was moving permanently.

Yeah, the officials are in on it now too. Maybe I should listen to that.

Lastly, while hitchhiking back to Christchurch, the 11 or 12 year-old son of the lady giving me a ride asked me when I was going to move here.

Out of the mouth of slightly-older-than-babies babes?

Even if my friend hadn’t received my note with flight details (he hadn’t) to come pick me up I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t coming into a foreign city that I didn’t know. I’ve become very nonchalant about my travel, but am even more so here in a way. Not apathetically, but comfortably. I know what road from the airport to take to get into town, how to avoid the central business district and what alternate routes to use to get to my friend’s house.

I call New Zealand home. It’s part tongue-in-cheek and part how I really feel about it. That doesn’t mean that Oregon isn’t home to me also, but just to explain how comfortable I feel here, even when I find more and more cultural differences the longer I stay. The first time I came here, a wet-behind-the-ears traveler a mere 18 years old, I felt oddly at peace, welcome, and, well, home when I stepped off the plane. For someone who’d never been away from home or family for more than a week or two, that was significant and memorable.

Why am I reiterating all of this? It’s nothing I haven’t expressed before: friends expect me to stay each trip – even my banker thought it wise to add a few extra weeks to my accounts’ travel notice and the immigration officer asked me when I was moving permanently.

Maybe it’s to emphasize what I felt the first few days walking and driving around Christchurch. I was glued to the #eqnz Twitter stream and online media news sources the week of the February earthquake. I saw all the footage and photos. I read all the stories. I knew more about the city’s situation and plans than my local friend when I arrived. But I hadn’t seen it all myself. It feels a bit surreal.

When I bussed from the airport to the mall where my friend was to pick me up, I went right through my old neighborhood. Aside from a boost in traffic, it was fine. Maybe one roof with a removed chimney. Then we drove across town, around the CBD and to the east side. Buildings missing facades, second story rooms exposed where roofs and walls had fallen away, potholes and protrusions all along the roads where liquefaction had sucked down or pushed up the pavement. Previously familiar areas unrecognizable through the damage. You think you know a place and discover that you may no longer. It feels a bit surreal.

The next day I spent the morning walking along the east side of the cordoned off downtown. Initially the entire central portion of the city was closed. Roughly 100 blocks by my estimate. A month later there is much more open and many inroads pushing towards the interior red zone. As I walked along cracked pavement and gaping earth, looking at destroyed businesses and leaning houses next door to seemingly intact buildings, I noticed that everyone who could was going about their day. Yes, it’s been a month, but this is how it’s been since the initial shock (and aftershocks) wore off: life goes on.

I had the opportunity to meet with a handful of businessmen who had previously worked in the CBD. While they expressed frustration at not being able to access their buildings, even if they were okay, the biggest topic was how they were managing to continue running their businesses and how different companies were coping. Listening to people talk at a local pub’s trivia night you wouldn’t hear anything about the quake. Church groups still meet, though possibly (like my old church) in a different building. My friend and I were talking, he said that life is still moving on for most people, things just take a bit longer. Water needs to be boiled before drinking. Driving somewhere may require slower speeds and alternate routes.

For all of that, there is still a tension, a disturbance, under the surface. The second and third nights I was woken by aftershocks. In the nine days I’ve been here I’ve noticed five aftershocks, a couple of them strong enough of long enough to be a little disturbing, though not dangerous. Compound that number by months and that will start to cause strain. And of course there is everything else, it’s foolish to play like there are no residual effects. There are lives lost, property damaged, jobs gone, landscape changed. Schools are still only partially open. Christchurch won’t be a “normal” city for several years, if it ever really is again. The natural need to continue life will cause a shift in where hot spots are in the city for recreation. That makes it weird to see a place I have contemplated living long term be in such a state.

* * * * *

I’m having a hard time knowing how to end this post. I didn’t have much of a point when I started writing outside of explaining how odd it is to come to a familiar place that is striving to rebuild and return to normalcy.  Perhaps this is a DIY. Draw your own point, lesson, conclusion. For me, understanding what New Zealand is to me is an ongoing process – it’s just that it got a little more complicated.

Pre-ticket purchase – “That would be so cool!”

Ticket purchase – “WOOO!!! I’M GOING!!!”
This ebbs and flows slightly depending on how much I’m thinking and being reminded of the trip, but generally stays pretty high. For a few months, life goes on, but the anticipation stays high.

Two to one weeks out – “Oh man! I’m so excited, it’s coming up!”

One week to two days out – “Shoot! So much to do! Stressssssed!”

The day before – Stress + “Wait, I’m really going to miss you all! And I wanted to do that thing that’s happening while I’m gone. Sad.”

The night before – Poor sleep.

The day of – Freak out I’m forgetting something.

On the plane – Siiiiggghhhhhh, I can finally relax.

Land – “YEEEEAHHHHH!!!!!”

(Currently at “The Day Before”)

On September 22nd, 2010 there was a 7.1 earthquake in the Canterbury region of New Zealand’s south island. It was roughly 25 miles west of Christchurch (and 25 miles south of where I went to school in Oxford). It struck in the middle of the night when very few people were about and at a depth of around 6 miles. No one died as a direct result of the quake, and damage was limited.

Since that initial quake there have been over 5000 aftershocks. Read that again. Five-thousand aftershocks magnitude two or higher. That’s roughly 30 per day.

Things seemed to be settling down until thirteen days ago. At 12:51pm on Tuesday the 22nd local time, when tens of thousands of people were at work, people were having lunch, and tourists were taking in the sites, the biggest aftershock occurred. Smaller than the original quake, this one was centered only six miles south-east of Christchurch and a mere 1.2 miles deep. Those two facts, in addition to the timing, created a much more devastating earthquake. 166 people are confirmed dead, thousands have been displaced, the central business district (CBD) was heavily damaged, and nearly two weeks out core services aren’t 100% yet. For the first time ever, New Zealand is in a state of national emergency.

And this is the situation I want to write about. I don’t have a point I’m trying to make, I don’t have any agenda. I just want to share my thoughts. Call it my small coping mechanism for the small way this affects me.

Anyone who knows me knows that New Zealand is my heartland and second home. When I was 18 and 19 and going to school in Oxford I visited Christchurch at least once a week for three months. During my work with Impact World Tour I was sad to not help with the Christchurch show. And then in 2007-08 I lived in the city for eight months. No, that’s not a huge amount of time, but it became home. I had a church I ran sound for and attended; I had a weekly barbecue with a few friends; I had my local watering holes and local dairies; I grew to know locals and became part of the sporting community there. It was in Christchurch I first lived on my own and bought my own first car.

Honestly, it was hard to not be there in September. At first I thought it was weird, but from talking with people, they understand. It has been really difficult to not be there now. Not to see the destruction and tragedy, not to have a sob-story, and not have people care for me. As horrible an event as it is, it is the type of thing that forces community to happen. People must come together. And when major events happen to a group of people, whether it be a small group of friends or a nation, it creates a common bond – a shared experience that connects people. Just like your grandparents can tell you where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked, like your parents can tell you where they were when Neil Armstrong set foot on another celestial body, and like you can tell each other where you were when 9/11 happened, Canterbrians will be able to tell you where they were and what they were doing at 12:51pm February 22nd.

That’s a shared experience I will only have with them by proxy. Through a handful of personal connections and the Internet. I heard about the quake through Twitter within minutes of it happening thanks to a web designer acquaintance who was visiting at the time. For the rest of the week I was glued to live streaming online news from New Zealand and Australian channels. While the majority of the world focused on the tension in Libya and the Middle East, I looked the other direction. But all I’ll be able to say is I was sitting in my office 7327 miles away worrying about friends.

A shared experience isn’t the only reason I want to be there. I want to help shovel silt from the liquefaction from my friends’ driveway. Or to give someone a place to sleep. To help my mates sort out water through their church. I think anyone else would feel the same for a place they consider home. I’ve been keeping up with people who are helping with the technical side of the recovery effort. Within a day websites were popping up helping people find resources and report issues. Even being in touch with these techies has been good. I hope to be able to do more. The Red Cross is looking for some web development help and I may be able to do something there. It would be great to use my skills somehow, even if I’m not there.

What’s weird to think is that in three weeks I will be there. I purchased tickets for a month long trip in December. The plan was to visit friends, holiday, and play in the NZ Ultimate (frisbee) Nationals. I would be staying with one of my friends in the city, probably spend a few afternoons downtown, eating sushi and watching gentlemen play the oversized chess set in the shadow of the cathedral in the square. It’s weird to think that I won’t be allowed into the CBD, it will be at least partially closed for probably months. It’s weird to think I may not be able to stay with my friend because I’m not sure of the state of his house. It’s weird to think I’ll probably have to boil drinking water and use a toilet dug in the back yard. And it’s weird to know that I will experience small aftershocks while I’m there. Currently, every few hours a magnitude 3.something aftershock is occurring in the Canterbury plains. I’m not expecting to be in any danger, but it will be a bit surreal.

If (when?) I move to New Zealand, Christchurch is always where I’ve wanted to live. That hasn’t changed, but it won’t be the same. Not just the skyline, but the culture and mentality of the population has irreversibly changed. As someone there mentioned, there is no six-degrees of separation in New Zealand. For a country of only 4.3 million people, it’s more like two-degrees. If you don’t know someone who was affected, you know someone who knows someone who was.

Much to my relief, everyone I know in Christchurch is safe. Their houses aren’t necessarily, but they are. I was very touched by the friends and family who reached out to ask how I was doing. I wasn’t even there, but they knew how much it meant to me. To those of you, thank you so much.

– - – - -
If you read all the way down here, I’m impressed. Thanks for letting me ramble and process.

This speech, however, caught my attention in a certain way. I know most presidents reference God in their speeches, pray, and say “God bless America.” President Obama has been no different, but today he seemed much more forward about it. Not only was he liberal in his mentions toward God, but it seemed a large portion of the speech was devoted to preaching the second greatest commandment, summarized as “love people.” My favorite quote from today was this:

“We recognize our own mortality, and we are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this Earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved – and what small part we have played in making the lives of other people better.”

None of the worldly pleasures matter, just love. Let me quote that again, “what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved”.

Two passages from the Old Testament were also quoted, one from Psalm 46 and another from Job 30.

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.”
- Psalm 46:4 & 5

I found this to be a very odd and enigmatic Scripture choice. It is rather esoteric. Because of that I decided to do a little digging, so I read the entire Psalm: God is our safety in hard times, and there will be bad times, but we need not be afraid. God is with us. Take note, He is in control.

I’m not a biblical scholar, but through a brief exploration of some study resources I was able to understand these two verses more. Through trying and difficult times God’s grace is still with His people. He is with them and will not leave.

The mere fact that this passage is poetic and not direct seems to imply more than a shallow understanding and usage of Scripture. President Obama and his script writers could easily have used the more blunt verse one, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Instead they chose depth. Perhaps they were also choosing something that wouldn’t seem so insensitive to those who only days ago lost loved ones, but I’m sure there are many other sensitive and more widely known passages that would have fit. Instead, there is one that sounds like his audience knows the Bible well. And for those who don’t, it makes you look a little further, explore a little more. I like that.

And so while the president is quoting scripture to us, maybe I will quote to him in return, in hope that it becomes true of him.

“Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.”
- Proverbs 16:31