January is a stark month on the northern plains.  The coldest month of the year, and while not the darkest, the extended nights of the far reaches of the Northern Hemisphere of January don’t have the twinkling lights and breezy air of December and Christmas.  It is just a cold, dark, barren landscape, with the trees sitting seemingly dead as silhouettes on the horizon, like the rest of the earth, waiting for spring.

But life doesn’t stop.  Work doesn’t stop.  The day to day business of living goes on despite the cold winds that howl, the bitter winds, and the white, snowy landscape.

Part of growing up with a herd of dairy cattle was the daily chores – rain, snow or shine, from -50F to +110F the cows had to be milked and cared for, their needs and performance the lifeblood of the family livelihood.

In the chill of winter, when the cattle were nestled in the barn, that meant the usual feeding, milking, and bedding, as well as the continual daily chore known as ‘cleaning the barn.’

‘Cleaning the barn’ sounds like some innocuous chore like ‘cleaning house,’ or ‘taking out the garbage.’  In truth, it was literally making sure that the tons of feed that were carted, hefted, moved, and fed each day was properly disposed of once its job in the delicate interior of the cows was done producing milk.

In short, it was carting away the crap.

Sure, it was more than too – it was the left over waste feed, the scraps from the table so to speak, the uneatable parts of the feed, as well as the soiled and soiled straw, put down to make sure the cows were comfortable. As well as any liquid that they might have passed.

Every twenty four hours this job had to be done – despite the cold or snow as long as the cows were in the barn.

It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it.

For the most part, it was pretty mechanical.  There was a concrete gutter, a square groove that ran around the barn behind the cows – all of which faced the wall.  In this groove was a big metal chain with paddles that would carefully move the waste around the barn out the back through a small hole next to the big back barn door where it was elevated upwards at a 30 degree angle and into a waiting spreader to be taken out into the fields and spread – a good fertilizer for the coming crop.

It was one continuous loop that was run by a big electric motor at the very top of the elevated portion – the very head of the barn cleaner as it was called. 

Each day, we would scrap down the concrete behind the cows (which were pretty poor aims) and clean out around the feet of the cows, scraping the wet straw from around each cow to ensure they stayed dry and comfortable.

It sounds pretty darn simple…but as with most things on the farm, it was the complications that would get you.

And those complications always seemed to happen in the bitter cold of winter, when things were cold, bitter and fragile.

 Happy New Year!  For those that haven’t been paying attention, about 25% of the world’s population has been out celebrating for the last week or so – the Chinese New Year.  And not just any New Year, this is the year of the Dragon. 

The Dragon – in western mythology, the symbol of terror and destruction, in eastern lore – it is the ultimate symbol of good fortune and power.  While last year was the year of the Rabbit (which happens to be my year thank you very much), the Dragon is the fifth in the twelve year Chinese calendar cycle.

So this is certainly not an everyday occurrence.

And Melbourne love’s its Chinese New Year.  Little Bourke Street, the heart of Melbourne’s China town is alive with gusto.  They close off blocks of the city.  And the river walk along Crown Casino becomes a hive of activity.

Why would Melbourne have such a boisterous Chinese New Year celebration?  Well, there is a lot of Chinese immigrants for starters, and that isn’t a new phenomenon.  The Chinese were some of the first immigrants to the new colony of Victoria once gold was discovered.  They were some of the most well organized and hardworking people on the diggings…and some of the most hated.  The reputation for that first wave was they weren’t here to set down roots…just to mine and leave.  Though some, as with most immigrant groups, decided to stay, and they were met a hundred years later by more waves, so Melbourne has a long history as a hub of Chinese settlement.

And it shows during Chinese New Year.

The event is multicultural – the entire river is lined with tents and booths where people can buy their lanterns and Chinese umbrella’s – their incense burners and Buddist alters – their hello kitty back packs and angry birds balloons. 

There were two big stages set up, where martial arts displays, Chinese acrobats, and musicians tried their best to appease the crowd in a multigenerational talent show…and as the very Scottish looking gentlemen in the bowler hat riding unicycle to jazz music showed, multicultural as well.

Oh sure there were the usual logistical issues – things like the Chinese father-daughter dancing act that decided to perform on the sidewalk at the very narrowest part of the proceedings…guaranteeing a very captive audience as the traffic jam of people stopped up for a half block on either side, or the small stage with Chinese musicians that were set up directly downwind from the from the very smoky food stalls.

And oh, the food.

It was a veritable cornucopia of the best of Asian street food.  Dim sims by the dozen. Spring rolls by the score. Chilli prawns by the…well…century!  It was an absolute hodge podge of the best of the Melbourne food scene. 

I think I saw the shingle for Yummy Palace and the Vegie Hut.  There was my old friendTom Phat  and Tao’s Restaurant.  I think Wild Ginger was there by Chillipadi and Golden Orchids.  Right on the end were the Korean Palace and Spiral Potatoes, being watched over by Colonel Tan’s Asian Cuisine.  Cafe Tien Tien was there, right next to Gary’s Dutch Poffertjes…

Hey, I did say it was multicultural….

Happy Year of the Dragon!

 I didn’t understand them at first, little comments on Facebook, some emails, a few text messages, a few dropped hints on phone calls with family and friends….

So yes, I’ve got a confession to make…I’ve fallen behind…a two week vacation has now stretched into over a month of limited posting.

But, like a child, I’ve got some excuses…and some good stories.

Camping near Ninety Mile Beach, watching the mighty Snowy River head out to sea, losing two tires on one trip, going through the ancient Iron Bark forest, a day at the races, a trip to Singapore, Chinese New Year….and a whole host of other stories and observations, as well as stories of growing up on the wind swept plains of North Minnesota…

By the way, did I mention that I was beginning preparations to move back to Minnesota?

Yup, for those who haven’t heard, I’ll be heading back to Minnesota in about four months time…just in time for summer.

So I’ve got a little work to do, hopefully you’ll be coming back to check in now and then.

 The majority of people are extroverts.  They get their energy from being around other people.  About twenty-five percent of us are introverts, while we might love and enjoy being around people, they sap our strength, and we need some good quiet downtime to revive us.

As an introvert, I presume that all other people just know how to act, how to lead, how to do the right things at just the right time – how to live their lives with confidence…and I’ve found that confidence is something altogether different than being introverted or extroverted.

Confidence is going out with belief in yourself, belief in what you are doing – so that come what may, you think you have what it takes to conquer what comes at you.  Either an extrovert or an introvert can have confidence.

Confidence is not bravado.

I’m reminded of the battleship cruising through the stormy seas late one night.  All of a sudden, it spots lights, dead ahead of it.  The captain gets on the radio and hails it:

“To the ship in vector 145, we ask that you turn your course 30 degrees to the south immediately.” The captain said with confidence.

A reply came back, “We request that you turn your course 30 degrees to the south.”

The captain was agitated, “Repeat.  Repeat.  Turn your course immediately.  Or else.”

“The reply came back, “Hear your request, we repeat our request to turn your vessel immediately.”

The captain lost it, “Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?  This is the captain of one of the greatest battleships to ever sail the seas.  We request again, for the last time – turn your vessel immediately!”

The voice came on again, “This is Private Jones, I’m the nightwatchman on the lighthouse, you’d better turn your vessel captain.”

One had confidence….one had authority.  It didn’t matter the rank, it didn’t matter the age…it mattered about who had their feet, in this case, firmly on rock.

There is an old saying, that might makes right…and the converse…right makes might…and I believe they apply in this case, one speaks with great confidence, with great bravado even.  The other speaks with confidence – but it is the voice of right, of truth, of justice. 

The demons in today’s Gospel had to listen to Jesus, not because he was confident, but because he had dominion.  The people were amazed that Jesus spoke as he did – because he wasn’t trying to interpret the law, but he was giving it, he made the law!

Speaking with confidence might be all well and good, but it is that authority…that power of right, and justice, and truth, that turns it into something powerful.

But we are not the Son of God!  True…but even in our hearts and minds…in our conscience…we know what is right and wrong.  We are God’s people here on earth. We must not judge…but we must speak with authority on the wrongs.  And there are plenty of them out there – from bullying in our schools to genocide around the globe.  Each of us is given the voice and the authority to speak…without counting the cost.

 Old Doc LaDue didn’t mince any words, he shot it straight.

“Jesus, you really screwed your back over.”  He said as he watched me writhe around in pain and agony as he poked and prodded.  “This is pretty incredible.”

Mom watched with her purse handles clutched between her hands, years of being a farm wife teaching her to be stoic in the face of her children feeling pain.

“Well, what do you recommend?” She asked.

“Well damn it Mary, ya got two options.”  Doc LaDue said, “First, take him to a chiropractor, but at his age, you will be going for the next ten years and likely it won’t do him a damn bit of good.  Second, you take him home and lay him straight on his back for about ten days.  Feet up on the couch or a chair.  No beds.  No chores. No school.  You need to let his back heal.”

Mom looked at him with a concerned expression.  On the one hand, understanding his wisdom, both from a medical as well as a pocketbook standpoint, on the other…how do you keep a thirteen year old flat on his back for ten days with school and chores calling his name…

“We’ll give him some good pain pills too…they will keep him from jumping around…” Doc LaDue said on cue, as if reading some of Mom’s thoughts.

But I think some of Mom’s concerns were about older brothers.  Without careful watching, like feral pigs, they would eat the weakest one in the litter…and it was probably her concern that they would either torment me to no end, or have me out in the barn helping with chores after only hours.

Mom and Dad both resolved that ten days of no school and no chores was a small price to pay for expensive chiropractic bills.

So there I sat…sedated, feet up on the couch, flat on my back…for a whole week.

And it was painful.

Not the back…the pills that the good doctor gave me cured that…but the agony of sitting…and waiting…and watching…

In the morning, waking to see my brothers go out to chores, Dad drinking his coffee, Mom waking up, little sister waking up…and me, watching it all go by…

The TV would go on…and the normal comforting shows that beckoned as we looked longingly going to school (But Mom…Good Morning America is educational!) seemed to mock me after a day or two.  The fun of watching it wore thin after only a few days…at night, I’d doze to sleep as Dad dozed in front of the television.

It was mind numbing and dull.

I’m not sure if my classmates understood why I was so excited to get back to my seventh grade classes.  I’m not sure if my brothers understood why I was happy to get back to chores…

But I’d seen the otherside…and it was decidedly not for me.

 It is amazing what an expiration date can do.  If you have milk in the refrigerator or mayonnaise, you always check the date on the package…or at best get a mouth full of something chunky, at worst…food poisoning.  That said, it is amazing how much people will work on those dates, a day over and the product is thrown out, or the dates are closely managed to reduce waste.

If only we would understand that we too have an expiration date.

The people of Nineveh got their warning – they had an expiration date put on them.  Jonah told them, they had forty days to mend their ways, or else they would be destroyed.  They had that expiration date on them.  Saint Paul tries to warn us too – “the time is running out.”

If only someone would tell us when our number is up – when our days are done.  If only people would give us an expiration date, then we would live up to our potential.

But we do have an expiration date – and it could happen anytime.

When faced with life changes, those dates become all the more present.  I know that my time in Australia is running short.  I’ve got four months to finish the work I’ve started.  Four months to create the change that I want to see.

I’ve known the day was coming for the last two years, at some point I’d be going home, but now, when there is an expiration date, the urgency seems much more real than it did before.  There is a tremendous amount of things that I’d like to do, that I’d like to see, so many personal things that I’d like to change…

But my time is near…I’m going home.

In truth, we are all going home, and we all have a deadline…but it is a deadline and a journey much longer and impressive then Australia to Minnesota.  This is our journey of life.

We are called to repent, to renew ourselves and our faith – before it is too late.  We are called to be better people, better children, better partners, better parents, better friends.  We are called to ‘build a better temple of the body,’ we are called to make the world better then we found it – to fight the good fight, run the good race.

In short, we, like the people of Nineveh, the Corinthians, or the people of Galilee that heard the Lord with their own ears…must repent, turn from evil, and do good.

Let’s do so, before we find our expiration date.

 He was a bit of a legend on campus, for contradictory reasons.  He was a fantastic guy, but an ornery old curmudgeon.  A good professor and teacher, and a crank.  A fantastic man, but a bit of an ass.

And I’d agree with all of them.

In fairness, when I met Thor, as he was known among the students (Thor being his first name – a full blooded Scandinavian), was in remission from a very serious and ongoing battle with cancer.  But that didn’t make him any less ornery.

He was guest lecturer in our micro economics class, right before Thanksgiving break. His lecture was legendary.  He would give the class a concise breakdown on fixed costs versus marginal costs versus variable costs – and would use the example of a pig farm.  When you couldn’t cover your variable costs….then and only then would you shoot the pigs…

It was gruesome, educational, and hearing it from Thor, very, very funny.

The spring semester, I had class with Thor.  Where he would give us lectures on labor unions, on the idiocy of the government, on the wonders of Reaganomics, on a wide range of rambling and varied topics…some of them even related to the class.

But he was a strict teacher.  When a family emergency took me away from class for two weeks, I showed up at his office door to discuss making up the five quizzes (three in one day!) that I missed.

“What can I do to get my grade back on track?”  I asked.

“Well, you know there aren’t any make up quizzes in my class.”  Thor replied.

“But what kind of grade am I going to get?” I asked.

“Oh, you’ll fail for sure.” He replied.

“So what do you recommend?” I pleaded.

“Well, there are a lot of good tech schools out there.” He replied with seriousness.

I went to see my advisor…

“I need to drop Thor’s class.” I said intently.

“Come now.  The semester is almost done.  Surely there has to be something that can be done.  Have you talked to Thor?” He asked.

“Yes.  He told me to go to tech school.”  I replied.

“OK, give me that drop slip, you can take it next spring.”  He replied with a surprised, but slightly bemused look on his face.

About a year later, I was asked to speak at a career day at a major high school in central Minnesota.  And as luck would have it, the university was sending a recruiter to the event…

Wouldn’t you know it, the recruiter was Thor.

We looked at each other warily…then resigned ourselves to our fate.  We gassed up the car about a block from campus, I got a Mountain Dew, he got a coffee…about four miles down the road, he asked…as brown steaks came down the window…”Do you know where my coffee is?”

Sure enough, he left it on top of the car…and the mug had frozen to the top in the bitter cold temp.

I must admit, it was a great trip – Thor was a great story teller and a great man.  We talked for the entire three hour trip down there, and the three hour trip back.  We even talked about the dropped class, and he left me with some words of wisdom.

“Well, I figured you would either get pissed and quit, or you would suck it up and keep on going.  I’m glad you chose the path you did.”

Thanks Thor, for a lesson well learnt.

 ”Did you ever think growing up milking cows that you’d be living in Australia?”

My friend Frank, a dairy farmer himself from rural Australia asked over lunch.  Frank has farmed his entire life, and knows the dedication that dairy cows entail.  Frank and his wife have a wonderful home and build, and continue to build, a life and a home on the land, as their children scatter throughout Australia – and many of them traveling abroad.

Frank asked, because I believe he knew the answer first hand.  It is hard to believe that those early morning milking sessions can lead to some pretty extra ordinary things.

The prophet Samuel probably felt the same way.  Promised to the Lord and learning under the sage Eli, how could he have guessed that the call in the middle of the night was coming from our Lord – at a time when the idea of being called from God was uncommon.

Yet Eli knew the response, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”

The Apostles that were called by Jesus as he started his ministry, how could they have known – these simple fishermen that the response to the simple question, “where are you staying?” Was the cryptic, “Come and you will see.”  Which would forever change their lives.

Each day, thousands of people ask for things, ask for help, advice, and guidance.  Most people, like Samuel, might not understand or hear the answer.  But I’m guessing more often than not, there is one.  Often times, those answers are not the ones that we want to hear, sometimes, they are.

There is an old adage, that in the end, we are exactly where we need to be.

Frank was right, as a kid, though reading books and hearing tales from my parents, you imagined some pretty extraordinary things, when the hours, days, and years go by in an endless rhythm of chores and school, it can seem as if the world stops on the end of the pasture…

Yet here I am, 26 months into my 11 month assignment in Australia, on the far side of the world from that pasture, in a place where spring is fall and winter is summer.  But home really isn’t far away – and the call has come in.  When the calendar hits 30 months, about the middle of May, I’ll be heading back to Minneapolis – to Minnesota.  It won’t be the pastures of my youth, but it will be a far sight closer.

Though I’ve carved a life here in the land down under, and friends that I will never forget, it feels good to be going home.