Gulfs and Bridges

  As we crept along the ledge, we came to corner that had to be rounded.  The footholds disappeared, leaving just handholds for a short distance.  The handholds were solid, and we had climbed too high and too far to turn back now.  So while my accident has deflated some of my sense of adventure, I cursed my fearfulness, and after a moment of hesitation, I swung out, trusting my weight to my hands. 

  In that momentary hang, I had a sudden flashback to lying on my back in a bush, looking up at the window from which I had just fallen.  On a stupid whim I had taken a dare to hang off the window ledge of my friend’s second-story dorm room.  What made the event funny (other than that I wasn’t hurt) is that my buddy’s initial reaction was one of reproach.  He called out my name in a scolding voice, as if I had just intentionally ruined an otherwise enjoyable game.  He truly thought I had just given up and let go.  It wasn’t until he looked down and saw me sprawled out in the bush below that he realized my hands had slipped and his reaction became one of concern.

  My feet found purchase on the other side of the corner, and as the flashback passed, I couldn’t help but laugh a bit.  That memory filled the rest of the afternoon with fond thoughts of times and adventures with friends in college.  And it set me into a mode of reflection on the similarities and differences of those friendships and my current community.      

  I had come to this series of cliffs with my friend Israel, who grew up in a village just a couple miles away.  We had long talked about exploring the place together, but finally found the chance this past weekend.  Four of us made a day of hiking, climbing, and exploring caves and old ruins.  It was enormously enjoyable but also reminded me once again that I’m not in Kansas anymore.

  When you first start making friends in a new culture all you can see is the dramatic differences between them and yourself.  As the friendship deepens, the gaps are bridged; communication and mutual understanding become easier; and with certain friends, it becomes almost easy to forget the very real differences in culture and life-experience.  But soon enough, along will come a conversation or an event that leaves you blinking and shaking your head at the seemingly untraversable gulf between you.  These moments bring amusing bewilderment at very least and sometimes downright frustration and confusion, but they should be seen as ultimately positive moments as they prevent you from reducing your friend to a simple 2D image that looks an awful lot like you.  As you stretch them back into 3D, you regain a new appreciation for your friend and for the effort it takes, on both sides, to build this friendship.

  The night before our hike into the cliffs, we slept in Israel’s village.  This time of year, the houses become so hot, nearly everyone sleeps outside.  As we prepared to call it a night, they drug out a traditional mattress made of old grain sacks and grass for me to sleep on.  This is because I’m too wimpy to sleep on the paper-thin grass mats on which they slept.  Lying on such a mat for 15 minutes causes you to imagine the formation of pressure sores and limbs falling permanently asleep.  Though I have made it through a (sleepless) night on these before, I’m always happy to admit my weakness and take a little more padding, even if it is just more grass.  My friends on the other hand sleep on these mats with the same comfort one would sleep with in a nice hotel—sure, it isn’t home, but you manage to get solid sleep. 

   As we headed to the cliffs, it really felt like the kind of thing I’ve done countless times with buddies in the States, which made the differences stand out all the more.  As we climbed into a thicket at the base of one of the ridge lines, Israel paused and showed me a thick vine that climbed into a high tree.  He explained that when he was little and his parents had sent him and other kids out to herd sheep and cattle, he and the others would sometimes not be able to find other sources of water, but they learned that you could cut these vines and drink the moisture that dripped out.

 I can relate.  One time in elementary school my mom sent me on a field trip and forgot to pack my juice box.  I was so thirsty.  If only I had known the vine trick.

 Not exactly the same, huh?

In one of the caves, they found a bees’ nest and actually went right up to it, willing to take on the whole colony of bees to find some honey.  Fortunately, some enterprising soul had been there a few days earlier and had taken all the honey, so we didn’t have to take on the bees…yet. 

  As kids, my brother and I took turns shooting his BB gun at a hornets’ nest from a very far distance, and then probably went into the house to have ice cream, patting ourselves on the backs for our bravery.  When it comes to bees, I have no bravery. 

  It was when we stopped at the edge of one of the cliffs to pick leaves off the top boughs of a giant tree that had grown up from the valley that we had to do battle with the bees.  Israel and the others were very excited about these leaves, because they go great over rice.  Unfortunately, bees also like these trees and considered the leaf picking an encroachment on their territory.  They each had a handful of leaves when they screamed out “Run.”  At that moment I felt the first of the bees dive-bomb my head.  We took off, swinging hands over our heads, trying to ward of the attackers.  We covered a pretty big distance before they called off the attack.

  Unlike Israel, Issa, and Enoch, I didn’t get stung, which is a good thing, because I would probably have felt like I needed an epi-pen, some Benadryl, and some bite cream.  (Ok, I’m not that big of a sissy…but all the same…)

  At the end of our day, I stood looking at some rocks trying to find one that was unique and small enough to send to my grandmother for her rock collection.  Israel and Issa were hanging themselves off the edge of a boulder trying to cut twigs off a tree that they use as their traditional toothbrush. 

  We finally headed home that evening, tired but content from a day full of adventure.  We spent the evening hours playing cards and shooting the breeze.  As the hours wore on, the differences began to blur into the background again.  It was evident that despite the bravado of our exploits on the cliffs that day, we are just a bunch of kids looking for the same things—a friend to stick by, a bright hope for the future, a loving connection with God, and enough wisdom to make sense of this thing we call life.

  If we can meet there, in the heart of what it means to be God’s creation, I suppose it is worth building a thousand bridges to cross the many gulfs between us.