A taste of St. John

 So today's lunch at the cafeteria prompted this blog post. First, however, a backstory.


 I enjoy exploring new territory - especially when it involves Risk, Humor, and other such bedfellows of General Folly. Furthermore, I strongly believe that broadening your horizons absolutely involves broadening your waistline, and so dumpster diving, unconventional dishes, edibles plants, and strange, local foods are welcomed as opportunities for new appreciations, understandings, and immune system defenses. (In fact, for my three months of unemployment, most of my food supply came from dumpsters and church potluck leftovers. I affectionally dub it "The Winter Harvest.")


 One of my first ventures in the Virgin Islands was to the local farmer's market, which was a massive letdown. Homemade bread, local honey, and bananas pretty much sums it up (although they do grow a pumpkin down here which is much smaller and much sweeter - its terrific with black beans and a light curry.) 


 Undaunted in my commitment to find something local, my next hope lay in the employee cafeteria (called "The Chatterbox" for good reason - local West Indies have NO concept of volume control...). The first day of work, I strode in and found a decent salad bar, grilled fish, a Cuban-esque rice and bean dish, and STEAK on the menu. "Well, self," I say to myself, "it may not be local, but at least its legit!" The scene fades, and twenty-three and a half hours later, I stride in, with visions of sugarplums, pan-seared tuna, and barbecue ribs dancing in my head. I hop in line, grab a tray, and eagerly scope out my options...and ask for an explanation. I wasn't sure what I was looking at. The hairnet-less lunch lady, beaming with pride, announced my options were salt-fish or pig's feet. SALT FISH OR PIG'S FEET.
After a lunch of cucumbers and lettuce, I resolved to carry a Clif Bar with me every day to work...and I have, to my advantage. I'd be willing to try these dishes/ingredients, but I feel like huge vats made for a cafeteria just isn't going to represent the local cuisine well, and with a main ingredient like that trying to justify itself, you want to give it all the help it can get.


 Most days are pretty good, but today, I snagged chicken fingers. My buddies, however, went with the alternative: a murky brown, gravy-like soup with a few noodles, cornmeal dumplings (as appetizing as it sounds) and HUGE fist-sized hunks of bone with a gelatinous meat-like substance clinging on...yes, brothers and sisters, today's lunch was bull-foot soup.


 I suppose the moral of the story is: "When life gives you lemonade, make lemonade." But in the West Indies Curtis Bowden Translation, it appears: "When life gives you a bull, make bull-foot soup, bull-face soup, and bull-tail soup. Oh, and feel free to do the same with oxen and pigs, and don't forget to use the pig's snout and ears for a nice soup as well."


(This post is dedicated to Andrew Husen, Andrew Not-Husen, and all those lucky porkless religions that don't have to consider eating this trash.)

In which the author becomes more pensive

 If my blog was an eligible young lady, we wouldn't even be casually dating. She'd most likely be frustrated with my lack of commitment and on the verge of severing all ties, but then just in the nick of time I'd write a new post which would rekindle her affections and win her over for another month.


 Before I arrived in St. John, I supposed that I would have all sorts of zany quasi-cross-cultural mishaps and island adventures and profound self-realizations, and the process of updating this blog would begin with a lengthy whittling of topics and events for your short yet satisfying viewing enjoyment. I've certainly had some wacky cultural mishaps (for example, introducing the legendary "purple nurple" to my coworker as he attempted to hijack the golf cart I was driving); my fair share of excitement (I've gone on a few scuba dives up to 15 meters of depth, as well as scouted out numerous deep-water solo climbing spots, sending one and anticipating more); and a hefty dose of self-reflection and maturing (leading weekly worship services tends to remind you of both your great potential and greater need).


 And yet brothers and sister, I've strangely enough felt very little impetus or inspiration to log and share my experiences. Perhaps its not enough of a priority, perhaps I don't know how to articulate the beauty of the islands and the deep blue sea, perhaps its because it doesn't feel all that exceptional. "All that exceptional?!" you say. "Curtis, my dear boy, you're living in paradise! You've stories-a-plenty!" Well yes, but something I've come to realize in many ways (some, rather unfortunate), is that I am the same exact person I was three months ago. Like a tree, I've shed some bark, and many leaves have fallen and regrown, and I am branching out (pun intended, I'm so sorry), but I'm essentially doing the same thing I did in northern Indiana - it just involves a geographic twist. Sort of akin to all those awful CSI spin offs (Miami, New York, Las Vegas, Metropolis, ancient Mesopotamia...), its really the same basic characters with the same basic plot with the same basic mysteries and same seedy romances, just...somewhere else.


 I'm still trying to live life to the fullest. That's what brought me here, and that's why I love it here. I'm also trying to yield myself to the work of the Spirit of God in my life, but a lot of times I actually throw up defensive plays and tricky maneuvers to His transformative grace, and so, I'm also still often frustrated and feeling like a failure and a fool. (That alliteration was for you, Pops.) And then, two or three days later, I decide to read my Bible instead of watch another climbing video or read another comic book or slackline for another hour, and I read an incredible passage like this:

"If there be for [a man] an angel, a mediator, one of the thousand, 

to declare to man what is right for him,

and he is merciful to him, and says,

'Deliver him from going down into the pit; I have found a ransom;

Let his flesh become fresh with youth;

Let him return to the days of his youthful vigor';

then man prays to God, and He accepts him; he sees His face with a shout of joy,

and He restores to man His righteousness.

He sings before men and says:

'I sinned and perverted what was right,

and it was not repaid to me.

He has redeemed my soul from going down into the pit,

and my life shall look upon the light.'

Behold, God does all these things,

twice, three times, with a man,

to bring back his soul from the pit,

that he may lighted with the light of life." 

(Job 33:23-30)

 So here's to living life to the fullest, maximizing your experience, doing what you love, being all there - because He lets us have wonderful thrills and enjoyments, but he also grants us security, peace, and purpose after the thrill is gone. Now go do something awesome, then read your Bible.


(This post dedicated to Chico, Elihu, Paul Lundblad, Jim Elliot, and everyone who still isn't sure how to interpret Job's friends, but still pull sweet verses from their discourses.)