Today, Monday, is my last scheduled day in Brussels.  Tomorrow morning I am going to fly to Budapest in order to see that famous city.  Because it was my last day, I had some travelling logistics to figure out, but I also wanted to capitalize on my last opportunity to see more of this European treasure.  I am required to be at an airport south of the city in the morning, and I knew that tomorrow would be too late to find my way without stress.  Charleroi receives shuttles from Brussels Gar du Midi every twenty minutes or so, and I wanted to secure my ticket ahead of time.

Before heading out, I checked the time on my I-pod.  I wanted to be sure that tomorrow I would have enough time built into my schedule so as not to miss my shuttle.  At a brisk pace it took me 26 minutes to arrive at the station; a large and complex, multi-storied center is where I found myself.  I soon found the ticket assigning area for the train, but tickets for the bus were sold at another location.  A man on the lower floor told me to go to the second floor to purchase my bus ticket.  Once on the second floor, the person at the information desk told me to go downstairs to the bus ticket office.  Once down stairs, I realized that I had been there before, and that I was circling like an ass following a carrot, dangling from a string tied to a stick wedged firmly into my own saddle.

I returned to the man in the upstairs office, and asked if I might be able to complete my business by train, since I could not seem to locate the bus office.  He informed me of my three options by train, before realizing that I was talking about the Charleroi Airport and not Luchthaven.  “You need to take the bus,” he told me.  “Up the escalator, turn left and go to the end of the street to buy your ticket.”  It all sounded very reasonable.  Brussels is the capital city of for the European Union, certainly their system was not too complicated for a foreigner to understand with relative ease.

Once outside, I found that the street did not terminate at any particular building or government office.  An open-air line of shops stood opposite dozens of black, idling taxis, and there were no signs indicating a bus station, or the governmental office of a bus station.  I walked into what I think was a bank, and put up my hands for the teller and said “bus ticket?”  “Bus ticket that way,” she said, pointing with all of the fingers of her right hand like a karate instructor.  “Thanks,” I said, tapping on the countertop in embarrassment.  Once outside again, I found where the buses were idling.  I went into the most prominent building and asked the lady how to get a ticket.  “Don’t understand,” she said with a disinterested shrug.  “Merci,” I said with a tired smile.

Outside again, I decided to see if one of the bus drivers might know where tickets are sold.  “Escou vous comprenez l’anglais?” I asked a man in seated behind the wheel of a touring-style mammoth.  The bus driver replied with the international sign for “sort of, but not very well.”  “I need the 5:20 bus tomorrow morning and I need to buy a ticket,” I said.  “Pay the driver of the bus,” he said.  “Pay after on the bus.”

There is not a ticket office for the bus in Brussels for the same reason there is not a ticket office for the Space Shuttle to Neptune.  No ticket is required for either, it turns out.  At a brisk pace, it took me 67 minutes to arrive at this conclusion.

One of my reasons for having a fascination with the Old World, is that I grew up in a nation without much record.  The history of my country begins with Columbus; weather or not one obscure Viking or Chinese merchant fell upon its shores at some earlier date.  Archaeology can lend to the mystery somewhat, but not with the concrete grasp that an eyewitness is able to lend.  America, the Americas, are fascinating lands, but I love history; that America lacks.

This city traces its foundation to one of the men in the family-line of Charlemagne.  Since the tenth century, Brussels has been a place of countless, grand undertakings and investments of time, and other resources, thought and other intangibles.  Princes fought over this city since before there were formal European states.  Nations have fought over this city since the ebb of that Time.

And so, walking the streets of Brussels is like reading one of the works by Machiavelli; the richness is undigestible.  Standing in the Grote Markt, or Grand Place as its also called, is like dwelling within a chapter from a Harry Potter novel.  Thousands of points of beauty in stone, metals, concrete, and glass form the square.  From the cobbles under foot to the highest, glittering, cap-perched facades; walking within is like swimming inside a boiling rainbow.  I have only been one time, but I would wager that different times of day offer this venue the complexity of a warmed, oak-barrel aged scotch.

You have to come to Europe. You owe it to your children to come.

Our world has hundreds of thousands of cities.  Some are nothing more than towns which have temporarily boomed for one specific reason at one specific era in time.  Others are tapestry-like treasure boxes, hundreds or thousands of years in the shaping and honing.  We can be certain that some cities which once inspired plays, epic poetry, envy from neighboring peoples, and even war, have vanished altogether; even more completely than the city of Atlantis.  This post may be about one such city.  Only God knows how all of this will play out.

I have seen only a few of the cities of our world.  I would say that some are of a grand order, the experiencing of which first-hand is essential to understanding our present Age.  I would say this of New York City, for example.  Others are altogether forgettable, or at the very least entirely more remarkable through the viewing of photographs or through reading of books about the subject.  I would say that of Athens, for example.  While Brussels may not fall into the category of essentials, a visit to this place is certainly worth two-dozen visits to Athens.  If I were your friend, I would tell you to see Brussels for the surprises, the spices in the air, the dormant majesty, and the ideas it represents.  Come to witness a grand city in transition.

Brussels is a haven, a sanctuary; a city of free expression of culture, sex, language, religion, heritage, and dreams.  After checking into my hostel last night, I went for a walk.  There is a basilica within view of where I am staying, and so I went for a closer look.  Before the evening had concluded, I had journeyed a distance some 15 miles in total.  I may not have passed a single native English speaker.  How wonderful to stride about with only your own narrative as the one that matters.  As poor as some of the areas appeared to be, I never once felt threatened, never once sat in question of my safety.

Who I am is not important to the people here; they are good with who I am, whoever that happens to be.  Who I am is important to the people here; they see that I am a human, and therefor deserving of respect.

In the States, especially in the city of Seattle, people come and go from their communities quickly, and often times without notice.  At my church community at All Saints, for example, we lose people on a regular basis to other cities and it will not be until some months later that someone asks broadly “where is Joshua?  I haven’t seen him lately.”  To which someone will reply “don’t you have Facebook?  He moved to San Francisco/ New York/ New Jersey/ Los Angeles last year for work.”  To which the first person will reply “oh, I guess I haven’t been on Facebook for awhile.”

In Seattle we connect like people who expect to eventually lose the relationships we are forming.  The city population is made up of individuals who are not easily satisfied with their jobs, education, living situations, or life experience; a population constantly set move and to change.  In Albania the people are equally had to satisfy, but most people understand that where they live and where they will live is with and around family.  Therefor, if they do get an education, it will be near-by, if they do have work it will be near-by; the relationships they form and are forming will follow them for as long as they live.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons why initial encounters with strangers are held to such a high degree of importance and involve so much ritual and posturing.  If this relationship is going to last forever, it is best to set the right tone from the beginning.  The Albanian culture has many Christian attributes which exist, right on the surface for anyone to see.  Relationships are important to God, because every human is one of His children.  Yesterday, on my way to the airport, I received four telephone calls from my good friend Visi.  As I stood in line to check in for my flight to Brussels, I spotted Fatjon walking through the airport.  He, Visi, and Alban Daci had hired a taxi to bring them to the airport; to see me one more time, and to show their love and respect.

I do not believe we lose anything when we invest in the people we love, even though those people may one day move away and will certainly, one day, die.  The Body has been a part of this world since Christ first formed the Church.  The Body is timeless, and will not die.  When we love each other, we participate in a timeless building.

The Basilica of the Sacred Heart in Brussels.  Dusk, 27 . April . 2013.

Last Sunday I took the 00:45 bus from Belgrade to Skopje.  I could have taken the evening to sleep in a bed.  Since it was only going to be time lost, I decided to trade comfort for more time with colleagues.  My bus arrived at 9AM and, of course, before I could complete the dialing of Betuel’s phone number, he was within sight, walking towards me.  One blessing leads to the next.  I have never been so convinced of God’s goodness as I am in this time.  For the first time in my life I expect tomorrow to be better than today, and every today is a wonderful orchestration of favor.

I felt welcomed and appreciated in Serbia.  Many people, all of whom were strangers, treated me with respect and deference; going far out of their way to see to my well-being and care.  The Balkans might soon become known for its hospitality towards Americans.  A Romanian missions team had joined my friends in Skopje while I was up north.  I was taken into the group like a lost brother, or a late-coming member of the Romanian church.  Betuel and Bianca’s visitors were kind, open-hearted, happy, humorous, gentle, outgoing and warm.  The Romanians seemed to have a sense for how to be in accord with a stranger among them.

Betuel, the obvious leader of the five missionaries in Skopje, is 23 years old.  He is sensible and mature, steady and level-headed, serious, driven, generous, and smart.  Bianca, his wife, is a great complement to him.  She has many of the same characteristics, but seems to have a stronger work ethic.  The three of us sat to discuss the mission to Macedonia’s capital city; they were curious to hear my observations.  I must have spoken for some 20 minutes uninterrupted.  It was not until afterward that I realized how much I had said, and that neither person had tried to interject.  I have come to expect correction of my own thoughts as I speak them.  I was honored by their focus on my thoughts, by their vigilant silence.  I hope to be a better listener, and I have seen how it is done.

With my year of mission at an end, it is time to sup together with my new friends and colleagues.  It is remarkable to me how much can happen in a year; how many friendships, strong friendships, can be formed, and how much history can be written in the faces of you and those you love.  Tuesday night, the Plagenhoefs took me out for a special dinner.  Their son Joel, as always, was an active and imaginative stitch to be around.  He is the very image of my best friend Dave in the States.  We talked about the sheep he likes to visit with his dad, where he has traveled in his life as an MK (missionary kid), and the kinds of food he likes.  If I could describe the Plagenhoefs in one word, that word would be: strong.

Today I was taken out to lunch in Bloku by Cleon from the International Church.  Robin joined us a little later on.  They were more than courteous, letting me into their lives and offering many words of appreciation and encouragement.  I admire both Cleon and Robin.  It is good to be friends with people you admire.

This evening, at 5PM, a group of my friends and I were set to meet at a cafe on the 21st floor of the Tirana Business Center.  Due to racial profiling, two of us were denied access to the elevator, and so the 11 of us took our business to another place. I think the guard expected us to leave the two behind.  Angelica, the friend of mine who had put the gathering together, argued with the security person for a few minutes, and I think we would eventually had been allowed the enjoy ourselves as is any person’s right; but life is only getting shorter by the moment and has always been far too short to argue with slow-witted high-school graduate who is carrying a gun.  We eventually settled in on the outdoor patio of a fourth-story cafe nearby, and the venue was just as nice as we could have asked for.

In all of these gatherings, the celebration was us: my friends and I, respect, love, admiration, encouragement and joy.  These last days have been a celebration of friendship and the connections that God calls us to make.

The following is a train of thought, and that is all.  There is a restlessness in my mind.  Can restlessness exist anywhere else?  Is it possible to be restless in body, while the mind yet sleeps?  Can someone who has lost the function of their brain become restless?  No.  So, I could simply state that I am restless.  Yet, I feel it is important to say that I am restless in my mind.  My mind is unsettled, my mind is buzzing with thoughts, my mind is excited, my mind is a nest of humble insects under threat from an unidentified source of discord to the hive.  

I sat down this afternoon to compose my first post in many days, and I wanted to write about the beauty of this season in the Balkans.  I have been in three Balkan countries over the past week, and all I see is beauty all around.  The most beautiful images I have been able to capture have been of the randomly scattered buds of wildflowers in the fields, and the blooms of a single cherry tree near the Cathedral of Saint Sava.  I know that over the course of the next month in Europe, I will have dozens and thousands of opportunities to see and enjoy all of the beauty of the world around me.  Years from now, I will try to recount the beauty of this time to my own children.  If I were a dancer, I might dance the details of these days.  How limited is English to express the miracles of God?

Blossoms seem to fall up

Cyclone drawn clear in blue

Spinning without suspension only upset

Is the slow midday wind

Fragrant stand they stand quiet

Reaching buds crowd blistered branches

Smooth like to waxed slick

Amber skin lypple-dashed dotted

Crimson under black-brushed folds

Are the stage and backdrop

Announcement of theatrics impending conceptions

Tight frame a constant venue

For the curling finger dance

Rose-rimmed and veined petals

Shortly snowing walks and fields

Forgotten but not by me

Joshua Hughes

4.24.2013

The people of Belgrade, Serbia, have been the kindest, most helpful people I have encountered in all of my travels, anywhere in the world.  I am proud, and I like to think that I am a relatively self-sufficient traveler.  This, coupled with my fear of rejection, makes me hesitant to ask for help while abroad.  Yesterday afternoon I took the bus from Skopje to Belgrade, a trip of about 8 hours.  After we passed the Belgrade City limits, the bus driver spoke over the intercom.

“Bladostovrostaglanostivonaskopralostilovinotse.”  At least that’s what I think he said, I may have missed a diphthong, or an accent mark.  So I took the safest action I knew, and that was to exit the bus at its next stop.  That put me on Bulevar Oslobodenja where it intersects with Milosa Pocerca, within view of Hram Svetog Save; which is about 12 city blocks from my intended destination: Beogradska Autobuska Atanica.  My Serbian vocabulary, though growing exponentially, stood at about five words last night.  Within 15 minutes I had had conversations with four different Serbs, and was fully confident that I knew the way to my hostel.

It took me staring long at some of the street signs to get a feel for the phonetic differences between Serbian and English.  The Cyrillic alphabet is not as difficult as I had been led to believe.  The street numbers are the most sensible numbering system I have seen, buildings are simply numbered in order.  I was at my hostel, checked in, and back on the street to walk to dinner within 30 minutes of arriving here.  Belgrade is a blessed place.

I am going to enjoy working with Serbian people.  I know God has great plans for me, and He has great plans for you aswell.

I read the findings of a study in a book once which found that when given the choice between being respected and being loved, that many men refused to answer the question because they thought it was a “trick” question.  For many men, respect and love are synonymous or are at least co-nonexistent.  Can we have one, and not both?  Can we love God with all of our hearts and not respect His Law?  Can we love God with all of our hearts and not show respect and love to His children, our neighbors?  Can we say that we love our neighbor as ourselves if we do not show our neighbor respect?  It is an interesting question.

I want to be loved and respected by the people around me.  I find that this is a stumbling block for me.  Out of pride I will try and serve in ways that will be noticed.  When my service is not noticed, I would just as soon not serve at all; this is the wrong attitude to have.  God sees me.  Do I truly believe that?  Yes, God sees me even as I sit here and compose this.  And God sees you, too, my friend.

The work we do will not go unnoticed before God.  He is in all places, at all times.  The Bible tells us that the bad work will be noticed too, and that only by the blood of Jesus will the bad work be forgotten.  It is important to keep this in mind, and too seek after the ways of God in all things, and at all times.