Mike King

6 Word Stories

Here are a few 6-Word Stories from Roy H. Williams' Monday Morning Memo.

"For sale:
baby shoes,
never worn."
– a famous 6-word story commonly attributed to Ernest Hemingway but it’s not likely he really wrote it.

"With bloody hands, I say good-bye.”
– a 6-word story by Frank Miller         

"Longed for him. Got him. Shit."
– a 6-word story by Margaret Atwood    

"machine. Unexpectedly, I'd invented a time"
– a 6-word story by Alan Moore         
    
"Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tick."
– a 6-word story by Neal Stephenson

Anybody what to take a shot at writing a 6 Word Story or add a 6 Word Story you've heard?

Leading the Way

I started Prelude with this story from “Leading the Way: To Go Where There Is No Road and Leave a Path” by Joan Chittister. 

In the mid-17th century Spanish seafarers sailed up the west coast of the Americas to what is now known as the Baja peninsula. The cartographers of the time, aware of the drake expeditions and good Cartesians as well simply drew a straight line up from the strait of California to the Strait of Juan de Fuca between Vancouver Island and Washington state.

Consequently, the maps that were published in 1635 show very clearly that California was an island.

Now that might be only a quaint story if it were not for the fact that the missionaries of the time were using that map to travel inland.

So, given the information on that map, they developed the first great pre-fab boat construction project in human history. They cut their flatboats in Spain, shipped them over in pieces and then, on the shores of Monterey, California put them all back together again. To be transported on the backs of mules to the other side of California. Then they carried those boats 12,000 feet up the Sierra Nevada Mountains for passage across the great strait which the map showed ran from the Baja to Puget Sound.

But, lo and behold, the other side of those mountains was no seashore at all. It was what is now the state of Nevada and the beginning of the great American desert. California was the mainland!

It would be a rather funny story except for one thing that makes it tragic: when the missionaries wrote back to tell the cartographers and the crown that California was not an island no one — no one — believed them. In fact, they insisted that the map was certainly correct: it was the missionaries who were in the wrong place!

What’s more, in 1701, — almost 70 years later — they reissued an updated version of the same map.

For fifty years, then, — the years of the most constant, most crucial explorations of the California coastline — those maps went unchanged because someone continued to work with partial information, assumed that data from the past had the inerrancy of tradition and then used authority to prove it.

Finally, after years and years of new reports a few cartographers — the heretics, the radicals, and the rebels, I presume — began to issue a new version. And in 1721, the last mapmaker holdout finally attached California to the mainland.

But — and this is the real tragedy perhaps — it took almost a hundred years for the gap between experience and authority to close. It took almost a hundred years for the new maps to be declared official, despite the fact that the people who were there all the time knew differently from the very first day.

Point: Vision is the ability to realize that the truth is always larger than the partial present.

Squanto and America's First Thanksgiving

"America's Thanksgiving holiday originated when the Pilgrims gave thanks to God for sending them an Indian friend named Squanto. This much you already knew. What you didn't know is that long before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, this same Squanto had been captured by two English sea captains, George Weymouth and John Hunt, and abused as a slave for fourteen years. Squanto had been free less than five years when Capt. John Bradford's Pilgrims arrived on the good ship Mayflower.

Squanto had every reason to organize a killing party and wipe out the pale-skinned invaders, but he chose to help them instead. Gazing with pity at Bradford's pathetic band of would-be settlers as they huddled around Plymouth Rock, Squanto thought, "If I don't help these silly white men, they're all going to die in the coming winter." And with that, he walked out of the woods and introduced himself.

Squanto died two years later of a disease contracted from these same Europeans."

Source - Roy Williams

Robert Kennedy Nokrach

At dinner last night I ate with Robert Kennedy Nokrach.  Robert is a 38-year-old Ugandan.  It was just the two of us so we were able to have more than surface conversation.  Robert was a two year old boy playing in his small house in Uganda.  His father had just come in from working in the field and his mom left for the field to take her turn.  While his father was sitting in the front of their house a car pulled up and some government officials of Idi Amin’s regime got out and demanded that Robert’s father come with them.  When his father asked why the men replied, “The big man wants to see you.”  They forced his father into the car and friends nearby ran into the field to get Robert’s mother.  Robert’s father would never be seen again.  He became one of the thousands who disappeared under Amin’s reign of terror.  His mother and sister live in a displaced persons camp – victims of the civil war.  Robert explained the nature of The Lord's Resistance Army.  AFTER YOU READ THE REST OF THIS POST PLEASE HIT THIS LINK AND READ ABOUT THE LORD'S RESISTANCE ARMY.  They want power and claim that they are acting on behalf of God’s intentions.  They kill, rape and pillage.  Right now things are not as dangerous because most of the rebels are actually in Sudan right now.  His mother remarried and had other children.  Her husband was killed.  Robert went to live with his uncle who was killed by The Lord’s Resistance Army.  He has lost several siblings, cousins and other family members to the civil war.  As an orphan Robert was taken care of by people who took him in.  He was able to go to school.  Today Robert is the headmaster of a school started to educate those who have been orphaned by the HIV/AIDS pandemic and the civil war.  There are 3,600 children in his school.  The school was started by an Australian woman whose heart was captured by these little ones.  Robert is married and has four children – two girls and two boys.  Mesmerized by Robert’s story I asked, “How do you keep from hating those who do these things as The Lord’s Resistance Army?”  He said, “These people do not know what they are doing and God has worked on my heart to not be bitter.”  Not satisfied with that answer I said, “How would you feel if a man walked up to you tomorrow and said, ‘I am the man who killed your father?’?”  Robert sat silent for a moment and sadly replied, “I have only begun processing on such things within the last two weeks.”  It was at this point that he shared all the details of his father’s abduction.  His pain began to surface.  I asked him if the realization that his son is now two and a half years old (the age he was when his father was killed) has surfaced these issues for him.  “Yes,” he replied.  “Mike, I was the age of my son when this happened and my father was the same age as I am today.  I am feeling so much pain thinking through what happened so many years ago from the perspective of the context of my family today.  What would happen to my family?  I know how hard it was to even feed ourselves after this happened to my father.  It is very painful.”  There are literally millions of tragic stories similar to Robert’s throughout Sub-Sahara Africa.  By God’s grace there are more and more stories like Robert’s story of redemption in Africa.  I can’t think of a better Headmaster for a school of 3,600 orphan and destitute children than Robert Kennedy Nokrach.

    

Holy Father, creator and sustaining wisdom of all that is, both in heaven and on earth, take from me those thoughts, actions and objects that are hurtful.  Give us instead those things that are profitable for me and all who seek rightly to praise you.  I ask this grace in the company of all believers and through the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, who is, with you and the Holy Spirit, one God forever and ever.  Amen. 

Rachel in Amsterdam

It looks like we will have wonderful weather this weekend for the Altar.  The trees are  dressed out in a full fall array of splendid colors.  It was a year ago at the Altar that Rachel Ostergaard (a long time YouthFront kid) shared her passion for serving Jesus.  Here and here are a couple of previous posts about Rachel.

Today I got this e-mail from Rachel.  Read it and once again realize that so many young people in this emerging "late adolescence" generation are ready to lay it on the line for Jesus and his amazing Kingdom. 

Greetings

I will be honest, I hope to be interrupted as I write this. I hope to be interrupted in the middle of this story so I can come back and finish it with a happy ending. But the truth is I doubt the story will end now. The interruption will not come now and the story will continue. The story I have today is of a young woman here in the neighborhood. Girl may be the more appropriate word. I think I will call her Ana. I have often seen her as I walk to an from the Cleft, always saying hello but rarely receiving a response. She is beautiful, with bleached blond hair and a confident gait. Defensive may be the more appropriate word. I often watch the street from the window of my apartment, above the Cleft, and see her walking back and forth in front of the Oude Kerk, the old beautiful church across the canal from the Cleft. She always walks with purpose, shoulders back, head up. The walls around her have always been strong, protective, hard to pierce, hard to see the girl underneath.

A few days ago she ran the bell, and one of my colleagues brought her in for coffee, giving her a bit of rest from the cold and rain. After sitting for awhile over cups of coffee in the hall upstairs, she left. My colleague searched for words, something to talk about, something to break the awkward silences. But as she left Ana thanked her for the ' gezellig time(a word that does not translate into English very well - it means cozy, nice atmosphere, good time - something like that). We were all a bit surprised that she sought us out

Surprisingly she came back again yesterday. I came down and she had some tea and sandwiches. We chatted as she changed clothes and I held up a mirror for her to fix her make up and her hair. It was as if something had changed, there was light cutting through those walls she built up. She was born in Sarajevo and her family moved to the Netherlands during the war. Her parents are Muslim, and she doesn't believe in Islam, so there were always tensions and she ran away, ending up here on the streets of Amsterdam. Now after 7 years on the streets she says she wants to quit this life. She tells me she has quit smoking cocaine, and after she proves to herself that she really is done with that, she will quit marijuana, and then eventually even cigarettes. She shows some interest in going into one of the rehabs here in Amsterdam. We make a bunch of phone calls to the rehab and then she and I make an appointment to meet here today at 1:30 pm, for her to make one more call, and then I will go with her to an intake interview. This is what I am doing now. Waiting. Its 2:11. 41 minutes late isn't so bad.

The truth is, I'm not surprised that she hasn't come by yet. The only predictable thing about working with the street ladies is their unpredictability. I mean, if you are living a life of survival and running from here to there, any appointment is nearly impossible to keep. Especially if its just the first attempt or interest Shown in getting off drugs. Its tempting to be discouraged by this, but I refuse to give into that temptation. I am not discouraged because the cleft has had contact, as minor as it may have been, for years with Ana, and the fact that she came by, twice no less, shows us that she trusts us, and that is huge. As we sat together in the Cleft yesterday, talking about life and music, her walls started go down. She asked me if I had always been a Christian, and as I told her a bit about myself and my relationship with Christ, she drank it all in. I guess today isn't the day for her to take that big step into getting off drugs and off the streets, but the last few days have been full of big steps for her, and her story will continue.

It can be quite exhausting, and frustrating. It often feels like we pour ourselves out for the people here, we do whatever we can to love the ladies on the street, often dropping whatever else we are doing when they show up on the doorstep. Making endless phone calls and arrangements to help them get off the streets, and they don't show or change their minds. On the good days we get a brief thank you as they scamper back down the streets, on the bad days we get cursed and yelled at. That's not all, of course. These women have amazing capacities for resilience. . Amidst the pain, and the addiction and the prostitution we also get to see their personalities, senses of humor, its amazing to me, but some of these women have such life, such a light in their eyes and a skip in their step that they have managed to retain after years on the streets.

Before I came, I read somewhere that if you are someone who likes to see immediate results, the Cleft is not the place for you. Working here is about loving the people here, as Christ would. And loving just to love them, because that is what we are called to do. Its about realizing, truly realizing that grace really is the only reason that we are loved and accepted and saved by Christ, we did nothing to deserve the love that Christ has for us. And because of that we are called to love others as we have been loved, as we are loved. Not loving them into belief, or loving them into rehabs or loving them for any other reason. Even if we don't see change, we are called to be here and love them just the same. (That being said, we want to see the men and women on the streets off the streets, and off drugs and loving Christ, and we DO see change, that is for sure, its just a long process.)

Thank you for your prayers and support in this endeavor, in the work that goes on here at the Cleft. I really really do appreciate it. And I am doing well. Although it can be frustrating and exhausting at times, there are also joys and there is always hope. The last few weeks were quite busy as half the Cleft staff were on holiday, and those of us who were still here had to hold everything together and fill in all the gaps. But this week things have normalized a bit and life has resumed a more sustainable pace.

In other non-ministry related news. My parents are coming through here in a few weeks, and that is fun. And on October 15^th, I am running the Amsterdam half-marathon. I have never run any sort of race, and I sort of hate running with people so running 13.1 miles with thousands of other people may be a challenge, but one I am definitely up for. Plus, I just love running through the city, but usually I have to compete with cars and tourists and more bikes than you can imagine, so it will be nice to run when those other obstacles are no longer allowed.

I think this update has gotten a bit long (maybe to make up for the fact that it has been awhile : ) so I will end here. Thanks again for everything. Seriously, it often hits me what an Honor it is to be here doing this, and how although I don't feel like I deserve it, I am so thankful to be here. Thank you.

Rachel

St. James and Grand Avenue Temple

This morning I went to the 8:00 AM service at St. James Methodist Church.  St. James is an African-American urban church pastored by Emanuel Cleaver II, former Mayor of Kansas City and current U.S. Congressman.  The church was so welcoming and friendly.  The music reminded me of the movie "The Preachers Wife" with Denzel Washington and Whitney Houston.  They flat out sing...  The Spirit of God was present.  I thought of Bono's quote in the forward of They Have Hi-jacked God, "I find solace in places I never could have imagined…the quiet sprinkling of my child's head in Baptism, a gospel choir drunk on the Holy Spirit in Memphis, or the back of a cathedral in Rome watching the first cinematographers play with light and colour in stainglass stories of the Passion. I am still amazed at how big, how enormous a love and mystery God is-and how small are the minds that attempt to corral this life force into rules and taboos, cults and sects."  I found more than solace, I was challenged deeply by Emanuel Cleaver's message which focused on the tragedy of Katrina.  He used Genesis 6 and 7 as his text.  He spoke of Noah's preparation for the flood.  Noah didn't wait until the raindrops started falling to build the Ark.  He shared the FEMA report that was written before 9-11 that explicitly stated that the 3 most likely pending catastrophes they would have to deal with were 1) A Terrorist strike on the U.S. Financial District in New York  2) A major earthquake in San Fransisco (which hasn't happened yet) and 3) A major hurricane hitting New Orleans.  He shared how the Federal Government has procrastinated on proper preparation.  Powerful preaching.  Then he shared that 2 buses were on the way to Houston to pick up refugees and we (St. James) are going to be the Body of Christ for these people.  He announced that the church would be taking in 10 families for up to a year.  He said everyone would have to be involved.  "If you have money give until you feel it deeply.  If you can open your home, open it up.  Some of you can help with food, medicine, clothes.  If you don't have those things you can join us to meet the bus when it arrives at 3:00 AM.  These people have been sent from one place to the next with no greeting, no welcome.  When they come here we will have a party, a homecoming, a welcoming that will let them know that Jesus has his arms open for them."  The congregation was standing, cheering, clapping, and praising the Lord.  I really felt at home there.  I will go back.

I left St. James and went to the 10:00 AM service at the Grand Avenue Temple.  Grand Avenue Temple is a church that has a long history in KC.  It is where YouthFront had some of its first Rallies back in the '40's.  The doors were nearly closed until recently the church has resurrected with a focus of building a congregation of homeless people and the extremely poor of our city.  Too much detail to describe how profound this experience was for me.  To be sitting in the old, historic sanctuary among a couple hundred homeless/poor people where the organization that I have worked for for 30 years had much of its early great stories occur was ... well, I'm still processing.  Sharing Eucharist with these joyful people who Jesus referred to as the "least of these" was very emotional.  The songs of the poor and oppressed that I heard there today was unlike anything I have ever experienced before.  I spent most of the service in tears.  I left the service in time to take Communion for the third time at my church, Jacob's Well.  This social justice focus that I am processing on right now might really mess me up.

Peace and Joy.

International Conference at Starbucks

Vicki and I went to Starbucks on the Plaza Sunday afternoon.  I had told Vicki that it has become increasingly difficult for me to have any private time at Starbucks and both Latte Lands on the Plaza because of running into people I know.  I stopped working at the Starbucks by my house six months ago for the same reason.  I still go to those places to engage with people, just not to work or seek privacy.  Settling in to read, Christos a distinguished looking elderly man struck up a conversation.  Because of his heavy accent I asked him where he was from - "Athens," he announced.  Before long we were talking like old friends.  He was telling how much he loved living in KC and me telling him stories about my adventures in Greece.  Soon another man took a seat nearby, striking up a conversation with Vicki.  His name was Zohar and he was from Tel Aviv in KC to drop his 17 year old twin boys for a two week intensive at the Kansas City Art Institute.  Of course he was impressed with Vicki told him I have been to Israel 20 times.  He couldn't get over what a great place the Plaza was.  Now we were all engaged in an international discussion.  Then Valentine, a Jamaican college student who is working at YouthFront Camp West for the summer walked up to greet us and added his Jamaican accent into our own private International Conference at the Plaza Starbucks Conference Center.  The world is becoming smaller.  Too cool...   

Stories

Every year we (YouthFront staff) do something creative for our Christmas Party (youth workers are supposed to be creative).  This year we held the party at 10:00 AM.  The theme was Christmas Morning.  We all came to the party in our PJ’s.  We ate a Christmas brunch, sang some carols, exchanged gifts, but mostly we told stories.  We told stories about our past (61 years of YouthFront stories). We told stories about our dreams of the future.  We recognized and honored four staff, one who was finishing five years on staff, two who were at their tenth year and one at fifteen.  We told stories about them and about what we love about our YouthFront family.  We told stories of fun memories sprinkled with joy and laughter.  We told stories of life. 

Vidy Metsker, our co-founder, then read The Story.  The Story that gives all of our stories meaning and life.  The Story that our stories fit in to.  “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world…So Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, …to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child… and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.” Luke 2.  And so The Story goes… and so our stories go.

Three hours into our joyous Christmas Morning celebration, just as we were getting out board games and putting on a Christmas Movie to ratchet up the fun and hilarity – a call came.  I noticed a small huddle of our staff in tears.  As I started toward them, someone walked up to me and shared the tragic news that one of the teenagers, very involved in YouthFront had just died in a car accident.  Tylor was only 16 years old.  Casey Kapple and Courtney Bade who work with teen staff at YouthFront Camp West were sobbing.  They loved Tylor.  He was a faithful teen staffer.  They were devastated.  Slowly as word spread through the staff party the energy, laughter and fun drained out of the room.  We stopped and prayed.  We prayed and cried for Tylor’s family, for Tylor’s friends, for Casey and Courtney.  And then we continued to tell stories, stories of Tylor at camp, of his growth, of memories from those who worked with him.  We passed around his pictures in the YouthFront Teen Staff yearbook.  For those who didn’t know Tylor, there were stories of what really matters in life.  There were stories about God’s call on our lives to reach young people so that they love Jesus like Tylor loved Jesus.

No, it wasn’t a ruined Christmas Party.  It was a real celebration of The Story that our stories fit in to.  The Story that Jesus came as God in Human flesh to bring joy and purpose to our lives, to our stories…