And I'm Gone

Thank you ALL for your prayers, your encouraging emails, your cash, your love and faith... Wheels up in 8 hours. I'm leaving Portland in an hour to drive to Seattle. Not much sleep ahead tonight. Please continue to pray for me, as I have caught something in the last 24-48 hours. I'll sleep plenty on the plane and get lots of fluids.

God has been merciful and lavish to provide for all of my needs for the trip, and I know he will continue to sustain me. Pictures and an update in two weeks...

Adam

Lilies and Sparrows, Today and Tomorrow

Lilies and Sparrows - A recap...
My car has been in the shop for a week. The fuel pump was shot, which meant a repair over $550. Definitely a curveball. The Lord is good to me, though, and my mechanic was paid. I was the recipient of grace. I've been reading in the Sermon on the Mount lately, and Jesus's words are at once very comforting, and very scary. They are always counterintuitive and counter-cultural. He tells people not to work for riches here, in this life, but to store up treasure in heaven. In the next breath, he points out the lilies and the sparrows, telling us not to worry. I'm in no danger of acquiring much earthly treasure. I live pretty hand to mouth, and for the most part, I'm content (I would like a new MacBook, but I'm doing okay with what I have!). Not worrying is the hard part for me, especially when stuff like a fuel pump happens. But he proves himself over and over to be right! So far, I have fared much much better than the birds and flowers, and I have a hunch that will continue to be the case!

Today and Tomorrow... A Look Ahead?
I leave for New Orleans in a week! Scary to think that there's so much yet to do (I can resonate with Steve and Stephanie Allen, though on a MUCH smaller scale!). I don't feel ready in the least. It's weird to think that I am going to a disaster area, and it's practically in my backyard. The chef at work was giving me a hard time the other day. He's half black, half Mexican, and his family has roots in Alabama. He doesn't think a white boy like me with a smile as big as a soccer goal will do much more than offend half the people of the Lower Ninth. He thinks that all I'm gonna do is "roll in with my Abercrombie, and be that white boy that thinks he's all that..." I am fervently praying that that is NOT how I am recieved or percieved. I am going just to hear stories, give out hugs and build a house. I pray that I won't come off as "Abercrombie", but as Jesus.

As I prepare to go, I would appreciate a LOT of prayer... Pray that I am open. I have a sort of "agenda" for this trip, to explore New Orleans as a possible long-term destination. Pray that I am able to relax that focus, and save the analyzing and decisions for a few weeks after the trip, once I've had time to come home and process. Pray that money comes in. I don't know where I am at as far as sponsor donations***, but I'm having a hard time scrounging up my portion of the expenses. I'm working straight doubles until we leave, and God has been gracious to me. I still need to pay rent, car insurance and my cell phone before I leave, as well. Lilies and Sparrows - and much prayer. Pray that I would be bold, but not cocky. I can't imagine what these people have gone through and are going through now. I don't have much to give, but I have Jesus, and maybe there's someone down there that wants to meet him. I don't want to shy from that, but I don't want to overpower, either. Pray for our leaders: Matt and Amy, Tami, Dan and Jenny... Wisdom, strength, courage, rest and inspiration. They will be working just as hard, if not harder, than us. Pray for Mike and Susanne. They are hosting us (in a way) while we're there. Mike travels a ton, and I know they're tired. Pray that we could minister to them while we're there.

I'm exhausted, and close to the pillow. More to come soon... Thank you.

***If you'd like to donate, send a check to the church with "New Orleans - Adam Nevins" in the memo. Their address is: 15815 SE 37th ST Bellevue, WA 98006

(My donor letter is below, if you'd like to read it... Cheers!)

Father's Day Weekend...

I am 2 hours early for my train back to Portland, by mistake. So I find myself here in the basement cafe of Elliot Bay Books in Seattle's Pioneer Square, reminsicent of Powell's Books in Portland. Older, more history, though not as enormous... The brick wall I am siting next to appears to be extremely old, and there is a not-unpleasant musty book smell in the air.

What a weekend! My brother Austin graduated from high school on Friday night, while I was stuck on a train in the middle of nowhere, one of several hundred people held up by a train collision further up the track (there was at least one fatality). I spent a night and the better part of a day bonding and considering with 13 other people the implications of missionality, as we studied Luke's Gospel and discussed Shane Claiborne's "The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical". I took my sister out on a date to Red Robin and the Lake Street Ben & Jerry's in Kirkland. We walked along the beaches and docks, and talked about life and family, relationships and value. It was a great time! I reconnected with a good friend from a few years ago over quick coffee, and met up with several more at a barbeque later. I attended church and saw a few men that have shaped me, was able to hug and thank them.

I forgot about Father's Day. This was a genuine forgetting, not intentional (at least consciously intentional). But it has been three years since I have had someone to call "Dad". I have mentors, some of them more like a dad than others, but nobody who I can hug and salute on this day, thanking them for raising me, for teaching me to be a man, for showing me what a good marriage is, for playing catch with me, or helping me with homework, for taking me to a baseball game and buying a hotdog, for taking me fishing, or teaching me to change the oil in my car. There are so many lost moments that could have happened, but haven't.

And now we are at odds. As I reflect back on the Father's days past, and on these last three years, day-in and day-out, I am grieving my loss. Remembering the pain and the fear, the sadness and the emptiness. And I am looking up. Romans reminds me that I have "recieved the Spirit of Sonship. And by Him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children" (Romans 8:15,16). I am looking up to the Father who will one day wipe the tears from my eyes, and who has made me a man, and is continuing to make me the man he wants me to become.

So this Father's Day, I will thank a different Father, and I will strive to please him, because the only opinion that ever matters is Dad's!

Happy Father's Day also to Joe Rehfeld, Tom Cowan, Jayson Turner, Steve Allen, Mike Brantley, Jay Held, and Patrick Flynn, for modeling to me what an excellent husband and father looks like! Slainte, gentlemen.

Lilies and Sparrows

As I type this, I am sitting on the sidewalk in front of "A.J. Java" a local cafe here in Portland. It is on the corner of 42nd Ave and Prescott, just up the street from my apartment. Every fifteen minutes or so, the Number 75 bus goes past, heading South on 42nd, toward the Hollywood Transit Center. Likewise, its counterpart appears shortly after, heading North toward St. Johns.

It is warm outside tonight, with slight cloud cover, and the streetlights obscure much of my view of the heavens. Every so often, a police cruiser will fly past. Of course, the Portland Police are above traffic laws, though they enforce them. If the light at my intersection is red, the cruiser will flash his cherry lights, and floor it through. If it is green, he continues on without a thought.

I wonder if I am breaking the law right now? My purpose for sitting here on the sidewalk, my back slouched against a tall planter box, is to steal the wifi from the cafe. It is "free" wifi, meaning that paying customers may use it. I justify my use tonight by the $3.35 iced mocha I bought earlier (when the wifi was down) and the change from a five that I tipped the barista. I believe I am owed my time!

My roommate, Austin, and I are mostly moved in. That is to say that all of our belongings are in the apartment. My room is arranged and clean (miracle, short-lived to be sure). His bed, dresser and desk, and our kitchen table, are at his mom's house in Grant's Pass, southern Oregon. He will leave on Sunday night to get them.

The Comcast technician will arrive between one and four p.m. to install our internet service on Monday.

We have purchased a shower curtain, kitchen garbage can, and some groceries together. I think it is going to be an adventure, and I am excited to live here.

Life is full-speed-ahead, and that is a good thing.

I like our neighborhood. There's a little diversity, and the neighbors seem cordial enough. One old and cane-wielding black lady stopped me in the parking lot as I was carrying an armload of books and clothes. We said hello, and I smiled. She asked me if I was a Christian, said that I must be, because I smile so big! I was a little surprised at her straightforwardness, and stammered that, yes, I believe I am a Christian. I don't remember her name, but I look forward to running into her again.

My car is broken, and in the shop. Hans' Foreign Auto. Yep, he's German. Grew up there, working on Volkswagens since he was 12. I'm in good hands (hans, get it?). I spoke with one of his mechanics today (Brandon), who said that the engine's not sparking, and doesn't seem to be getting enough fuel. He's investigating the fuel lines, spark plugs and cam. To fix it will cost between 4 and 500 dollars that I don't have. Lilies and sparrows. They neither worry nor care. I know God loves me more than he does them, so I will trust for his provision and plan.

In the meantime, I have been taking the Number 75 bus, and the MAX light rail to work. It's not bad. I miss the comfort of my Passat, though.

I'm going to sign off now, and go home to bed. Hopefully. I did just open a Mountain Dew. Sleep well, friends and faithful readers. More thoughts soon.

The Art of Volkswagen Maintenance...

I just got home from having my car towed. It died yesterday, and I don't have towing on my insurance (liability only baby!) so my friend Jenn offered me a tow from her package. She wanted to take care of it after she got off work at 11pm. Note the time now is 3:32am. She met me at midnight, we went to my car and called Roadside by 1am, were quoted an hour and a half, and I am just getting home. Jenn still has to drive clear across town, and wake up at 7am to get her daughter to T-Ball. (Thanks, Jenn! Much love!)

This couldn't come at a worse time. May and June have been record slow months at the restaurant, and my shifts end up getting cut early, or altogether some nights. I just moved, and the deposits are hefty. Car insurance and numerous trips to Seattle this month (not to mention New Orleans at the end of the month) make this stretch a pretty rough one.

I started a book today by Shane Claiborne - "The Irresistible Revolution." Shane grew up a privileged white suburbanite in Tennessee, and now has almost no possessions, makes his own clothes, and ministers to homeless people in South Philly, Calcutta, Chicago, wherever he is. He takes Jesus seriously about the lily and the sparrow. Maybe I will, too.

Signing out for some shuteye... More later.

Road Trip...

Usually, when I drive from Portland to Seattle, or vice versa, I like to leave late at night. I like the pitch blackness stretching to infinity in front of me, with only my brights and the occasional tail lights of other cars piercing the darkness. I'll usually listen to some acoustic music, or the Braveheart soundtrack. Sometimes just the humming of my tires and the purring of my German engine. This is a selfish time for me. I crave the privacy and peace of the solo drive. Just me and my thoughts, Jesus riding shotgun.

Solitude, blessed solitude.

I switched up the routine slightly last Friday. I have been spending a lot of time at a coffeeshop in Portland called Coffeetime, kind of an urban rootsy place. It's in the Nob Hill (Northwest) neighboorhood, on 21st, just between Johnson and Irving. To the non-Portlander, this locale doesn't mean much, so I'll explain:

Portland is filled with the artsy, granola eating children of the union of Seattleites with San Franciscans, the leftover illegitimate children of the hippie movement of the 1960's and 70's. I don't say this derogatorily, because these are some of the most well-read, best-educated, and conversationally inclined people in the Northwest. I genuinely enjoy the conversations I have at this coffee shop.

The weather has been great the past couple of weeks, and I've been sitting at the sidewalk tables until the battery in my laptop goes dead. There's a guy named Ziggy who's been there almost every time I have, and we've had a few great conversations - politics (something Portlanders love to discuss), social justice, a little bit of faith and religion, and camp stoves. Ziggy's a big fan of camp stoves, which makes sense, because he's homeless.

I was there late on Monday last week, my day off, and about 10 o'clock, Ziggy sat down at the table next to me and we exchanged greetings. I had my nose buried in a book, so we didn't talk much. After a while, I noticed he was coloring in a cardboard sign with a fatty Sharpie. The sign said, "Seattle or the next rest stop." and "God Bless."

I asked him what he was going to do in Seattle. His plan was to sell the homeless paper on the Ave. Street News in Seattle, he explained, lets the seller keep 65 cents on the dollar, and it's easier to sell up there than in Portland. He also mentioned that a friend was going to drive to San Francisco in July from Seattle for a camp stove convention, and he was going to hitch a ride.

Without much of a second thought, I told Ziggy that if he didn't have a ride by Friday, I'd take him. Why not? I was going anyway. I thought it would be a great way to be Jesus to someone... (Enter selfish motive).

So, Friday came and Ziggy left me a voicemail. He hadn't found a ride, would I mind? I showed up at Coffee Time, and bought him a smoothie. I told him I wanted to be on the road by 4:30, and no smoking in my car.

At 5 o'clock, he finally managed to say goodbye to his girlfriend, and we loaded up. Then he unhitched his dog!

This dog is about 2 feet long and a foot.5 tall. Dirty, gross, smelly, loud, drooly, hyper and shedding. I said no way, and he said the dog goes where he goes. I said the dog had to stay on his lap the whole time.

So we got in, and I promptly rolled the windows down. We ran straight into the stop/go of North I-5 and crawled through Vancouver. Just after the traffic loosened up, Ziggy wanted to stop at the next rest stop for coffee and a cigarette. I explained that I had to be in Seattle by 9pm, to meet up with friends, and we'd stop in Kelso for a quick burger.

Two stops later, my car wreaking of homeless dog and burnt tobacco, we pulled up to Ravenna Park in the U-District. Ziggy was planning on sleeping here while he was in Seattle. We pulled up right in the middle of a bunch of Bellevue high school rich kids parking their daddy's luxury cars and classic Mustangs at the entrance and exchanging cash for weed. Two kids were lugging a keg of beer, and they were headed into the park to party. There were about 50 or 60 kids in the street, and we could hear more in the park.

Ziggy was freaked out, and it took an hour of waiting out the kids and reasoning with Ziggy to get him out of my car and into the park. So at 11 o'clock, 2 hours late for my plans with my friends, I showed up smelling like cigarettes and homeless dogs, to the Sea Sound Lounge (think ultra-yuppie, Dolce & Gabbana, trendy). Definitely out of place.

The rest of the weekend was great. I celebrated my 24th birthday with my family, and went to Crossroads' new college fellowship. I met the rest of the New Orleans Missionary Team, and hit Mars Hill's 5 o'clock with Ryan Flynn. Mark tore it up!

I got to hang out with a couple other friends, Febreezed the crud out of my car, vaccuumed and washed it, and still had a solo drive home. Not a bad weekend.

The thing of it is, I really was proud of myself, all the way up until Saturday morning, for "being Jesus" to Ziggy. How many of the people I know have given rides to homeless people, bought their food and coffee on the way, and been so accomodating. Really, I feel like the world's most prideful jerk. Sure, I helped someone in need, but I grumbled the whole time, and when I look at it, my motive was to be able to pat myself on the back. I got no crown in heaven for what I did, but I learned. The nails of it is, I want to spend my life helping the down-and-outs, and I couldn't even spend 4 hours with one without resenting it. I've got some work ahead of me!

What Was, What Is, and What May Someday Be...

Dear Friends and Faithful Readers,
Below is the text of a letter I sent out to several people via snail mail. If, after reading, you desire to be a part of the team financially, please leave a comment on the bottom of the blog with your snail mail address and I will send you the materials. If you prefer to just read, please, sit back and enjoy. Feel free to respond, critique, question... what have you!

Cheers!

What Was, What Is, and What May Someday Be...
Dear Friends,
Many of you remember when I was hospitalized in the Summer of 2004. "Deep Vein Thrombosis in the Upper Left Extremity requiring a First-Rib Resection" is what they told me I had. In plain English, that means that I had a blood clot, and they had to do surgery to fix it. What I heard was, "Adam. This is God. You asked me to make it clear, so here's the deal. You will not enlist in the Marine Corps. I want you to move to Portland, and enroll at Multnomah Bible College."

I moved to Portland in January 2005, and declared for Pastoral Ministries. In the course of three semesters at Multnomah, I have experienced the breakup of my family and cut off relationship with my father, lived through minor homelessness, accumulated a 0.8 GPA resulting in academic dismissal, racked up a hefty amount of debt, wrecked my best friend's car without insurance, lost my only appendix, battled with depression and self-isolation, and questioned my faith very seriously.

Since I was a kid, I have wanted to be in ministry. Initially, I wanted to be a youth pastor. When I moved to Portland, I began attending a church plant called Mosaic. It was the first time I can remember being exposed to the idea of church planting. Though the church was only 2 years old, they were already planting a sister church across the river from Portland, in Vancouver. I was intrugued with the concept, and began to "what if". My idea of what I wanted to do in ministry began to change.

That summer, I went home to Bellevue, and lived with Tom and Karla Cowan. I worked as a youth intern at Crossroads Bible Church. The speaker at the High School group's retreat that summer was Mike Brantley. Mike had spoken at the High School Camp my senior year, and we had really connected there. He and his wife, Susanne, were church planters in New Zealand. After the camp, Mike stayed a few nights at Tom and Karla's. I remember one night in particular. Mike and I stayed up late, and we started to talk about my family. He listened to me. He held me as I wept. He told me that he wished he could stay in Seattle and be a father to me.

I went back to school. During my last semester at Multnomah (Spring 2006), I began seeing a counselor to process through everything that had happened in the last two years. I was also taking classes - one of which was titled "Theology and Polity". In it, we were forced to answer two questions: "What is the Essence of the Church?" and "What is the Purpose of the Church?" Concurrently, I was involved in a discussion group led by a local planter and pastor that discussed the idea of Church and the Postmodern Culture. Despite failing most of my classes (including Polity), the things I was learning and being forced to consider were revolutionary to me.

During a visit home in July, 2006, Tom Cowan mentioned that Mike and Susanne were in Portland for the summer. He gave me Mike's cell number and email, and Mike and I got together in August. We met for coffee at a little hole-in-the-wall on Hawthorne Blvd, called Common Grounds Cafe. We caught up on life, and Mike filled me in on a new vision he had. He wanted to move to a United States city that was edgy and cultural, and plant a church centered around a neighborhood, specifically targeted to the people right there. He had the Hawthorne District in mind. (For those of you from Seattle, Hawthorne is a bit like Capitol Hill and Fremont or Ballard mixed up, with a dash of the Ave. It is populated mostly by indie-rock fans, vegans, hippies, struggling artists, and baristas.) Mike called this "infiltration". It is just the simple act of building relationships with people, and being Jesus to them. Simple.

Near the end of our conversation, Mike invited me to live with his family and become a part of their ministry as kind of a neo-monastic move, common life and ministry. Mike and Susanne left at the end of August, to visit family in New Orleans, and ended up deciding to begin their new life there. After seeing the devastation from Hurricane Katrina, they said they couldn't walk away. Their offer to me still stands. Knowing that I need to stay in Portland until I finish my degree, finish counseling, and pay my debt, I told Mike that it would be a while before I'd join him.

Since Mike invited me to New Orleans, I've spent much time praying and considering whether this is what I "should do"... What is my motive - Mike, or what he's doing? Why? How could I contribute? Is this a place I could use my gifts? What is it really like down there - am I over-romaticizing this idea? What about my family - am I willing to move that far away from them? Does my heart break for the people of New Orleans? How uncomfortable am I willing to be? What will I have to give up? Am I willing to give up everything for people who have already lost everything? I am "counting the cost". Mike has extended me an open invitation to visit - to come and see.

I am taking him up on the offer. On June 29, I am going as part of a team sent by Crossroads Bible Church, to experience the life of an urban missionary for a week. The purpose of the trip is to provide college students an opportunity to consider the mission field as a calling. I am already feeling that call. I go seeking the answers to questions: "Is this the place? Are these the people I will serve? Can I do this, or is this another of my 'dreams'?"

I am sending this letter to you because, in some way, the relationship I have had with you has shaped me, impacted me. As I go, I covet your prayer. Pray that my somewhat calloused heart is made fresh as I prepare for this experience. Pray that as I find myself face to face with people who have lost everything, I would be able and willing to give up everything for their sake.

This is the part of the letter that I hate writing. I hate asking for handouts. So I will put it into different terms. As someone who has had an impact on my life, would you consider partnering with me to have an impact on someone else's life? After I write this letter, I will go home and sleep in a warm bed, in a "clean" room in a house. There are hundreds of thousands who will sleep tonight in a FEMA trailer no bigger than most people's kitchens, in the front yard of their flooded house. While there, our team will be working demolition and construction in the Lower Ninth Ward. Before the hurricane, this was a poor neighborhood, and it is one of the areas that sustained the worst damage. Little has been accomplished to help the people living here.

The total cost of the trip is $14,000. It falls to each team member to raise $500 in partnering support, and to contribute $500 from our own pockets. Attached is a letter from Matt, our "Fearless Leader". This letter describes the purpose of the trip as it pertains to the team. I have told you the purpose of this trip for me, as a quest of sorts. Whether you contribute $5 or $50, or are not able to financially partner with me this time, please pray. I will post updates leading up to the trip on my blog: www.confusionbreedsprogress.blogspot.com, and will send another letter when I return.

Thank you for being in my life, for believing in me, and for loving me.

Pour la glorie du Pere, et pour les habitants de la Nouvelle Orleans,

Adam Orion Nevins

P.S.
Here are Mike's blogs. You can get an idea the kind of guy he is, and the ministry he is doing...
mikeandsusannesworld.blogspot.com
out-on-a-limb.blogspot.com
This is the website for Crossroads, the sending church for our team...
cbccross.org
My blog...
confusionbreedsprogress.blogspot.com
My church in Portland...
imagodeicommunity.com