Mike Goes Back to Sudan

Right, I'm through with the anonymous thing. It's a waste of time. As far as I can see, the only people likely to read this blog are you, the various friends I've told, cajoled, and announced the thing's existence to.

Apologies to those strangers who got here by searching "blog Christian bad birder Cambodia spirituality." Of whom I'm sure you are legion.

So this is Lisa speaking, and this post is about Michael, my dear youngest younger brother, who has just headed back to Sudan to work in Darfur. He's probably inhaling the dust of Khartom as we speak, the city named for an elephant's trunk.

Mike is good for my prayer life. As in, he spends so much time in dangerous places that I feel compelled to pray for him often, and this results in me praying often. Convoluted logic, I know. The honest truth? I'm not thrilled that Mike is going to spend a year in Darfur. It frightens me a bit. On the other hand, I believe he will be good at the work and a blessing to everyone he meets there. All life is risk and the people of Darfur worth taking such a risk. So may blessing be on him as he goes, blessing as he stays, and blessing when he leaves again.

I will now attempt to lure you all in to Compelled to Pray world by putting up some pictures to introduce you to or remind you of him. Hmm. Maybe it's good that he won't see these while within Punishment of Evil Sister Striking Range. This was Mike at Christmas brooding on the whereabouts of Moriarty.
This is what possession of a new digital camera does to perfectly sane intelligent people.
This is Mike having a Moment with the tomb guardians of the dead emperors of Hue, Vietnam.
This is us in Cat Ba national park beginning our sea kayaking trip. That makes us sound Really Fit and Daring, doesn't it? And boy, are we tan.
This is sideways. Clearly not yet a master of the digital camera software, ahem. This is Mike on the side of the world in the Plain of Jars on the Bolavan plateau in Laos, leaning against the largest jar of all. These were hewn from stone, rolled an unknown distance, and scattered all over these beautiful green hills. The theory is funerary urns, but the only human remains have been found under the jars, not in them. Had Mike and I one extra day in our itinerary, we could have gone and scaled a mountain and gone to a cave full of ancient people's bones. Which apparently one can sit among and handle to one heart's content. Archaelogical preservation is not high on the priority list of the most heavily bombed province in Laos. In fact, most of the recent work done at the Plain of Jars was done by MAG, demining the place so tourists can walk around it without getting blown up. I can feel myself yearning to start on a long essay about UXOs and the need to ban cluster bombs and the terrible carpet bombing we Americans did to the Laotian people--but I'm holding back. Almost: you can find out more at www.mag.org.uk.

It must be said that I don't think Mike would mind this diversion, since it's victims of war that occupy his days.

Kynom srolan neak,
puon pouv.
Sok sabai tam plau.