God Speaks!

This is an exciting time. The mission team arrived to Arna on Friday, made up of Radical Networkers, students from Durham and led by Phil Tate. It's been great to see him again and to get involved with the mission, especially the evangelism. It's actually been the first cold contact evangelism I've done in Norway, just approaching people in the street and trying to share something about Jesus with them, and it made me feel a bit challenged actually. I always felt like that kind of evangelism is somewhat counter-cultural in Norway, that people would find it to be very unusual. And I was right, it is counter cultural. But that's what we're supposed to be! I saw God use our efforts yesterday enough to convince me of applying myself to it more in the coming months.

Phil had heard of a certain church that would pray before evangelising and try and hear from the Lord about who he wanted them to speak to, and seeing as his personal motto is "don't be shy, give it a try" we accordingly gave it a try. The pictures and words that we got were impressively accurate and one in particular stood out. Testify!

I heard that there would be a group of teenage boys who wouldn't be interested but that there would be a someone in the group who would be. As I shared this, Phil felt that it would be someone in a grey hoodie. So, we wrote it down and went out in pairs. Phil and Tim Stone wandered over to the fountain and saw a group of teenage boys (hello...) filming each other doing street dancing. They didn't seem to be interested (could it be...) but as Phil and Tim passed them they saw, remarkably, a grey hoodie! Disco! It was an American girl who was hanging around with this group of dancers. Given the prophecies that we'd had before we set out, Phil challenged her: was she truly and genuinely interested in knowing Jesus? She said yes! She'd been studying the Bible for the last few months, encouraged by a Christian friend and the belief that knowledge can lead to faith. Phil and Tim were able to show her the piece of paper we'd written on - "GROUP OF TEENAGERS, NOT INTERESTED. ONE WILL BE, GREY HOODIE." It must have been so encouraging for her to know that the God that she was looking so hard for was also actively seeking her out.

God is good, all the time. All the time...

Halleluja, Min Sjel er Fri!

It occurred to me last weekend that it might have been a good idea to run a regular Norwegian of the Month feature on the blog, profiling the winner and perhaps posting a picture of me presenting them with a handshake or something. It's a bit late to start now though and besides, Terje would win every month.

Coming in second at least once though (and there's no shame in coming second to Terje; remember Roger Black getting silver behind Michael Johnson? It felt like a gold, didn't it?) would have been Øystein. Truly one of the nicest gentlemen you could ever hope to always lose at boards games to, Øystein never seems to be beaten in any contest (except Norwegian of the Month and that doesn't count because the competition is only being discussed hypothetically) and came to the fancy dress as a carton of milk. Impressive, no? He's been at Arna Misjonsmenighet for about a year, since he married Jannicke, but before that he was a long-time member of Betlehem, a congregation in Bergen, and it was with Betlehem that I went away this Easter. It wasn't my plan to take any kind of trip. Although it's the Norwegian way to go somewhere at Easter time, I felt that I'd like to have some time out in Arna, seeing as I'd gone back to England for Christmas. I also quite fancied hearing a missionary called Bruce Olsen speak at Betel church on Easter Day.

Until he cancelled. And it rained unceasing for days. And there was pretty much nobody in Arna. I watched Martin play FIFA Street 2 for what felt like two solid days and then, in a state of extreme restlessness and fearing an impending psychotic episode, baked 64 custard-filled cinnamon buns. It was then that I knew I had to make a break. I called Miriam, who had previously invited me to Radøytunet, the camp (you know, the good kind - rooms not tents) that YA, the youth group from Betlehem were running. She pulled any strings that needed pulling and I was all set. I packed in about twelve seconds and was out the door. I left both boredom-induced pastry baking and my towel well behind me.

The absent towel scenario was taken care of almost immediately by Kjetil, who kindly supplied me with one of his pair. It turned out that he and I not only shared a towel (in the long run, that is; we didn't both use it in that one trip) but also have exactly the same trainers, e-mail account and blog account. A man of outstanding taste in every way, it would seem. The confirmation, if any were needed, came after the morning service on Easter Sunday, when I got Jørgen the PA guy to play Keith Green's Easter Song. Kjetil scampered to the back of the room, in wonder and amazement, wanting to know what this amazing music was that was reminding him a bit of Queen. I can see what he means.

While Kjetil stood out thanks to his close, superficial resembling of myself, the others on the trip were also excellent human beings and I made a lot of friends. I can't set foot in Bergen these days without bumping into some familiar face, which is very nice, obviously. Radøytunet was a good place to be - the kind of place where there always seems to be somebody getting a DIY mullet from their 'friend'; the kind of place where a random milk carton is spiked with green food colouring every morning; the kind of place where you can build a flamethrowing catapult.

Yes, on one of the mornings the boys and girls were split up. After a bit of a serious talk, we men had a catapult-building competition. The one that could fire an egg the furthest won. And then out came the firelighters, the ammo required for the next target: a pile of paper and card. With no girls around to inhibit them, the boys near-instantly became savages; running around screaming 'fire in the hole' and 'medic', picking up flaming firelighters with bare hands and then juggling them back for another shot and, at one point, viciously pelting all the eggs at two sorry chumps who got themselves stranded in No Man's Land. It was good that it was only a few hours separation from the calming influence of the fairer sex. Or whatever you call them.

There were some great meetings too, often running on into the night, well beyond the scheduled finishing time. The testimony night was particularly inspiring and ended with everyone worshipping God, so grateful to Him and thus throwing worship-hero shapes and making a noise that could probably be heard in Finland.

I was interviewed during Saturday's entertainment time, welcomed on and ushered off to my own surprise theme tune. When I tell you that it was Morten the drummer shouting 'Dan the man' repeatedly you're going to think it was somewhat shoddy. Well don't, it was the catchy feelgood hit of the camp; I heard people singing it to themselves even after we got back to Bergen. The gag was simple: my English answers would be translated into a different Norwegian meaning (for example, one below-the-belt translation made out that I was a big Spurs fan) with hilarious results. Then the group were asked if they had any questions to put to me. Ingjerd had been primed earlier and asked 'har han kjæresten?' After a good deal of hubbub had died down, the question was translated, although I already knew what was coming. 'Dan, the question is: are you single?' Off the top of my head I thought of the most winning answer I could, one that would make them all love me... 'Why do you think I'm in Norway?' And the room erupted. I expect it will be the only time in my life that a roomful of eighty people cheer the news that I'm available. If I'm honest with myself, it probably had less to do with the great revelation of singleness and more to do with paying Norway (and particularly the women thereof) a nice compliment and doing so with fine comic timing. But I don't have to be honest with myself.

The camp ended with a slightly bizarre ritual in which all eighty of us made our way around a giant circle, embracing every other person and thanking them for the trip. All hugged up, I returned to Arna and, this Tuesday, went to Brann's first home game of the season. SK Brann are my local Norwegian team and have so far picked up two points from two games. Something tells me to get out while I can. We stood on the terraces with a group of Christian Brann supporters who call themselves Apostelenes Røde Gærninger, which translates as The Apostolic Red Maniacs. Quite Terrifying.

Believe it or not, there's more that I could say but let me sum up: Easter, which I always look forward to, has been a great time for me in lots of ways. As I walked down the disused railway track to Garnes, watching the sun setting over the fjord and listening to the genius new Flaming Lips album, I felt most content. Actually, I thought I was going to cry but it was probably the music.

Send Friends DVDs, Get Nice Text Messages!

The reviews are in: The critics have declared Finse 2006 the finest foreign film to come out of Arna all year! Following a triumphant premiere and after-show signing session, SpeiderDan Films has been inundated with literally several e-mail orders from members of the scout group, taking a quick break from tying knots and desperate to buy a copy of Lovell's debut offering.

But it's not just the Norse who are crazy for the movie event of the spring. Over three text messages from enraptured viewers in England have applauded the work. Ellie was the first to offer her verdict: "We just finished watching it - it was really great! You did really really well! Everybody looks so sweet, u won't want to leave."

"Just watching your quality video! Shame my norwegian isn't up 2 scratch!" So remarked the ever-humble Dave of Bow. Truly, subtitles would have added nothing meaningful.

Stephen joyfully picked up on the film's highlights: "It's a piece of glory! Pure gold! That bearded man laughed so much at vomitting kid! What were they eating? Giant pitta? I love the ski wipeouts, class music selection also Dan."

Chris summed up the response with his measured appraisal: "Finally sat down to watch your dvd and of course we agreed that you're a genius!" And I'd hate to disagree with a man so full of wisdom as he.

To get your copy of the hit DVD, simply approach me in person at a scout meeting and put your money in my hand. Alternatively, wait until I get back to England. I'll be desperate to get rid of all my unsold copies and they'll be yours for the taking.

Lifetime Ambition Fulfilled

On Friday, after Lars Andreas' drumming lesson, I got home to find this text message from Anders:

You have to hold the
speed limit when your
bicycle
We so you

Apparently he saw me rocketing down the long, downhill straight of the main road home, criminally exceeding the 50 km/h speed limit. Less than felonious yet not quite legal, I try to practice this discipline on a daily basis and I'd like to help you to do the same. Firstly you will need a bike and a mountain to place it on. Tuck your jeans into your socks to avoid getting all oily but let this be your only concession to practicalities that can and will make you look a fool. Repeat the mantra: 'luminous Lycra is a friend to nobody'. It is highly unlikely that you will be able to avoid uphill pedalling but you will find that taking a route that allows you to sustain the maximum possible forwards momentum will allow you to sustain the maximum possible forwards momentum.

The factor most important in your endeavour to go quite fast is the music you choose to listen to. Try to find a pacy, energetic number that is still anthemic enough to inspire your thighs to their deepest efforts. Race for the Prize by The Flaming Lips, for example, will never fail to motivate speedy travel but be advised that it is followed on The Soft Bulletin by the rather dreamy and disjointed Spoonful Weighs a Ton. In cases such as this, consider employing the 'REPEAT 1' setting on your Discman or iPod.

As I cycled home from last night's meeting I listened to Fauré's Requiem, music which is never going to help anyone break the speed limit but is beautiful nonetheless. It was a clear night and, riding up my road, I noticed what looked like the beam of a spotlight shining up into the sky. I stood my bike with the others behind the house and walked back to the road to see a natural phenomenon that I had been waiting to see for a large part of my life. They were the Northern Lights.

I don't live far enough North for them to appear as brightly as in that Coca-Cola advert with the polar bears but they were unmistakably there. Several tall, green beams standing up against the sky, fading out and glowing back in again. They lasted for about five stunning minutes from when I first noticed them and then disappeared. To finally see them was a truly satisfying experience and could not have had a better soundtrack than the Fauré that was still coming out of my headphones.

I thought about writing this post and knew I'd need details - where had I seen the lights? I looked up at the sky, found The Plough and from there located the North Star. That was the direction the lights had come from: North. Almost immediately I was aware that I really hadn't needed the stars to tell me that's where the Northern Lights would have been.

"It's the Northern Lights, Aurora Borealis: high energy particles spilling over into our atmosphere. They get through the magnetic field where it's weakest - at the poles."