Highway to Hell

Yeah, Highway to Hell. Because last week-end, after I left Karlsruhe, I drove the bus 666 about one hour long through the German countryside in order to visit my friend Nele in her small village.

Here the proof that I’m not lying:

Last Saturday, I drove back from Hell to Switzerland, where I attended a show with The Stand, a great hxc band rocking for the King. All of the members are my friends and one of them is my cousin.

After the show, I drove to the highest city of Europe: La Chaux-de-Fonds and spent 4 days there at my friends Séb & Anna, watching movies all day. 20 movies and 4 days later, I’m back at my parents’ home.

I thought I was broke but realized that, due to an error made by my bank, the former owner of my appartment still gets the monthly rent for my flat. I was relieved as I realized it was only a mistake and will call him tomorrow so he can send my money back.

This week-end, my sister will get married. It will be loads of fun. Great.

And somehow, October is near, and that means for me that it will be the end of the 4 months period I lived on the road. I should seriously think about the future and about a way to pay my bills for the next months. Any ideas?

I also need to get a new place to live if I get a job. Settling down feels kinda strange to me now, but I think it’s necessary. Crazy stuff, I hate to think about it.

Hans Brinker

A bit of humor for tonight: Sebastian, Anja and myself were talking about our hostel-experiences, and…

… I’VE SLEPT IN THE WORST HOSTEL IN THE WORLD!

I’m talking about the Hans Brinker budget hotel in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Without kidding, it’s pretty disgusting there, the walls were stained with blood and other manly body fluids, the toilet was disgusting, so was the entrance. Rock’n'Roll to the bones. (I loved it!)

And you know what? The Hans Brinker Hostel made that its advertising. They claim to be the worst, most disgusting hotel in the world, that’s their image and their business card.

Have a look at their homepage: http://www.hans-brinker.com/

Preaching in Stuttgart, Żubrówka in Karlsruhe

I left Neuchâtel this morning, after having had a coffee with my mum at the train station. I rode the train 4,5 hours to get to Stuttgart, Germany, where I had a speaking engagement. 4,5 hours… Nothing. It went by so fast, I couldn’t believe it. I’m almost not used to such short travels anymore…

I attended the church service of Jesus Freaks Stuttgart, where I would be preaching. I really liked the service, and I think my talk was ok. But it was so fucking long… I spoke too much. A wonder that (almost) no one left the room while I was talking. I could pray for a bunch of people after the service, it was a blessed time, but I was on the run, as I was supposed to catch my train to Karlsruhe, Germany.

I will be staying for one week at Sebastian and Anja’s place, who happens to be one of my closest friends. We had dinner, drank Żubrówka, a polish wodka they brought back from Krakau, Poland, had very nice talks and now I’m laying on my bed, surfing the internet, thinking about the day and being thankful for being blessed that much in my traveling-around.

Church?

I’ve been thinking so much about the concept of Church these last years, especially because of my history with it. So here are some random experiences and thoughts about Church…

I grew up in a really conservative church, old-school Darby disciples, very religious, with a lot of rules and rituals.

For me as a child, Church was something I saw only on Sundays. The concept of house-groups/cell-groups was unknown back then, so I took part of the services until the end of the worship-time (old school harmonium played by an old lady), after what I went to Sunday school. We had to learn Bible verses by heart, listen to stories of the Bible, stick and colorize pictures, and sometimes we had sweets or chocolate, together with syrup. The whole thing took place at an Eldest’s place near the church building.

Even as a kid, I had understood some Truth, my good memory did impress the Sunday school leaders. I remember telling my parents (they remember that too) that I didn’t want to dress well to go to church, as we were supposed to, because life with God was supposed to be an everyday life and not only on Sunday.
My father would become a preacher in this church, but at the very beginning, he used to have troubles because he didn’t have a beard.
This was my first experience with church.

Later on, we moved town because of my father’s new job. We also moved church, and the new church we attended to was pretty different. It was liberal, compared to the old Darby Assembly I grew in. Nonetheless, there were many rules we had to obey. The new church was influenced by some prominent people in the Christian scene in Switzerland, and heavy music belonged to the Devil, so did MTV and a lot of movies. The Occult was everywhere, I had to be very careful. Back then, I didn’t give a shit about God. I prayed to him only when I needed Him to do something, like avoiding nightmares or stuff like that. I was forced to go to church on Sundays, I had no choice as I was under age and still under my parents’ command. I got a lot of very conservative books telling me everything I was supposed to do or not to do in order to be a good Christian. That’s what Church was about: What-You-Were-Supposed-To-Do, How-You-Were-Supposed-To-Behave. A whole bunch of “Should do”.

Anyway, I knew nothing about God by myself. I was a grunge-influenced teenager and soon became a punk. Drugs, drinking, music. No sex, because I did believe I was ugly and no girl would ever want me. Plus, I was told it was the very worst sin of all to have sex before marriage. As I didn’t want to end up in Hell, I decided to obey that rule. (Well, it lasted until I had my first long-time girlfriend. )

Aged 17, I decided to follow Jesus on my own. Some punk friends of mine happened to be Christians, and it helped me in my decision. But however, I was still influenced by the bunch of “should-do” I got told in church.

I attended a youth-meeting where everyone kept telling me I didn’t please God the way I was dressed. So, God didn’t like trashed DcMartens, torn jeans, fucked-up t-shirts and dirty caps. He also didn’t like my earrings, my smoking habit and the fact that I was drinking alcohol.
The preacher on the stage made an altar call for all people who wanted to get baptized in the Holy Spirit. I said “yes”, but I wasn’t sure if God would give me what I wanted, as I didn’t please Him. So I made a deal with Him: If He loved me the way I was, then I wanted to be filled in the Spirit. It worked. God and I had made another deal right before: If I gave Him ALL of me, He would give me ALL of Him.

At that time, I was attending a youth-group with a lot of fucked-up punks, alternative people, junkies, gays, depressed goths whatsoever. An old, pretty conservative church was giving us room for free. They soon hired a pastor who didn’t like the youth-group and casted out every influent person. I was among them. I was sad because we were a whole bunch of freaks spending every single day together, drinking all week-end, partying hard but still loving Jesus the way we were. The majority of the church attendees were old, retired, wise, white-haired people, who just accepted us the way we were. Only the new pastor didn’t. (Shortly after having destroyed the youth-group, he got fired. But it was too late to save anything.)

I went to go looking for another youth-group and attended one as a guest. The sixty year old pastor was talking about baptism and that it’s not possible to get any spiritual gift or get baptized in the Spirit if you didn’t get baptized with water first. I just opened my mouth and started sharing my experience… Out of a sudden, God was there. It was amazing. Young people made a decision for Christ, got baptized with the Holy Ghost, totally unexpected. So the pastor asked me if I was interested in becoming one of the group leaders. I was only seventeen and I got flattered. I wanted to be someone important, so I said “Yes, sure”. So with no experience, I got into my first leading experience. I would burn out after a few months. The youth group was part of the biggest church in the city, with about 500 members. It was a free church, pretty evangelical, pretty conservative, pretty rich (one guy told me that, once in a service, an old man felt bad, so they asked if any medical doctor was among the audience, and eight people raised their hand.). After I burnt out, I had a harsh time getting over my depression, still wondering what church was all about.

People kept telling me that, in order to be a member of a church, I was supposed to submit to the leadership and do whatever they told me. My outfit didn’t please them, so I tried to change very hard. I borrowed some suits from my father, traded my army, pinned, patched, tagged backpack for some attaché-case. It pleased the people of the church very well. I remember one old guy telling me “Now that God worked on your outfit, let’s ask him to work on your language”. It disappointed me and took me down. I got the feeling I could never please them. Ever.

I kept attending a lot of different churches in the city to find out one that I would like. Once again, I didn’t know anything but what I was seeing on Sundays.
Some older people took care of me, feeling they had the responsibility to put me on the right track again.

That’s when I decided to get baptized. Somehow out of provocation, I asked two pastors to baptize me. They used to belong to the same church, but the church split up and the tension between both of them was almost touchable.

Shortly after my baptism, I was spending the evening with a family of one of the churches, and after diner the mother offered me to give me a lift home. As she drove through the city-center, I told her to let me go out there, that I would meet the Christian freaks friends of mine at a bar. She refused and locked the doors so I couldn’t get out. She told me: “Let me remind you that you got baptized, you made a decision for Jesus Christ in front of the spiritual and visible worlds. Now you belong to the Church, not to the nightlife that’s the domain of Satan”. She drove me home, to my parents’. I tried to justify myself on the way. No chance, she had decided I was wrong. The thing is that she was kind of an authority for me, so I wanted to believe that she were right, but kept wondering what Church was all about, as I was supposed to belong there. I didn’t understand what was wrong with drinking beer with my friends and rock the nightlife with them, as they were followers of Jesus as I was. They were the people I was sharing life with, unlike the people I saw on the church’s benches on Sundays. But at least I learned one thing on that night: Satan lives in a bar.

After an episode I didn’t like – I got some prophetic words I didn’t like at all – I decided to try it out at a protestant church. A big state-church in Switzerland. It was pretty boring, but at least no one told me anything I was supposed to do, or not to do. I went to church on Sunday, sat there, listened to the priest, went to have a coffee with some of the young attendees after service, had two home-groups meetings per week, and praise God, no one was messing around with heavy spiritual things. It was pretty much about intellectual stuff, pretty philosophical, and my brain liked it. My faith grew cold, and after one or two years, I decided to commit to God again. Soon after that, I got to know some of the Jesus Freaks and discovered a church form I liked!

1. The people were freaks. No one gave a fuck about how you were dressed or how you looked like.
2. The worship music was amazing: heavy rock or electronic, good quality. Who would have thought I would be able to worship God with the music I listened to every day?
3. The preachings were full of life, filled with spiritual energy, they let me grow.
4. Jesus Freaks Nuremberg were a big, friendly family to me. I felt at ease with everyone, felt respected, loved, taken seriously.
5. People were sharing life, living in communities, were real friends spending most of the time with each other, helping each other out.
6. The home-groups were a-ma-zing. I would soon start to lead one of them, despite of my pretty poor German language.

Everything went fine a few years. I had found a home, a place where I could be however I was, where I could grow spiritually, where I could experience fellowship in a way I had never even heard of before. We were all LIVING in the city, taking part of the night- and cultural life, living among our friends, taking over the subculture for God. We were organizing the best parties in the whole city, which hundreds of people would attend. We had the best talks about Jesus in bars, drinking beer. It was a revolution for me.

A few years later, God’s path led me back to Switzerland. I wanted to copy what I had experienced in Nuremberg, Germany, and wanted to plant a church in my city that would be an exact blueprint of my former church in Nuremberg. Well, it didn’t work at all. I was frustrated, feeling like a loser, not understanding what I was doing wrong. So I decided the people around me were responsible for the failure. I had never heard anything yet about Emergence, Organic-Church or whatever. For me, the ecclesial structure was clearly defined: someone would be the pastor, some people would eventually be leaders in a team, there would be deacons, evangelists, teachers, shepherds and prophets among them, and the rest of the church would be about spiritual consumerism. Some giving, some taking. I had only seen the church model as a structure, giving attention to the stones that built the walls, and I didn’t even notice the cement that was holding them together in my former Jesus Freaks community:

• - Friendship
• - Fellowship
• - Sharing everyday life with each other

Actually I had never realized that Church was happening whenever I gathered with other people.

The three last years, I spent a lot of time alone, sunk into my hard-working lifestyle, going to church services once a months or less, trying to meet with some Christians once a week to pray for a while, just to keep the flame burning. I missed community and fellowship a lot.

I grew frustrated because some of my friends were followers of Jesus, very active in the city’s cultural life, but no one of them seemed to care about gatherings, about getting organized as an ecclesial structure. I didn’t have any “spiritual fast-food” anymore and had to care for my relationship to God by myself, which seemed to be impossible for a while. Thinking about that all, I started to pray a lot, asking God to help me gather the people and found a church. We already had a cyber-structure on the internet, which I like to describe as a cyber-church, even though it’s just a discussion board, and sometimes we would all meet IRL, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

So I started to complain about it, until God one day talked to me. He said: “Mik, YOU ALL ARE THE CHURCH. Unorganized, invisible. You live among my people, you are influent, you all are prominent in the city life. That’s the church of the unseen. It’s my body, my blood moving across the streets, through your presence.” But I didn’t see any fruits. I wanted people to turn over to Jesus Christ, I wanted everyone filled with joy, purity, holiness, and all that fucking shit, but it didn’t seem to be the case (and my life didn’t look like joy, purity, holiness either).

Everything seemed to fit a dream I had had a few years ago, in which a lot of people were active in subcultures, working as God’s secret agents among the people. There were meeting in an old, fucked-up building. The building meant nothing. They were all meeting because they needed to share their needs with each other. There was a full respect of each other among the people, despite the differences. There were not only freaks but also very normal people, and a few businessmen walking around. The building was neutral, colored in grey-tones, and the only thing that was really flashy was a neon light over the door, saying “Underground, Nameless, United”.

So the way the people in my city were living their faith among the people seemed to fit to this dream. But I still didn’t like it…

… Until I realized that the Scripture is not clear at all about how the Church should be organized. The epistles to Titus and First Timothy do talk about how a church leader should be, Romans and First Corinthians do talk about the different gifts God gave to His children, Acts let us know that the believers were gathering in houses, and the only verse that really shows us what was the core of the Church is Acts 2;42:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (NIV)

The Greek word for fellowship is koinónia, which means literally “partnership, social intercourse, fellowship, sharing”.

Definitely what I had been experiencing drinking beer with my folks on week-ends in the past; definitely what I had been experiencing with the Jesus Freaks in Nuremberg; definitely what I was experiencing with my folks in town.

Paul’s epistles let us know that the primitive Christians were having meetings devoted to God, with psalms, teachings, sharing bread and the exercise of spiritual gifts. How it did exactly look like remains a mystery to me. It seems like all churches did work in different ways, according to their own culture.
Fine. It means that Church is various and bright. Ok, but my question remains: what is Church about? If it’s about Apostolic Teaching, Fellowship, Sharing Food and Prayer, then a whole bunch of unorganized, unstructured believers ARE Church, even if they don’t want it, or don’t know it.

That’s ok, but I have the feeling that God is leading me in a dimension of Church that cannot be kept in a book, that cannot be described on a blog or in a book about Church History. I believe that God is raising what I call the Unseen Church, calling his secret agents all over the place, who don’t depend on structures or organizations, who are just committed to a common cause.

I keep remembering of a talk I had with my Scottish pal Tom a few years ago: Tom was explaining me that he isn’t any member of a church whatsoever. He’s a member of the city he lives in. Tom was telling me that God was moving through them in the city, building the Kingdom in some odd places, in some odd ways, and that things were keeping happening. BUT: every time they tried to structure and organized whatever was happening, everything broke down and collapsed. So they decided to stop trying to control things and just let them happen.

I believe the new form of church that’s emerging in the western civilization is something that is not about does and don’ts, neither about control or organized beliefs. It will require a lot of trust and faith in each other and in God to let him move freely, and to stay away from trying to control His flow.

I catch glimpses of it all over the world, among other religious ethnics too, in which Jesus seems to be working in a way that has never been seen before. Jesus seems to be making people free from the religious boundaries missionaries brought together with the Gospel. Jesus seems to be purifying His bride in a new way, rooted in the culture His followers come from, bringing it to life. Like a big fishing net, all over the world.

What is Church all about? I want to believe that Church is all about Jesus. Only Him. The rest is a matter of details. Isn’t it?

Seminar in Görlitz, Germany, where Tarantino and Jet-Li did direct movies.

I haven’t written a single word on this blog in the last few weeks. I don’t know why…

I have been spending two weeks at my parents’ house in Neuchâtel, Switzerland, enjoying time alone as they were in France for the time being. I had to think about a lot of things, and one theme is not getting out of my head: church. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, what it does mean, what it does NOT mean, and what it should be about. Well, interesting topic. I will probably write more about that the next days.

Last week-end, I was preaching in Görlitz, Sachsen, Germany. It was a very great time. The Jesus Freaks invited me to talk about Talking To God (Prayer) and Listening To God (Schizophrenia). I sat 13 hours on the train to get there, 13 hours to get back, but I loved the one and a half day I spent there. I loved the fellowship there. It was really fun.

Last week I read a few books that did inspire me. (I won’t talk about the ones that DIDN’T inspire me )

The Shack by William Paul Young. What an amazing book. While reading it, I could easily understand the commercial buzz about the novel. It’s a great story about God, just about Him (or Her), and about us.

Save Me From Myself by Brian HEAD Welch. The fucking honest testimony of former Korn member HEAD, his journey to Hell and his salvation. Very inspiring.

So You Don’t Want To Go To Church Anymore by Wayne Jacobsen & Dave Coleman. Pretty interesting story about a typical free-church pastor encountering a strange guy that could be John the Apostle. Not the best book ever, but some of the talks between the pastor and John are pretty inspiring.

Well. And now I’m back at my parents’ house, will stay until the end of the week as I’m supposed to preach in Stuttgart next weekend.

Being homeless in Switzerland.

At Frizon, I talked with my friend Derek about our “homeless” experiences, and during my trip back from Sweden, I’ve kept thinking of one thing: ten years ago, I wanted to try something out in Switzerland but never did it. The idea had come to me after I had spent some time with a traveling homeless girl whom I had shared a meal with.

It’s illegal to be homeless in Switzerland. You’re not allowed to sleep on the street or any public place. It’s also practically impossible (except if you really want it) to be homeless in Switzerland, as the state will provide you with a flat or a place to live and pay for it. So I was thinking of trying following out for one week or one month: spending one or two nights in different cities, outside on the street, and see what happens. Would I get arrested by the police? Would some people take me to their home? Would the Salvation Army or any Christian church care for me? I don’t know. I never had the courage to do it, but somehow, I keep thinking it would be a nice experience.

These thoughts reminded me of a great story I want to share with you. It happened 12 years ago. I had worked all week-end with a church picking up the (very) drunk at a city-festival and either bring them to the hospital or bring them to a building where we provided beds and medical care for them.

On the last night, I didn’t know where to sleep. I tried to walk home to my parents but it was far away and I was very tired. I found a protestant church building but it was closed. The priest would live in a flat over the chapel beside the church but I didn’t dare to ring at 4 AM. So I laid down my sleeping bag in the chapel and slept there. A few hours later, I woke up and went to the toilet. As I came back I noticed the note on the chapel door: “Dear deacons, someone is sleeping in here, please do not disturb. Let’s meet in my living room instead.” signed by the priest. I was really touched but felt kind of bad about it. So I started packing up my stuff in order to leave as soon as possible but a woman came in. I apologized at once for having slept in there, but she smiled and said it was no problem at all. And she gave me the breakfast and the coffee she had made for the unknown guy sleeping in her chapel. I couldn’t believe it…

And her husband (the priest) didn’t know yet he would baptize me a few months later…

27

That’s the number of hours my trip back from Örebro (Sweden) to Ansbach (Germany) took me.

First of all I spent 2,5 hours on a bus from Örebro to “Stockholm”-Skavsta. The Morgenroede show at Frizon impressed me a lot so I destroyed my ears listening to Crimson Moonlight and Antestor on the bus. Then I spent 13 hours at a Ryanair airport in Skavsta, sleeping outside at a bus stop. Unfortunately, it was cold and wet but I dreamt funny stuff. In the evening, I read the half of the gospel according to John. There is something crazy with the Bible: I had read this gospel a lot of times already, but I discovered new stuff in it, verses that didn’t speak to me first but moved my heart yesterday. I woke up at 5:27 (according to my cell phone), exactly three minutes before the alarm I had set started to ring. The alarm sound is so horrible (even worse than reggae) that my brain probably forced me to wake up before it rang.

The flight was alright, except for the guy sitting in front of me who had probably not had any shower in the last past weeks. He stank like a skunk, it was pretty disgusting.

The shuttle took then two hours to drive me from the HHN airport to Francfort main station where I caught the train to Ansbach (near Nuremberg, Germany). Sitting 4 hours on the train, I had time to listen to a podcast series about love by Andy Stanley. I really love this guy. He’s a very practical preacher focusing on the all-day life according to the Bible.

Some friend of mine had left an envelope with a city map and a key to a flat at the station’s book store. I picked it up and carried my 28 kg fat backpacks through the city. The girl who lives in the flat (my dear friend Dany) is in the hospital because she broke her leg at Freakstock. I finally took a shower and used my last clean clothes and shoes. Then I went to have diner with Annette, and now I’m enjoying being alone, listening to the chilly Brown Feather Sparrow and EF.

My hands are swollen like two balloons and itch like hell, but I bought some cream from the drugstore to sooth the pain.

Frizon has been a great experience. It also was a pretty tough time with lots of strange thoughts going on in my head but it was also a great opportunity to spend time with Daddy and talk about that all with Him: My old problem of bad self-esteem and fear of people had popped up there in a pretty intense way… I spent a lot of time alone and wanted to talk with people I didn’t know to get to know them, but this stupid fear didn’t allow me to. Fuck, that sucks. But in spite of that, I made a few new friends anyway and they have been a blessing to me. That’s the most important of all.

110

That’s the amount of mosquito-bites I got on my arms, head and legs during Frizon. I counted this morning.

Some spontaneous Swedish thoughts.

Hej.

Jag skriver från Frizon i Örebro, Sverige.

Frizon is THE big meeting for all Christian youth from Sweden. There are almost no foreigners here. The only ones I’ve met either have a stand booth, are sellers, advertisers or musicians. The mix of all Christian cultures is very impressive. Yesterday I had a talk with a minister of the Lutheran state-church looking like a punk. I’m working with people from the Godarchy organization, Czech Republic. We have a big military tent called “Virustältet” (Virus Tent) where people can seat on carpets, drink tea, read alternative Christian books and have talks with some very cool Swedes. This area is the “left-radicals” area of the festival. Among the books in our bookshelf, “Anarchy and Christianity” by the French sociologist, theologian, philosopher and Christian anarchist Jacques Ellul, or a biography of the German doctor, theologian and revolutionary Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the first protestant theologian who officially protested against Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich. He gave his life to try to kill the Nazi Dictator, infiltrating the nazi system, being caught and executed a few days before the war ended. His theology on fellowship, discipleship and resistance are very interesting. There is also the book “Jesus For President” by the amazing hippie-prophet Shane Claiborne. The folks have great stuff to read. Great.

I’m sleeping on grass (the one that grows on the floor, not the one that ends in water-pipes), and as I woke up this morning, people were making pictures of me. I was packed in a hoodie, wearing ear plugs and sleeping “glasses”, all because of the mosquitos. My cheeks and lips are swollen anyway and itch like hell. My shift is over for today, so I will just go around and look at the different things going on here: workshops, soccer tournament, trampolines, lots of music shows, second-hand shopping etc. It’s pretty cool here, but it’s still a typical Christian festival. (Gosh, I hate this definition… To quote Rob Bell: Christian is a great name, but a poor adjective).

As a slept pretty bad last night, there are a lot of things going on in my head, thoughts spinning around et cœtera. I’m wondering about why Jesus seems to heal some people and some others not (some people got healed at Freakstock, and some other not (I’m in the second category). I’m wondering why I’m surrounded by people having broken hearts after a sick relationship. I’m wondering if my observations are right and if Scandinavian churches are really working together much better than in other countries. Is it just my fantasy?

And I’m wondering how God will do the things He claimed about my life. How and When? (I should definitely get some sleep, hahaha!) Well, the good thing is that something changed in me due to my experience with God: Earlier, every time someone got a prophesy about my life, I was trying to find a way to “go there” at once. But somehow, with the time and lots of failures (when I tried to do something by myself to fulfill the prophesy, it didn’t work at all), I learned that prophesy is always a proposition, an insight in a possibility given by God. And God makes it happen. Often when it’s expected the less. All things that had been prophesied about my life got repeated by a guy named Shane at Freakstock, it’s pretty crazy, the guy didn’t know me at all. So I’m thinking about these things and am already wondering who will pay for it, hahaha!

So… I will take a nap in the shadow (not only the girls are pretty hot around here) and then look around, try to get into some talks with people or go for a walk alone with my thoughts.

See ya!

PS: The DJ is playing reggae right now, it’s a reason more to publish this post and then leave the tent a.s.a.p.

Sverige

After a long, uncomfortable trip in a Tetris-like packed car, we arrived in Örebro one half hour ago. We will spend the night in a garden and have to get up pretty early to get to the festival.

I will be working at the Frizon Festival, so I hope I still will have enough time to make contacts with swedish alternatives and try to get to know the underground stuff going around. Well, no idea if Frizon is the best place for that. We’ll see.
Alcohol and smoking are forbidden at the fest. Hopefully I will survive the week.

So, I go to sleep in “my” wet tent outside. Good night.