The Voice that Calls You Crazy

STORY & PHOTO BY ANTHONY ISENSEE DESIGN BY STEPHANY FIGUEROA

“I’m crazy,” my mind screamed as I tightened my grip on my steering wheel, my vehicle weaving down the unfamiliar gravel road. “I’m crazy,” I said out loud, as I made a right turn, leaving the woods and entering a gorgeous New Zealand valley with its rolling, green hills. “You’re crazy,” taunted the voice of caution, pounding its fists into the knot of anxiety in my stomach. “Turn back now,” it pleaded. “C’mon man, help me out and take yourself back to the land of the known.”

Despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach, I registered the irony in my inner turmoil. While I was pressing forward into something scary and new, behind me lay over 750 miles through Te Waipounamu, the more beautiful of New Zealand’s two main islands. Everything behind me was new, adventurous, crazy, and outside of normal. The mountains made me dizzy with their size and grandeur. It was the trip of a lifetime. I was throwing myself outside of the comfortable yet again.

I met Peter in an airport in Australia on the way to New Zealand. “Greymouth,” I thought out loud, sitting in my campervan, planning the next day’s itinerary. “Isn’t that where Peter said he lived?” I’d met this friendly character a week before, and while he’d been talkative, he hadn’t exactly invited me to come visit him. But the hand extended in friendship in a crowded airport terminal was firm in ways surpassing mere grip strength. “Go visit him,” some deep inner voice seemed to be saying. “Now, or you’ll regret it.”

I found myself turning to the internet to find out more about Peter’s community. “What was the name of the place that he said he lived?” I asked myself. “Holy Valley? Glory Valley? Glory-something-or-other?” I set Google upon the problem, turning up thousands of results and one perfect match: Gloriavale, a community described as small, isolated, and very Christian, tucked between two mountains. With an address in hand, I set my GPS and started ouvt.

“I’m crazy,” I said again, reading my GPS’s screen. “Peter’s not going to want me there. I barely met him, and here I’ll be, knocking on his door.” Trying to find some justification to turn around, my mind flashed back to our conversation in the terminal.

“Hello!” he said, gesturing to the instrument case beside me, the bane of any musician’s travels. “Is that a violin that you’ve got there?”

“Yes, it is!” I said. “How’d you know?”

“A couple of my girls play the violin,” he explained. “And ho, you’re not from Australia!” he added, reading my accent. “Where are you from?”

I explained that I was returning from a semester at a Bible College on Australia’s Eastern seaboard, and traveling to New Zealand for a holiday before returning home.

“Well, it’s a beautiful country! I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“How about you?” I asked, detecting a Kiwi lilt in his speech. “Where are you going?”

To my surprise, he tugged up his left pant leg, revealing a prosthetic. “Home” he said. “Farming accident. Just here for treatment that wasn’t available in New Zealand. The Lord blessed, and the community that I’m a part of was able to pay for me to come here.” His eyes began to tear up. “I can’t tell you how much it means to have them pay for my treatment. If I’d been anywhere else, I don’t think I would’ve been able to afford it.”

“Really?” My interest piqued, I asked him to tell me more about his community before the plane boarded.

My vehicle lurched over another bump in the gravel road and I was jerked back to the present. While I’d learned a few details about Peter, I didn’t think we’d quite been at the ‘I’d like to extend an invitation for you to come visit me in my semi-exclusive community’ level of our acquaintanceship. “Turn baaaaaack!” the voice of apprehension wailed. “You’re not wanted here! This is his home, not yours. You shouldn’t be invading like this!”

My doubts were momentarily forgotten as my vehicle crested a final hill, revealing white and grey buildings sprawled across the landscape. “You have arrived at your destination,” my GPS confirmed. Driving forward, I was greeted by three teenagers, all wearing the same dark blue outfit and herding sheep. “Where’re you goin’?” drawled one of them, his New Zealand accent reminding me of an older English in Amish communities. “I…I’m here to visit Peter,” I nervously chirped. “I met him this last week, and… well, I think God wants me to come visit him.” I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so anxious. I was fresh out of a three-month God-infused Bible college, trying to listen to God, and the feeling I’d had was

so strong. The three gestured me on, glancing back over their shoulders as I drove forward.

I arrived at the main building where Peter welcomed me enthusiastically into a large commons area. He listened, nodding, throwing interjections of ‘uh-huh’ and ‘ah’ into my story occasionally. “Well, I’m glad you’re here!” he remarked, smiling. “Let me show you around the place!”

We started in the school where happy children moved quietly from class to class. I heard the strings of violins ringing and learned their education was meant to praise God for the goodness and beauty that He’d placed in their world. English, chemistry, biology, and maths, they learned it all, he explained. Their children received a thorough and practical education from the smartest in their community, participating in labs where they were introduced to the working roles in the community. Eventually they were placed where they showed the most aptitude for, working to contribute to the collective good.

We toured the industries next. Peter explained how hundreds of cows were milked each day and showed me their massive gardens. He gave me a tour of the community’s apiary, bees buzzing in the air and honey in 50-gallon drums. “We sell all our excess to those outside the community,” he explained. “All the profits of our industries funnel into one bank account, and all expenses in the community are paid out of that same fund.”

As the morning wore on, Peter kindly invited me to eat with them. “It’s simple food” he told me, “we all eat at the same time, but you’re more than welcome to join us!” I was happy to accept his invitation and joined his family in the massive dining room, where I realized the size of the community. There were so many happy children, genuinely wanting to take care of their visitor. It had been a solid week since I’d had a home-cooked meal. Deliciously seasoned carrots boiled to perfection, creamy mashed potatoes with hints of their purple skin, and a generous serving of tender venison.

Peter then introduced me to several leaders of the community who came over to say hello. We talked for hours about Gloriavale’s beliefs and ideals. Some of them I agreed with (the chaos of the world, the need to serve and love others, the commitment to family and marriage), and others I couldn’t (a controlling patriarchy, arranged marriage, and a commitment to retreating completely from the ‘evil’ outside world). I didn’t critique or argue. They weren’t my beliefs and I didn’t feel the need to defend mine. I listened and learned about this unique peaceful New Zealand community, tucked away in a not-often visited corner of the country. You could see it in people’s interactions, feel it in the way that they treated a stranger, and hear it in the quiet, happy chatter all around. They no doubt had problems and difficulties, but for the most part, they struck me far more content than most. For that one day, I experienced their peace and contentment.

They tried to convince me to stay, believing God sent me there to join their community. They invited me to stay for however long I wanted to, but I told them no. I had a flight to catch, a family looking forward to my return, and a life that I was happy and content in.

Leaving the community, I had a sense of peace, my eyes opened to the spectrum of the human experience. I embraced something that has since become the subtle theme of my life: pushing myself to find the unexpected place that magic can truly happen. If I’d listened to the voice insisting “You’re crazy,” I would never have experienced this beautiful life, nestled among the mountains. I would have never ventured out in the first place, admitting the lunacy of following an inner voice prompting adventure and growth.

Now when the voice that yells “You’re crazy,” when some internal prodding grinds its heel into the pit of my stomach, I ignore them. I know the cautionary promptings are looking out for me, with my safety in mind. But I’m the one in control here. “Will this help me grow?” I ask. “Will pushing myself outside of this particular comfort zone teach me to see humanity and the world in a more beautiful way?” When I really listen for answers, the inner monologue quiets. I’m challenging myself for positive change and that’s something the old voice can’t argue against. “You’re crazy,” it continues to whisper.

“That’s okay,” I reply.

Anthony Isensee is an aspiring sophomore pursuing a degree in Computer Science, having temporarily placed his continued exploration of the planet on hold. He is passionate about photography (www.anthonyisensee.com/ newzealand for photos of his NZ adventures), prefers the quiet of nature, and finds life’s fulfillment in deeply connecting with and caring for others. Additionally, he would like to thank the wonderful Dr. Beverly Matiko for her kind encouragement and guidance in helping him find his voice in telling this particular story.

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