Wow.  What a mixture of emotions I felt.  I turned on the peacock last Friday night with low expectations.  I will be honest.  I don’t watch the opening ceremony for the parade of athletes.  I know it is an amazing experience for them.  I know there is a lot of emotion.  I know that for some of the athletes those moments are the only ones in the spotlight.

No, I watch for the pageantry and the drama.  Well, I used to.  The last several Olympics I left with the same feeling: That was weird.  I was excited when the games were held in Atlanta.  Until I saw the people wearing odd costumes walking around on stilts.  My children were younger then and I can remember being worried they would be afraid.  Mostly because I was (a little).

Last Friday night was different.  I explained what I experienced this way: I didn’t know whether to cry or to throw up.

I know.  That is an odd mixture of emotions.  I wanted to cry because of the beauty I was experiencing.  Seeing the story of a people played out right before my eyes was overwhelming.  I was overwhelmed by what humans can accomplish.  The mixture of technology and sweat led me to believe we can accomplish anything.  (And I wondered why we don’t.)

I wanted to throw up because I was twisted up inside.  As I stared at 1,000 of forced smiles I remembered there was little choice involved.  Later as I watched Chinese gymnasts (were they really 16?) I listened to the stories of separation from parents and  signed to commitments to now limit injuries.  As I watched representations of religious thought in China, I remembered the report of a house church pastor and his wife now living on the streets of Beijing.  Or the images of monks paying the hard price for raising their voices.

I know.  We are told during the Olympics we are supposed to separate sport and politics.  Part of me just cannot do it.  So as I learn more about a culture 12 hours away, I find myself thinking about freedom.  I have a choice.  I like choice.  What will I do with it?