"Christ, can you make sense of all I saw?"

Yesterday, our HNGR class led the 40-minute chapel service for the Wheaton faculty and student body. Planning was pretty overwhelming at times- how do you explain six months in 40 minutes, how do you combine twenty five separate stories into one cohesive presentation, how do you communicate meaningfully with 2,400 people? But I'm really happy and thankful with how it came out. There really are an infinite number of ways HNGR chapel could be done, and every year's class has focused on some different elements. One main goal we had was to try and communicate "tension": how do we accurately recognize and mourn deep suffering, acknowledging that there ARE no easy answers or pat comforts, within the context of deep belief in an all-loving and merciful God?

Two of my sweet housemates, Sarah and Kendall, wrote this dialogue that they presented near the end of the service. I think they did a beautiful job of communicating the cries of so many of our hearts over what we saw (they were working in a children's hospital in Uganda and with genocide victims in Rwanda, respectively), as well as reminders of who Christ is and what He did. In moments over the last few months/year when I am overwhelmed and exhausted and confused by the reality of sin and horrificness, thinking about the fact that Christ ENTERED THIS, and OVERCAME THIS, has meant more than it ever has.

Hope it is meaningful for any of you, too.

...I wasn’t there when Gilbert’s father tried to burn him and his three siblings in their house. I was there the morning after they arrived at the hospital, people crowded around pointing and staring, their blistered skinless bodies, the smell of burnt flesh.

Lord, did you see that too?

I was there to see these children whimpering in pain, slowly dying, the nurses more concerned with the daily gossip than the children’s immediate need for IV lines.

Lord, have mercy on us.

But I was there to bring soda and bread to their mother, the one with the tortured and ashamed look on her face.

Lord, help us to know how to act.

I was there to see her dip small pieces of bread in to the soda so she could squeeze it into Gilbert’s mouth. I saw him slowly begin to heal. He smiled. He would respond to my touch. Then the next week, he sat up. I saw his siblings die, but Gilbert has another a chance at life.

What do we do? With the weight of the reality of both scarcity and abundance, despair and hope, death and life.

I saw those all in the hospital.

We realize that this is the human experience. We cannot avoid it, but we should not be afraid of it. For this is also the story of Christ, who lived fully as man, who lived the full spectrum of our human experience.

Christ, can you make sense of all I saw?

Your love was such that you became one of us, you didn’t leave us in our death, you didn’t leave us in our despair, you didn’t leave us alone. You didn’t leave us. You became one of us, you cried with us, you thirst with us, you hungered with us, you wept in front of the grave. You submitted yourself to our condition, you suffered, you died, and rose again. You gave us hope because in your new life, we find life. Behold, Christ is making all things new and we are called to participate . . . this is our story.

I want to believe this is true, but sometimes it is hard. I get confused, overwhelmed. I can forget our story. I can forget my role. I can forget how it ends.

We believe together. We mourn together and rejoice together, valuing both in their season. We remind each other of our story, we remind each other that we are called and being used by God, we remind each other that Christ has the final victory and one day every tear will be wiped away.

How do we live this?

We come together as one body. We remember our defining and unifying story: Christ died, Christ is risen and Christ will come again. We gather together at the table and are nourished by the body and blood of Christ. We come before God in prayer.

What do we say?

We pray as Christ taught us to, coming before God in this tension, as believers have for centuries.

Please join us in saying the Lord’s prayer...

Praying.

"It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak."

-Mary Oliver

but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.

We received the news on Thursday that my mother has breast cancer.

She is beautiful.

Please be praying for her,
and our family.

Yesterday:
Me: So Mom, how are you feeling?
Mom: Well honey, quite frantic. This snow is MELTING and I still need to get more skiing in...

...So she spent the weekend at a cabin cross-country skiing with some of her best buds.
Quite characteristic.
Oh I adore her.

Her friends are wonderful.

It has been a few days of emotional intensity, needless to say. I have the best friends in the whole world ever. WHOLE world EVER. WHOLE WORLD EVER. My friends are. The best. In it.

They have prayed prayed prayed. Sat with me when I cried. Done a lot of that, actually. This past year has been such a ridiculous experience of learning the value of freakin' PRESENCE. Sit And Be With People. Just do it. It's so much more helpful than like, anything else. It was me learning to do that with my girls in Bolivia, with my host family- first because it was the only thing I actually had the lingual ability to do, but then because I realized it was way more precious and important than anything else I could pretend to be able to do. And these last couple of months, it has been TEARS OF GRATITUDE for those people who are willing to do that with me. To sit and just be with me, be with my questions and tears and theological freak-out-moments and restructuring as I have come back from this crazy Bolivia thing. And now, they are sitting with me and my family as we start this new journey.

In addition to the sitting...
friends have also paused an all-HNGR group meeting to pray for my mom and our family, scooped me out to dinner, ignored my ignoring of their phone calls to show up and cuddle with me, rolled their eyes at my insistence that I was fine to handle the cafeteria and brought food to my house, rearranged spring break plans to get me home for longer, held my hand, rubbed my back, cried too, not believed me when I said I was okay, shared their own stories, been willing to drop everything to listen and be. Did I mention prayed for my mom?

Oh, and it's also been
Rachael, after giving me a huge hug and asking concerned questions,
sending me this email:
"Do you read My Life is Average ever? Read these...

Today, I got a new orange kitten. I live on the second story of my apartment building, which has a balcony. I felt it appropriate to blast The Lion King music and re-enact the scene where Simba is held up on the cliff. People gathered, watched, and then applauded. It was epic. MLIA...
Today I was listening to the radio, and they were asking little kids what they wanted for Christmas. All the answers were expected until one little girl. When she was asked, she said she wanted a little brother named french fries. Me too little girl, me too. MLIA

I love you babe,
Rach"

In my opinion, possibly the best response to finding out your friend's mom has cancer... ever.

...I like my parents all the time, but right now I am overwhelmed with gratitude as I think about how much I would never want anyone else.

...And how blessed all of us are with the support and love by which we are surrounded.

...And... not much more to say at the moment.

Thanks for loving us.

(Um, on a separate note, I've been really wanting to do a post about how great the music I've been listening to this semester is. Check it- current playlist contains: Owl City (Fireflies and Hot Air Balloon), Taylor Swift (All, but especially White Horse, Tim McGraw, Stay Beautiful... Taylor Swift really just makes EVERYTHING better, for the record), Deb Talan (All, but especially Big Strong Girl, Kinder Columbus, Thanksgiving, Tenderness, How Will He Find Me, The Gladdest Thing), Joshua Radin (All, but especially No Envy No Fear, Paperweight, These Photographs, What If You, Winter, Today... ok... really, just all), Train (Hey Soul Sister), and Glee.
I know right- Best. Playlist. Evvv-errr, be jealous. Or just copy me like you know you want to.)

To end: Some more MLIA's I found and loved.

Today I walked into my kitchen where my dad was helping my little brother with his math homework. While I was getting my glass of milk I noticed that my dad was holding a nerf gun and then proceded to watch him shoot my brother with it everytime he got a wrong answer. MLIA

Today, I was outside of Home Depot, when I almost got knocked over by an old man riding by on one of those orange cart things. His grandson ran up to me, apologized for his grandfather's bad behavior, then proceeded to run after his grandfather saying, "Alright Grandpa, if you get us kicked out of one more store, I'm telling Grandma." MLIA

Today, my twin brother tried to convince me that he doesn't exist and that I'm actually schizophrenic. He then refused to open doors because ghosts can't open doors. We're almost 18. MLIA

The other day I was in the car with my dad. The song Single Ladies by Beyonce came on and he started singing along. But he was singing, I'm a single A! I'm a single A! I'm a triple A! I'm a double A! He said he loved the battery song. I didn't even bother to tell him. I love my dad. MLIA

Currently listening to: Glee, "You Can't Always Get What You Want". ...But we get what we need.

He invents, creates, governs. Love, laughter, daffodils, a frosty sunset. A universe.

"Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him... But the picture I was building up last night is simply the picture of a man like S.C. — who used to sit next to me at dinner and tell me what he'd been doing to the cats that afternoon. Now a being like S.C., however magnified, couldn't invent or create or govern anything. He would set up traps and try to bait them.
But he'd never have thought of baits like love, or laughter, or daffodils, or a frosty sunset.
He make a universe?
He couldn't make a joke, or a bow, or an apology, or a friend."

-C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Such a good point.

I am sitting at a table in Caribou Coffee, in Wheaton, Illinois, watching the snow fall out the window. I am sticking my hair in a bun, pen held between my teeth, absent-mindedly looking through Grooveshark for good tunes for the afternoon. I am doing my reading for my graduate Abnormal Psychology class: from The Clinician's Handbook. This subsection: how to look for signs of physical abuse in a child...

"...There are a number of common physical signs of physical abuse. Burns of all types should cause concern, especially cigarette burns..."

...And I am cooking with the girls, we are laughing and chopping vegetables and the radio is playing reggaetón loudly, we are dancing. I grab one's hand to lift over her head and twirl her around. Without thinking, I gently rub my thumb across the round mark on her forearm, just above her wrist, as I set her hand back down. Faded but still raw looking. There are more on her upper arm, there are more on her back. I've seen them, hoping she doesn't notice my eyes linger- as she chats, cheerfully, as she throws her shirt in her laundry basket and pulls on another one, as she tells me about her morning and what she's going to do for the rest of the afternoon.

I am used to them now, they don't turn my stomach and take my breath the way they did when I first saw them. I don't think every time I see them, about what they mean, about where they came from... they are a part of life here, and I rebel against that with every cell of my body, my brain, my spirit, but it is how you continue to do this work day in and day out. Does she think about those marks and what they stand for consciously, when she looks at her arm, dozens of times a day? Do those memories cross her mind, or is she content in the now, in her life in this house, where she is finally safe? Does that mark on her arm seem as natural to her as the scar on my knee I got falling off my bike when I was five does to me? If so, is that good? Is that bad?...

...I secure the clip in my hair. I order my drink and laugh chatting with the barista. I underline in the book so I can remember the details for the test, but I write Lord have mercy in the margin.

the best made plans, are your open hands

"it's not now or never
it's not black, and it's not white
anything worth anything takes more than a few days
and a long, long night...

and even though you're a big strong girl
come on, come on, lay it down
the best made plans
are your open hands"

Guest post.

I've been wanting to link for awhile to my friend Steve. Steve keeps an incredible blog about being a Christian guy, who likes guys. I would say in total non-hyperbolic speech that I really think every Christian (and I'm sure many non-Christians) would benefit from reading it:

• The essays he writes are not just about being gay: they are about living a life of faith and faithfulness, and having everything in your life point you to falling more in love with your Lord. Every time I have read his writing, that has been the effect it's had on me. He writes about living as a guy who likes guys, and how to live seeking God and loving Him and others in that. I am not homosexual, but his words guide me to turn my heart to the Lord in my own struggles, joys, and pains. We're all more the same than we are different.

• You might not be gay, but you probably know someone who is. Statistically 1/10* people are attracted to the same sex. In my opinion (and experience) that's not different in the Christian community, including Wheaton. Knowing what our friends and neighbors are going through helps us to know how to support and love them. Which is really important!
• *Update: Okay, actually according to Steve the percentage may be smaller... BUT the point is it is definitely a significant number.
  

• His writing is beautiful, his voice is clear and also hilarious. (Title of his blog: "I Like Guys. There, I Said It." Need I say more?)
  

• And just in case anyone is reading my blog who doesn't read his and this is relevant, I'll extend the same invitation he posted in his first entry: If you are gay and have never told anyone, email him. Right now. (Or me, if you'd rather!).

OK. So now the actual awesome excerpt that made me post all this in the first place... bolds are mine. I freaking love his writing and I connected with this so much with where I am theologically/freaking-out-about-life-wise right now. (Linked from this recent post).

"...When God has actually spoken to me, two things tend to happen. Sometimes I think He has spoken to me and later realize He hasn't; usually in that case one of these two things hasn't happened. Both of them happened in that moment: I was overcome with relief, and I suddenly wanted to fall to my knees and confess.

Here is what I think God said. I think he said, "I demand obedience." Here is why I was relieved: there is nothing sexy about obedience. My ghost faculty fled in the wake of a higher authority, with much higher standards and a much easier yoke. In this case the relief was tied to the confession: I was relieved to be able to confess the right thing--not the intellectual copout I was so afraid (yet so much wanted) to make, but something much more important.

Here is what I confessed. I confessed placing an idolic importance on being right. I confessed my impossibly high standards of what right is. I confessed lying to myself and others to appear to be right. I confessed an underlying fear of being wrong. I confessed avoiding Amber and slandering Kayla out of fear that they were wrong.

And then I confessed being wrong. How to even articulate this? "As high as the sky is above Wyoming, so are Your ways higher than mine." I am wrong about so many things. For every thing I know there are a hundred I don't. The things I do know I don't even know; I know that because that's the idea that keeps me up at night, the idea that makes being wrong so scary--because if I'm wrong about one thing, am I wrong about everything? Have I ever known a damn thing in my whole life? All creation starts to slip away through a sieve--ideas, beliefs, even relationships--until it's just me, alone, at 2AM, in a bed I don't recognize, with a snoring roommate who could be Florence Nightingale for all I know.

This problem scares me so much, and I'm sad to say that fear drives almost everything I do. This is something bigger and deeper than Gay and Not Gay; if you really want to know what troubles me, read that last paragraph again.

So I confessed that.

And here I have this God--this God who knows me more than I can ever know, a God who I know, in some complicated way that I do not understand. There He is and has always been, just as plain as the sky I see through this windshield darkly, just as close, just as incomprehensible. If I have the capacity to know anything, even one thing, even half-well, it is only in that He knows me. And if I can know more, not in full but in part, it is because He is a God who teaches. Here is why I think God told me he demands obedience--because I came to Him seeking knowledge. Seek the Scriptures--obedience trumps knowing, and it frequently precedes it.

That said, what do I know? I am in a car in Wyoming. I am driving to Bend, Oregon. I like guys. I was loved into existence by the God of the universe. By His grace I know that, if nothing else. And for the first time ever, I really believe gay is OK. But I might be wrong. I'm probably wrong, in fact. I just don't know. I do know I don't know, which is all I need to know right now. And I know I follow a God who does not desire to lead me into untruth. And I know He demands obedience..."

I know right?

holding.

I spent the last six months cuddling with 15 Bolivian teenage girls. Really. It is a big joke among my HNGR class that every single one of my twice-monthly assessment letters included at least something about physical touch. But trust me, to leave it out would not have given a good picture of my time. Of course, it makes grad school applications somewhat complicated. "Description of Clinical Experience: Please list job title and responsibilities". Responsibilities... um... is there a way to make "Rubbed backs and braided hair" sound professional?...

I loved it. I loved every minute. Bolivian culture involves a lot of physical touch; these girls in particular were way affectionate. And plus hugging doesn't require perfect Spanish. But, it felt more important than that. Did, in holding these girls, I get to communicate to them that they were unconditionally accepted? Touch can say so much more than words sometimes. To feel held is such a big deal. Did loving touch from the staff and from me communicate safety to them, when before, physical contact had been a tool for their pain and harm?

Did they feel loved when we lightly touched their head or rubbed their back? When we cupped their cheek or tucked their hair behind their ear? Did they feel known, like they belonged? Was it easier, then, for them to visualize the love of God that Gonzalo told them about in devotionals every morning, Tino taught to them as he structured and organized their days, counseled them on work, disciplined them when necessary, that Gladys led them to in their counseling sessions?

One girl I literally spent probably an hour every day just cuddling on the couch with. She was a shyer one. She took awhile to warm up to me. But once we became friends, about half-way in, she wanted to be leaning on my shoulder or laying quietly with my arm around her as I chatted and laughed with everyone in the living room as much as possible. Mosoj Yan threw a goodbye dinner for me two days before I left, but I had forgotten some stuff at the house and had to run back the next day to grab it. I was going to try to make it a really quick trip in because I didn't want to have to see everyone again and start crying... "Yes, that's a good idea, don't let the girls see you. Maria Eugenia cried the whole night after you left." What did I even do that would be that important to her? I held her.

We receive love by having material needs being met: Mosoj Yan gave them good meals, clothing, warm and safe beds. We receive love by having hope and a future: Mosoj Yan teaches them skills, counsels them that they are worthwhile, works to get them education. We receive love through words: encouragement; through memories: laughter, dancing, pizza parties, good conversations.

And, we are bodies. We are physical bodies with physical needs, with needs to be touched and held and loved physically. At times when my language skills weren't enough but even more than that my brain and heart failed to be able to communicate to them how deep God's love for them is, how much I hated what had been done to them, every hope and dream I had for them... I could lovingly touch them. I could pray that as I held them they could receive that they were hold-able, acceptable, worth knowing and loving, deserving of more than abuse.

What a privilege, to be able to hold.

Psalm 121...

I lift up my eyes to the hills,
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

(I'm looking at photos and:)

...I miss Bolivia.

Thank goodness. It feels so right and healthy when that happens.

The Ramsiiinnngggs!!!!!!!!!!!!

...Are COMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today. Like right now.

Becky and the two oldest are flying into Chicago to spend the weekend hanging out in Wheaton with me. I am so so so so so so excited. I have been so incredibly blessed by that family, their love for Jesus, crazy hospitality, slightly (just slightly! or maybe a little bit more than that...) wacky and insane sense of humor, and their total adoption of me.

Which reminds me I've been meaning to post these pics from Christmas Eve:

The parents gave us all matching packages and...


Matching pajamas!! Obviously.



I know right?!

Oh I love them.

wanting to Love and Sing and Wonder

let us sing, though fierce temptation
threatens hard to bear us down
He has washed us with His blood
He has washed us with His blood
He has brought us nigh to God...

...Let us praise the Savior's name.

Hope.

"Hope cannot be taught,
but it can be borrowed from hopeful people."

They told us that on the HNGR retreat. It made me cry.
(Story of my life, at the moment... no... I mean, really.)


I'm having a hard time dealing with remembering those stories
without being in the context of Mosoj Yan, and its beautiful work.
I told people all the time when I was there
that I thought my faith was staying strong
because of how I saw those workers living out theirs.
But...
I don't know that I realized just how much it was so.

I borrowed a lot of hope from them.

And they, working day in and day out with those girls,
giving their lives with such joy to
loving-teaching-working-laughing-praying-disciplining-cooking-helping-holding
had the right to claim it.
If they saw hope,
it must be so.
Oh, how grateful I am for their faithfulness...
now: for the girls' sake and for mine.

I remember their faith and rely on it.
And I try to draw strength from the memory of their hope...
but, well.
It's harder to borrow from across an ocean.

To be honest.

I'm back to not knowing how to blog.
But back to wanting to try.
More to come...

"Home is where the heart is, even if you can't remember which box you packed it in."

-Greeting card I received in my College Post Office box today from my mother.

Moms are good at getting it :-).

Picture thought for the day.

(Many things about tomorrow I don't seem to understand
but I know Who holds tomorrow
and I know Who holds my hand)

a right and good and joyful thing

It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere, to give thanks and praise to You, Father Almighty; our Creator and Lover, O Giver of life.

You make all things and call them good. You love us into being, You form us in Your image, and breathe into us the breath of life. When we turn away, and our love fails, Your love remains steadfast. You delivered us from captivity, and made covenant to be our sovereign God. You stretch forth Your hand to heal.

"...The Lord be with you."
"And also with you."
"Lift up your heart."
"We lift them up to the Lord."

...God raised Him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible
for Him to be held by it.

Acts 2:24

You Know You're Living with HNGR People When...

My living situation this semester is an awesome just-off-campus house with six other girls who did the HNGR program. Here's a bit of what's been overheard in the past week. You know you're in the HNGR house when casual conversation includes...

"Is the coffee in the Chai drawer?"
"Hmm, where should I hang my hammock?"
"I think I might have lice." "Oh don't worry, I have shampoo in my bag."
"IT IS SO FREAKING COLD IN THIS HEMISPHERE."
"I hate So-and-so... her Swahili is SO good."
"Want to go to the library with me esta tarde?"
"I love not having to bucket shower!"
"Why is it SO COLD?!!"
"This one time in Rwanda..."
"This one time in Peru..."
"This one time in Honduras..."
"This one time in Uganda..."
"This one time in Bolivia..."
"C-C-C-CCOOLLDDD!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I was ten minutes late to class today." "Oh, nice! I was going on twenty!"
"Can I borrow some earrings?" "Sure, want these ones shaped like elephants?"
"What color alpaca wool do you want for your socks?"
"It feels so weird to flush my toilet paper."
"LAUNDRY MACHINES ARE AWESOME!!!"

Between us we have five countries represented, a lot of different experiences, and a ton of laugher, love, and occasional overwhelmed-freak-out-ness. We have wall hangings from Rwanda, hammocks from Bolivia, jewelry from Uganda, blankets from Peru, wood carvings from Honduras. We have many stories and many questions. There's lots of cuddling, lots of tears, and a ton of grace. It's going to be a good semester.

Connections.

On the HNGR debriefing retreat last week, one theme that kept coming up among most everyone's stories was that, "It feels like a dream". It's so true. An entry in my journal from my first week back reads, "...Lord, was I really there? Did I really walk those streets, dodge those Trufis, go to that café, eat in that kitchen, sleep in that bed every nigh, hug those girls? Really, I was in Bolivia??". I slipped right back into being home so naturally that it was easy to believe I'd never left.

And honestly, I’ve liked it that way. Thinking about Bolivia is painful. Missing those people is painful. Thinking about not seeing them again in any sort of predictable time is painful. Remembering my life there, which I can’t have any more, is painful. Painful, painful, painful- so as much as I’ve been able to avoid thinking about it, I have. I didn’t call anyone of my Bolivian friends until I’d been home almost two weeks, which is so out of character for me my parents were actively worried. And then I did call, talked for five minutes each to my host mom and Albergue’s director, patted myself on the back (great job for calling! Yeah! You totally are dealing with HNGR, absolutely…)… and haven’t kept up any contact at all otherwise. Tried not to think about the possibility that that would be hurtful to them; tried not to think about why I wasn't calling.

I missed Bolivia actively and consciously and happily for the first time a few days ago. Not in an angsty, oh-no-where-do-I-fit-in-now way, not just missed speaking Spanish. I was listening to music I had listened to the last week I stayed overnight in Albergue and suddenly thought about the tiny, inconsequential, beautiful mundane specifics of what it was like to wander around its hallways, waking girls up for school and supervising breakfast being made, and missed it. I almost cried with joy. I was there! It was normal! And even though I am glad to be back, I miss it! It felt… I think the word would be… healthy.

The next day I left for the HNGR retreat and then I came back and Laura got married, so I haven’t had much of a chance to act on this whole realization. But this post-wedding morning, Christine was heading out for a run and I said, “I think I’ll stay here and call Bolivia”.

On the retreat realizing I needed to do this, soon, and keep doing it more regularly, I felt scared. It’s been One Whole Month And Two Whole Days. What if I missed my window of opportunity to stay closely connected? What if I’ve already slipped from close friend into That American Who Worked Here Once?

Except the second Gladys heard my voice she almost started crying and screamed bloody murder and bombarded me with questions about how was I, why hadn’t I called, they miss me so much, this girl’s been up to this and that one that and so-and-so is home with her family now, thanks be to God, and I have to come back for her wedding in December because SHE GOT ENGAGED (!!!!), and they’re praying for me and- oh… what? Oh, the girls want to know do you have a boyfriend yet? No? They want to know if you’re SURE?? Okay, they’re going to keep looking for a Bolivian one then- anyway, and they love me and WHY haven’t I emailed them and when am I coming back??

So I guess they haven’t forgotten me yet.

And I was happy after talking to her in a way I haven’t been since I got home. Maybe happy isn’t even the right word- I’ve been very happy to be home. Today, besides the joy of just hearing her voice and catching up on the girls... I felt like myself in a new and so-wonderful way, a way I didn’t two seconds before I called.

Because myself is connected to Bolivia now.

I went there. I lived there. I worked there. I spoke there. I loved there. I was loved there. It happened.

I can’t live fully and rightly, I can’t be who God wants me to be, when I pretend it didn’t happen. In the same way that, even though I live in Illinois and have more or less come to terms with that, I get antsy and subconsciously stressed-out-feeling and just not right when I go too long without touching base with my Maryland friends… I need to stay connected with Bolivia. Even if it’s painful, and difficult to do from far away.




Photos: Gladys teaching me how to love girls in November, photos from my goodbye party at Albergue last month

She hath wed.

As of this afternoon, my beautiful roommate Laura is now...

Mrs. Andrew Tebbe!!

(...WHAT THE HECK MY ROOMMATE IS A WIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

She was a gorgeous bride and the day was absolutely lovely. More to follow, but here is just a taste of the celebration for now:










After dinner, toasts, laughter and celebration, the happy couple departed to much love, prayer, and cheers.


We were a little tired...


But so very happy and privileged to have gotten to stand with them on this day as they made these vows.

happy new year.

Enter, Lord Christ-
we have joy in Your coming.
You have given us life;
and we welcome Your coming.

I turn now to face You,
I lift up my eyes.
Be blessing my face, Lord;
be blessing my eyes.
May all my eye looks on
be blessed and be bright,
my neighbors, my loved ones
be blessed in Your sight.

You have given us life
and we welcome Your coming.
Be with us, Lord,
we have joy, we have joy.
This year is a new year,
the opening door.
Be with us, Lord,
we have joy, we have joy.

-New Year blessing from CDP


We do have so much joy.

Happy 2010 (from Budapest!!). I am so grateful for so many things this night and this year.

Off to Hungary!

I decided that trying out one new continent a year wasn't quite enough for me, so I leave today to ring in the New Year in Budapest with my great friend Matt and his family (they're American, but his parents are missionaries there).

I am so. so. so. so. so (SOOOOOOOO) excited about this.

See y'all in 2010!!!!!!!!!

Oh... and just for clarification purposes:

Frequently Asked Questions

So, are you and Matt Hiltibran DATING?!!
Nope, we're just good friends.

But... you seem to really enjoy spending time together.
Well, that generally is considered part of a good friendship.

But... he's a guy.
He definitely is.

And... you're a girl.
Most decidedly so.

(confused pause)
So... that means... you are CLOSE FRIENDS OF OPPOSITE GENDERS??!!
Yes, and this has in fact been pointed out to us before.

Oh. So, you're close friends, of opposite genders... but are you that kind of not dating where you're really like, sort of dating, but not, but really are, and are going to? You know?
Um. I don't really speak Dawson's Creek, so I'm not completely sure what you're saying, but I think it has something to do with whether or not we have plans to date in the future. The answer is no.

So you know that means you're like SO DUMB, right?
Yeah, both sets of parents have made that pretty clear to us over the years. You can join them and my roommates in praying for changes of heart. In the meantime we're having a great time enjoying a fruitful and encouraging friendship! Thanks for your concern!

:-)

a song, a song, high above the trees, with a voice as big as the seas.

"Therefore, the Lord Himself will give you a sign:
a virgin will be with child
and bear a Son,
and she will call him
Emmanuel:
God with us.

...And His name will be called
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God,
Eternal Father,
Prince of Peace."

Isaiah 7:14, 9:6

Gchat conversation, around midnight on 12/24:

me: hey,

heading to bed but wanted to say merry christmas eve!

Chet: aw thanks

have a good night!

24 hours till bingo

(aka Christmas)

me: hahaha

like

Jesus is born: bing-OOOO!!!!!!!
?

Chet: right
its just an expression I use

Merry Christmas, everybody. Bingo! Jesus is born. :-)

I'd love to say I'm spending my first weeks back in the country and the week before Christmas resting, reflecting, peacefully enjoying the season...

but the fact that I just pulled up Google for the sole purpose of desperately needing to find this quote... probably answers that question.

"One reason we are so harried and hurried is that we make yesterday and tomorrow our business, when all that legitimately concerns us is today.
If we really have too much to do, there are some items on the agenda which God did not put there.
Let us submit the list to Him and ask Him to indicate which items we must delete.
There is always time to do the will of God.
If we are too busy to do that, we are too busy."

-Elisabeth Elliot

Trying really, really hard to remember that.

Have I mentioned that I love the Ramsings?

My computer "rang" this evening and I saw that my second family was calling me on Skype. This hasn't been unusual over the last 16 months as they returned from 10 months in Uganda only two weeks before I left for Bolivia, but we don't usually use it when we're um, in the same town... but I'd been planning on going over there today but was too snowed in (two feet and counting!) to drive or even walk the couple miles to their house.

They were all "Emily, want to do ADVENT with us?!!!".

Which of course I did.

So they all gathered 'round... the computer, and the kids took turns reading their sections of the nightly reading to me, making sure to hold the book up to the webcam so that I could see the pictures, too.

And then we all prayed together over videochat and blew each other kisses and said good night.

I really love that family, man.

From Mac screen-shot-taker:

"Don't miss the pictures Em!"


Some CRAZY + beautiful people I love.



Advent candles. Jesus, we are so seriously happy that You came to earth, for real.

I don't have a twitter so I am writing this here:

My SISTER who I have not seen in more than Six Freaking Months...

gets home from her first semester of college in TWO HOURS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Even though I am exhausted I am way too excited to sleep. Baking abounds.

YEAHHHHHHHHH

The last time we saw each other- on our way to take me to the airport in June...


I really just like her a lot.

crying.

After my host siblings left Cochabamba in October, I spent more than one evening sitting silently with my host mom. I would hold her hand while she cried, and usually I would cry too. The grief in that house in Bolivia was so thick some nights you could feel it tangibly. I wanted to run away from it. I've never grieved like my host parents have had to this year and I had no idea what to do (and even when I did know I didn't always do it).

But I could sit with her when she cried.


About two weeks ago, I was in my Bolivian bedroom staring at the suitcases set out on the floor. I thought about the fact that I was about to fill them with my things and leave this place forever, and I started to panic. I internationally-called my friend Matt, asked him to pray for me, and promptly burst into tears. It's hard to know what to do when someone you love is crying in another country. But he prayed for me, and he listened patiently, and he spoke words of encouragement and confidence in my ability to live the next few days.

And he sat with me, even from across an ocean, as I cried.


Yesterday, my friend Nate spent the day here on his way home from grad school in North Carolina. Nate did a HNGR internship in Ethiopia last year and he remembered the weeks after returning. We mostly just had a blast hanging out around my town and catching up on the last semester, but for about an hour we sat at my kitchen table and he gave me the great gift of letting me talk about Bolivia. I talked about Mosoj Yan, I talked about my girls- for the first real time since getting home a week ago. I started to cry multiple times in that conversation.

I talked about hearing and seeing stories of bodies abused and lives that had been empty of love in a way for which I have no context. I talked, too, of seeing an organization that acted out the words of the Gospel in a way that made changes, and how that led me to hope I don't think I could have gotten to by myself. I talked about Romans 8:28, "For we know that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him", and how that verse doesn't mean the same things to me that it used to.

But at one point I heard myself say something that took me by surprise:

"When I would hear the stories of the girls' backgrounds...it was like He was crying, too."

Seeing the situations some of these beautiful, beautiful girls were born into had me yelling and crying confusion at Him pretty loudly at times. Yelling questions, mostly. I get the concept that His ways are higher than our ways and that's been comforting to me in most of my confused moments... but really, Lord? Really, this is for good? Show me how. I don't see one good thing about this.

When I heard myself say that to Nate, about God crying, it clarified for me a little of why, even with the questions and yelling, I didn't seriously doubt His goodness on HNGR. I would hear those stories and cry and somehow, I knew He was crying, too. I knew that if I was devastated by their broken hearts and bodies, He must be uncountably more.

Lord, I am grateful You sit with us, always. I am grateful You cry.

"...Didn't You see [them] crying?
And didn't You hear them call Your name?...

I didn't notice You were standing here
I didn't know that that was You, holding them
I didn't notice You were crying, too
I didn't know that that was You washing their feet..."

-David Crowder, "All I Can Say" (slightly edited)- I listened to that song so many times this year.

what more can He say than to you He hath said

getting a lot of comfort from this right now:

how firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord
is laid for your faith in His excellent Word
what more can He say than to you He hath said
who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?


All of it is good:

...fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed,
for I am thy God and will still give thee aid
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand

when through the deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
for I will be with thee thy troubles to bless
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress

when through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply
the flames shall not hurt thee; I only design
thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine

the soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;
that soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, no never, forsake!

...in every condition: in sickness, in health,
in poverty's vale, or abounding in wealth,
at home and abroad, on the land, on the sea, --
the Lord, the Almighty, they strength e'er shall be.

How I Really Spent The Last Six Months...

(I am so enjoying having a fast enough internet connection to finally post these...)


Here's a couple glimpses into what my HNGR experience really looked like on a daily basis...


It's definitely NOT all angst :-)

(Videos including me actually dance partying were very intentionally left unposted...)

Re-Entry Week Pumpkin Bread

My "happy place" over the last six months when I needed a little ummm retreat from Bolivia was to page through recipe sites and bookmark anything that looked especially yummy and fun to make for when I came home (...okay, I realize that sounds lame, but I don't have a Facebook... I get my kicks where I can). Many an afternoon brinking on absolute culture-shock/homesickness meltdown was held together by the web-surfing promise of ingredient shopping, two-bowl mixing, and preparing and serving a delicious new dinner or dessert.

(...Yeah, I definitely feel lame writing that. But it is true!)

I finally got my hands on some flour and my kitchen yesterday and made a fun and Christmasy-scented (!!) pumpkin bread:

• 1 (15 ounce) can pumpkin puree (ooh, ooh side note, I used organic pumpkin!! Which... is only because I happened to be shopping at Trader Joe's with Becky that morning and pumpkin was on sale. And nothing else I used was organic. But... it makes me feel cool anyway.)
  
• 4 eggs
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup applesauce
  
• 2/3 cup water
• 1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
  
• 1 and 1/2 cups white sugar
• 1 and 1/2 cups brown sugar
  
• 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
• 2 and 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
• 1 teaspoon ground cloves
• 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour three 7x3 inch loaf pans. (Mine actually came out to two full size loaf pans and one small one, and probably could have all fit in the two.)
2. In a large bowl, mix together pumpkin puree, eggs, oil, water, vanilla and sugar until well blended.
   
3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger.
4. Stir the dry ingredients into the pumpkin mixture until just blended. Pour into the prepared pans.
5. Bake for about 50 minutes in the preheated oven. Loaves are done when toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.

It's based off of this recipe, but mine has a few changes... I added the vanilla and doubled the spices, and the original recipe called for all white sugar but I like using at least partially brown. I also only used the applesauce because we didn't have enough oil for the called-for cup, but I actually really liked it. I think next time I would just use all applesauce and cut the oil- it makes it slightly more cakey (which it could afford), it's a little healthier, and the flavor was great.

Spicewise, you could pretty much do whatever you want. With what I listed, it comes out VERY clove-y. I think next time I might halve that and replace it with more cinnamon (yum!). And I couldn't super taste the vanilla so I might experiment with a bit more of that.

I wished the pumpkin flavor was a little stronger but I'm not sure how to do that without changing the texture of the bread. I've heard there's a pumpkin spice you can buy?

OH YEAH AND: I definitely think it would be great with chewable somethings. Chocolate chips or personally I'm thinkin' CRANBERRIES!!

Overall: very sweet, very moist, and even if you're not hungry slightly addictive. And best of all fun to make!! Which I did while listening to Christmas music on my laptop and calling out questions every five minutes to my poor mother who was trying to read in the living room. I love Christmas and I love being home.

Home...

I am in Maryland!!!

It is lovely, lovely, lovely to be here.

I am thoroughly enjoying hot showers, a comfortable bed (in a blessedly mice-free bedroom), some variety of food, winter weather, and traffic that stops at red lights.

Way more than any of that though, I am so loving spending time with these precious family and friends I so missed.

My parents, characteristically, pretty much haven't stopped hugging and kissing me since picking me up at the airport on Monday (love it), I'm back to darting in and out of the Ramsings' kitchen to glean wisdom from Nick and Becky and scoop children out for hot chocolate twice a day (literally), and I've gotten to hold Rex TWICE in three days... I figure if I continue at this rate eventually I'll make up for being on another continent the first four months of his life (I still can't believe my friends are allowed to do crazy things like have babies without me present, I mean really).

And, super fun, some crazy bosom friend who had been JUST SO SORRY she couldn't make it home until next week and she's REALLY GOING TO CALL ME A LOT so we can talk my first week home since it's just SO UNFORTUNATE WE CAN'T SEE EACH OTHER... had been super LYING!!!, and totally showed up on my doorstep Monday night.

And some lunches and walks and visits and phone calls... it's just been so lovely. I really have the best friends and family, um, I believe the word is EVER. (My mother snorted when she heard me tell someone on the phone that I'd been "pretty quiet" since coming back... ??). I feel so warm and fuzzy and overwhelmed with joy and what-the-heck-why-is-my-life-so-filled-with-amazing-people-and-love-ness all the time.

Bolivia front:
Goodbyes were so sad but really really rich and affirming and good.

I have absolutely not begun to process... anything... yet. It has not sunk in that I am not in Bolivia and/or am not returning (that I have plans for).

That (the processing) will probably, aka definitely, be hard when it happens. Which it needs to. And it will.

I did go sit quietly at a coffee shop today with my Bible and journal, and acknowledged to God and myself that I was there and now I'm here. I cried (a little bit) for the first time since the airport. I think all those things were good.

I also journaled in Spanish, which felt good. I was very relieved to discover I hadn't forgotten it all already. 'Cause I've heard, you know, lots of people forget whole languages in three days. No but seriously. I felt real relief. After all these months of thinking bitter angry thoughts at verb conjugation charts, I totally am missing it... a lot.

If I think too much about all these faces I'm not sure what will happen. But I need to. Please feel free to ask me about them. I like it (so much it makes me want to cry with gratitude) when people do.

...

'K. More random posts to come.

I will say that if you are thinking about going to another country for six months and then coming back, I really highly recommend coming back at Christmastime. Coming home to snow on the ground and frost in the air and carols playing non-stop and general merriment has, true story, added even more joy to my general atmosphere of life... on top of seeing people I love for the first time in months. I really really love coziness and it makes me think of everything that is beautiful and good about life, which is helpful for transitioning from something like this.

...

what else?...

My blog is now playing a lovely Christmas music playlist so please click on over and hear.

I baked pumpkin bread for my mother tonight. From scratch. I'll post the recipe later :-)

I love you all so much friends. I cannot thank you enough for the love and support throughout this year. The adventure continues and I hope we shall all continue together.

...but to LOVE a great deal.

Good to remember in moments of overwhelmedness and what-the-heck-should-I-be-doing?!!-feelings (not that I'm having those this week or anything):

"O my God, You are there before me. What will You that I think or that I say to You out of the depths of my heart?
'I do not ask you to think a great deal, but to love a great deal,' the Holy Spirit answers. 'Adore me, love Me, contemplate Me; tell me and repeat over and over again that you love Me, that you give yourself to Me, that you long for all My children to give themselves to Me and love Me.'

All is sleeping, all is at rest. Thank You, my God, for calling me to adore You and love You. Hold my eyes open and set wide the gates of my soul. Let me lose and sink myself in the contemplation and love of You."

-Charles de Foucald

let me love a great deal this week, Lord. above worrying about saying the perfect last thing or doing the perfect last thing or visiting every last place i have loved in this city or closing out in some perfect way so that i never have any regrets...

let me simply strive to love hard.

Sad.

(This is, I think, a sort of upsetting entry, so read with caution, okay?).


In my independent study interviews on the girls' perceptions of sexuality,
I ask them if they can please describe their first sexual experience for me.

(And yes, I feel like a bold jerk doing so every time, even though I know it will help Mosoj Yan and thus them to have the information).


On Friday, one of the girls told me how she'd had sex for the first time at age 16,
with a boy she'd known for two months.

And my immediate response?
Was a HUGE wave of relief,
and I inwardly began shouting praises to God.

Because, unlike the other girls I'd interviewed that week,

she'd been over the age of 13,
and it had been consensual.


A year ago, to hear her say that,
would have made me want to cry.

The fact that now I didn't want to...
makes me want to cry.


This organization does good work... this organization does good work... this organization does good work...

God does good work, God does good work, God does good work...