Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

I'm gradually making my way back overseas again and saying plenty of goodbyes along the way. I spent a few days in Scotland getting in as many conversations as I could with people, grabbing the few things that I left there and soaking up the things I enjoy about that place. I'm so thankful for my time there to rest, pray, process and just be. The people at the Scotland base welcomed me with open arms and created a space for me to heal and spend time with God.


My first morning I went to get a cup of coffee and a scone at a local place and then walked along the beach. It's a bit hard to see in this photo above, but the Isle of Arran is in the distance, but all you could see was the snow covered peaks of the island and it was perfectly framed by the clouds. It was so beautiful and I took this photo with my camera phone because my nice camera has a dead battery and the charger is still in Af-stan.

It was hard saying goodbye to my family. It almost felt that if I stayed that we could stay in this incubated period of mourning my grandpa's death, but leaving was like saying "I'm moving on with my life." The emotions of it is struck me more than I was anticipating. The next time I return home (wherever home really is any more), it will be a very different place.

On a positive note, I've enjoyed the phase of being Auntie Danika to Bella, my brother and sister-in-law's daughter and their new daughter they are expecting in May. I managed to make two blankets while I was home, one for each girl and went on a bit of a shopping spree for new clothes for the girls. I only wish I was going to be home when Alexee is born! Here are some photos of the blankets:

for Princess Bella:

A pink blanket for a pink-loving princess.

and for baby Alexee:





She's been a very active little one so I found it fitting that I found a pattern for a monkey blanket. It was a bit more work than I expected being that it was color-work and it's two-sided. But, I'm very happy with the way it turned out and was so happy to be able to give these to Bella and Rachael before I left.

Goodbyes never get easier, in all their forms. You would think in my line of work where people are constantly in and out of my life, I'd get used to it or find better ways of dealing with all the emotions that come with saying goodbye. Yet, I suppose it's a good thing that it's hard to say goodbye because it means you love and are loved.

A Chicago getaway

This last weekend I had a beautiful gift of a plane ticket out to see some good friends. I was so happy to be able to travel out and see Sasha and Beth and catch up on life and everything else. It was a quick trip...I stayed 2 nights, but I was able to see where both these beautiful and wonderful women are living and where post-grad school life has taken them.

Saturday we managed to cram in breakfast downtown, a stroll through the Art Institute (free all February for those who want to go!), a little shopping, coffee, a Valentines' comedy sketch (pretty hilarious...people send in their breakup letters, texts, voice mails, etc, and they turn it into a show once a year. Very cathartic for the broken-hearted or single at Valentines' Day), and my dear birthday buddy Sasha (her birthday is 2 days before mine) made me tiramisu early morning the day I arrived which we took spoons to in Beth's apartment and finished off the next day.

Sunday was a day for church downtown and another coffee shop and then off to the suburbs to hang out at Sasha's, pray for the people she's been interacting with and enjoy a wonderful homemade dinner. Later that evening, a Turkish friend of hers called concerned about a bump her baby boy had taken to the head. We went over and I immediately felt at home....cushions on the floor, tv blaring, vibrant curtains and plaques of Mecca and passages from the Qu'ran on the wall. The kids ran around and the tired mother talked and asked me questions about not being married and such. I felt instantly back in Central Asia...and I loved it! The next day we stopped by to see how the little boy was doing and the woman had made an Uzbek rice dish I LOVE and homemade bread and green tea. Delish! If I moved back to the US, I would be her neighbor!

I'm so, so, so thankful for friends that are willing to stay connected despite the distance and love moments like these where I can descend into peoples' lives and share our hearts, our prayers and a few laughs together. These ladies are the best valentines a girl could have!

Turning 30

So, I turned thirty today.
I think your thirtieth is one that there is a lot of hype leading up to, but it felt a bit anticlimactic today. I thought I was either supposed to have some kind of emotional crisis or be jumping up and down about all that life holds. It felt a bit like the day after yesterday.

All that being said, I'm pretty happy to be thirty. I have no regrets about life. I've seen things and had experiences that people classify as "once in a lifetime" and I get to view as another ordinary day. I've seen much of the world. I've gotten to make a difference in peoples' lives. I've been deeply impacted by other people. I don't know how much more living I could have crammed into these thirty years!

And I look forward to what is ahead. I have no idea what truly is ahead. (do any of us really?) But after next December I have no idea what life may hold. I'm such a planner and not having at least a plan in process used to really freak me out. But, now I'm seeing the potential of all the possibilities and knowing I'm following in the footsteps that God has laid out for me. And that makes the unknown exciting rather than scary.


Today my family didn't have plans until the evening so I pulled my brother out of bed at about 10am this morning and asked if he wanted to go x-country skiing with me at Giants' Ridge, the nearby ski hill here in northern MN. I went downhill skiing on Wednesday but have never tried the x-country ski trails. We rented skiis and hit the trails. Well, I am a much better down hill skier than I am x-country. I was wobbling as I tried to skate ski, and I forgot what a full-body workout it was!

Here's some photos from our day:



My brother William was a brave soul as I dragged him along. He took a number of spills but kept getting up and pushing on.



I was pretty excited that I was upright most of the time and enjoyed the trails. However, as we were coming down a hill and around a corner, another skier was just standing at the bottom of the hill. William fell to avoid hitting her, and I tried getting off the track to avoid hitting him. Well, I basically belly-flopped head first on to the groomed trail, going down the hill at a pretty good clip, and I'm pretty sure I bruised or cracked a rib on my right side. If I laugh or breathe deeply I feel a good amount of pain. Funny, I've been rocketing my body down mountains on skis for a number of years and have never done that and then I go down a bit of an incline going cross country and get a pretty good injury.



But after it all, we still had smiles on our faces! I'm thankful for a brother who's willing to get out and do some fun stuff with me. I see my family so rarely so times like these are ones I'll treasure for a long time.

So, cheers to a new decade. I hope there are many adventures to come, many new friends to meet, continued relationships that will deepen and grow, and a God who is the spearhead of it all and loves me so much that he is writing me a pretty awesome story.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes!

Sorting through memories

It's amazing how the line between life and death is so thin. One can jump across it so fast. You lose a loved one in an instant. But, after that death, the changes come...some slowly, some hitting like a freight train.

This last week I have tackled the task of cleaning out my grandpa's office. We are going to transform it into a guest room as the first order of business in all that is ahead this year with my aunt and uncle coming back for a season and helping to get the house ready to sell.

I have to say, this office was my grandpa's lair. I was sorting and tossing things and realizing if he were alive, I never would have been allowed to do it. I felt mischievous in a weird sort of way. Like I was eating out of the cookie jar or sneaking money from his wallet. And I've realized, my grandpa hated to throw anything away. He'd replace things that needed replacing...like, let's say his wallet wore out after years of use, he'd buy a new one. But, I found all the old worn out ones in his desk. And he saved not only every bill and receipt over at least the last 15 years, but he didn't even throw away the envelopes the bills came in. Whew. It's been quite the task.

But, tomorrow some guys from the church are coming to take the desk and filing cabinets into the church. So, I had to get everything ready...I'm happy to show a piece of my work:



Here's the desk area that is clean not only on top, but inside and underneath. You literally could not see the top of this desk to begin with.

But, in the midst of throwing a lot of things away, I came across some real treasures as well. I had my share of tearful moments, remembering the legacy my grandpa left and the life that he lived. Here are a few things I found:


This photo is of my grandma and grandpa in their first year of marriage. What a good looking couple!


These are my grandpa and grandma's high school diplomas. My grandpa graduated from Gilbert High School in 1956 (I attended this same school while I was in Junior High), and my grandma graduated from Biwabik High School in 1960 (where I went for a short time in Elementary school).

And I also found my grandpa's senior yearbook:


He was quite the handsome guy!


And here my grandma signed my grandpa's yearbook, full of giddiness as you can see by her excitement about being the "future Mrs. Gene Potter." How cute!

My grandfather was by no means a perfect man, but he was one who provided for and cared for his family and loved so many people along the way. It's been a hard process to sort through his very personal room, but I'm thankful for the experience. I feel like I know him a bit better. And I still miss him as much as ever.

A different kind of book recommendation....

I've not been too diligent with my blog lately, not because I don't have much on my mind, but I have felt as though I keep having the same thing on my mind. These last few weeks my grandma, my aunt and myself have begun a journey of helping my grandma move forward in a life that no longer includes my grandpa. It's a task that I feel we are all doing out of necessity (vs. desire) and therefore has had it's stressful and difficult moments. In many ways, we are protected within our little bubble of grief but all of us are facing major life transitions that we could not have anticipated even a few months ago. There have been moments that reminded me of the novel "The Secret Life of Bees" in which a bunch of sisters and friends living on a bee farm face all that life has brought them or taken away from them together. I am thankful for our moments of breakdown and tears, the arms that are always there to give a hug, the frustration or anger that we each take with a grain of salt because we know it comes from a place of deep grief and hurt, and the moments of laughter and odd impulses (like the day we burnt piles and piles of wood from the yard, keeping a fire blazing well into the night and roasting bratwurst on precariously assembled skewers).

Our pastor gave my grandma the book Tear Soup, by Pat Schwiebert & Chuck DeKlyen, which looks like a children's book but is story about a woman walking through grief. In the book, making tear soup is the metaphor for the grief and it shares the story of how this woman makes the soup...it's bitter at first and she spends much time at the stove adding each drop. People around her get tired of eating nothing but tear soup and so for a season, she eats it alone. It talks about how everyone's soup is their own recipe and it can't be duplicated, and it always takes longer than expected to make a pot. For those of you who have walked through grief, are facing grief, or have friends that are grieving, I recommend this as a beautiful resource. I cried and cried when I read it. At the end of the book there is a list of advice and resources for people who are grieving or who have friends that are grieving.

I wanted to post here the list for "If your friend is making tear soup" as I found it to be helpful advice:

** Be there for your friend, even when you don't understand.
** Be a source of comfort by listening, laughing, and crying.
** Stick close to your friend and defend their right to grieve.
** Allow your friend to make mistakes... or at least to grieve differently from the way you would grieve.
** Send flowers. Send money if you know this would help.
** Send cards. The message doesn't need to be long. Just let them know you haven't forgotten them. Send one every few weeks for a while.
** Call your friend. Don't worry about being a bother. Let your friend tell you if they don't want to talk about their loss right now.
** Answering machines and e-mail are great ways to keep in touch, allowing the bereaved person to respond only when they feel up to it.
** Try to anticipate what your friend may need. Bereaved persons sometimes don't know what to ask for.
** Avoid offering easy answers and platitudes. This only invalidates the grief. Be patient. Don't try to rush your friend through their grief.
** Give your friend permission to grieve in front of you. Don't change the subject or tell them not to cry or act uncomfortable when they do cry.
** Ask them questions. But don't tell them how they should feel.
** Invite your friend to attend events together, as you normally would. Let them decide if they don't want to attend.
** Don't assume because your friend is having a good day that it means they are over their loss.
** Be mindful of holidays, birthdays and anniversaries.

Etiquette

After sending out nearly 250 acknowledgement cards after my grandpa's funeral, I would like to give a word of advice to all of you out there....when you send a card or give a gift to someone whether it be at a wedding, a funeral or a baby shower, PLEASE put your return address on the card!! It saves people a LOT of time and hassle and it's not arrogant or self-serving. People actually want to send you a thank you or express their appreciation someway. It helps in the grieving process, believe it or not.

And I've also wondered why so many people send a copy of the obituary? Is this customary as well? Why is this?

Remembering and grieving the old, eagerly anticipating the new

The new year always brings it's nostalgic traditions...I mentally write a list of all the things that I did and that happened this past year. Many of us do. It's a good way to reflect and remember the last year. For many it was a difficult year. For me, I have to say, probably one of the most difficult. I gladly closed the door on 2009. However, in closing that door, I said goodbye to some dear things in my life, most prominently my grandpa.

The funeral was a wonderful remembrance of him. It's hard to sum up someone's life in an hour and a half. And most of our memories and our words are held captive by the tears and the ever-present lump in the throat. I shared on behalf of our family at the funeral. I felt I needed to, and I'm so glad I did. The tears fell, but I thought of how many times my grandpa has sat in the audience of my other speaking enagements, and I was so glad to have one soley devoted to him. Our dear friend of the family, Kim Sampson, put together the most beautiful tribute in photos and with music. My grandma requested that it not be posted on youtube simply because it is a personal thing, but if any would like to see it, I'd gladly sit with you and a box of tissues and view it again.

The hardest part, which I hadn't anticipated, was right at the end when the pallbearers picked up the coffin and carried it out to the hearse. For some reason, I sobbed from a deep place in my soul. I knew that was the last I'd see my grandpa's face here on earth. Everyone speaks the consolations of our hope of meeting in heaven (which don't get me wrong, that is a GLORIOUS hope, one I know deep in my spirit) but it still doesn't take away the ache of the immediate separation.

Now I have been spending my days at my grandma's house, cuddled up avoiding the below zero temps outside, and sorting and remembering and again, being pressed on all sides by that emptiness that someone leaves behind. When the front door opens, for a split second, I expect it to be grandpa. I'm still having a hard time talking about him in the past tense. But he's gone, and our family grieves together.

My Grandpa Gene

December 21, my grandpa went home to be with Jesus.

I received a message from my mom to call home and once again I found myself on the other side of the ocean receiving news that a loved one was suddenly gone. As with last time, my first thought was "I want to go home." With it being the holiday season, however, I wasn't able to get a flight until Christmas Day and will spend Christmas eve night in London.

It's hard when all you want to do is be with your family. But, I'm also thankful for the respite before the storm. I've had a few days to just be with me and my grief and Jesus before diving into the frenzy of details that comes with a death (apart from the frantic search for plane tickets, but God also provided a very caring and helpful travel agent here in Scotland for me). It never seemed fair to me that the first thing you need to do when someone dies is plan an event. It would seem more fair just to sit and cry for a week.

I had a dream about my grandpa last night. In it he called me "sweets"...a nickname he often bestowed upon me or my mom or aunt. Though he was quiet and reserved, my grandpa knew how to love.

He and my grandma have been a constant in my life. When many things seemed chaotic, unstable, always changing, they were a pillar of security and strength. I lived with my grandma and grandpa for nearly five years when I was a kid, and those are five years I'd never give back. Those were a foundation for who I am as a person and also for what my relationship with my grandma and grandpa has been. They are two of my dearest friends, and were second parents to me my whole life.

My mind this last day or two has been flicking through memories of my grandpa. I want to share a few with you that you may know him more, and that I can capture some of these things.

- camping trips and fishing with grandpa. I never understood why we had to wake up so early to go fishing, but we were up, before dark. Grandma would be fixing sandwiches and making coffee, which grandpa would put in his light teal-colored thermos that he also took to the mines when he worked there. We'd head off to the lake and fish out of grandpa's canoe. He'd catch fish like magic, reeling in one after another. I'd get excited when the tip of my pole would quiver, only to discover I'd catch yet another batch of weeds. His fishing skills always seemed larger than life.

- many years of picking out the Christmas tree. I have a number of memories of walking through the snow looking for the perfect tree. I'd see pines that would look good and point them out, but grandpa kept walking. I knew he had tree-picking skills that were beyond me. He'd spot the tree. Carefully walk around it, inspect the trunk, hem and haw. Then take his hand saw and haul it out of the woods and into the basement for some trimming and to dry out. And he was always right...the tree was perfect.

- I got to go hunting with grandpa one year. Hunting is a sacred activity for my grandpa. We went up to the hunting shack and it seemed like something out of a book. We drove to the middle of nowhere, walked even further in, and crossed over a beaver dam to get to the shack. We slept in the one room in beds that creaked and was heated by a wood stove. I got to go out to "help" grandpa in the deer stand the next day. It was my job to look for the deer and tell him when they were close. He didn't get anything...he never got anything unless he was alone. But he invited us along, just the same.

- Labor Day Family camp with Ma and Pa Potter. I desperately wanted to go to Family Camp one summer. ALL my friends were going (and I wanted to invite a few more), and I wanted to go too. Somehow me and a number of friends went to camp that year and Grandma and Grandpa came along as our chaperones. We were one, big, crazy family. All my friends and the camp staff called them Ma and Pa and it stuck from that day.

- Grandpa's labors of love: My grandpa was a handyman. He was always tinkering on something, and his house is full of unfinished projects. But, he was always there to lend a hand. I remember the one summer he came out and single-handedly built a handicap access ramp for one of the cabins at camp. He put so much work into our church building...he would be there late into the night hours and up early and off again the next morning. He built me a doll house as a kid, not able to finish it in time for Christmas and promising to add the windows and doors later. After a few years, I drew them on with marker.

-The cribbage champion! Cribbage is a family game. Grandma shares about when her and grandpa were first married, they didn't have a TV so would play hours and hours of Cribbage. You cannot be a part of our family if you don't know cribbage. Whenever we get together, to this day, the cribbage board is always near and someone always asks, "you wanna play a round of cribbage?" My grandpa LOVED this game and was so good at it. And it is because of him, I have had to be shrewd at counting my points, because he inspects every hand and if you miss something, he made sure to point it out!

-Grandpa's generosity. My grandparents have been a great source of courage and love as I have pursued missions. They put on event after event with me and for me. They have given out of their own pockets for what I do, and they have always told me how proud they are of me. When I come home, often broke and wondering how I was going to continue in this lifestyle, grandpa would always come, quietly and with eyes full of love and slip some cash into my hand.

- a hard worker. My grandpa could not sit still if you tied him down. When he "retired" he'd be out in the yard all day or working on the church building. He valued hard work...sometimes too much! He'd shovel the driveway all by hand because the snowplow was broken...wanting to fix it rather than buy a new one. I find it fitting that he died while working, not while sitting on his recliner watching TV.

-a father to many. My grandpa is a father-figure to so many. I'm sure there are many that could share stories of how he was there for him. He has a way of quietly expecting better things out of people. He would take camping trips with young boys who didn't have fathers and just be there for them. He looked forward to those times so much. He was a constant male figure in me and my brothers' lives when other men had a tendency to come and go. He was always around for others at church, the young people at work, at Youth For Christ, Covenant Park....he never took it on himself to officially be a mentor to young people, and yet many seemed drawn to him as such.


Well, there's obviously so much more to be remembered about him, but I just wanted to share a bit of what was on my heart today. In many ways, this is what I'm looking forward to most when I get home with my family...pooling our memories together, crying and laughing over them and honoring a man whom we've all had the privilege of having our lives impacted by. I am who I am today because of my grandpa and I'm sure everyone in our family could say the same. He was a great man.

a little light reading...

I've had a lot of time to read a number of books while I've been on holiday. I've read magazines cover to cover, rather than skim them and enjoy mainly the photos. I've also re-read the entire Chronicles of Narnia series, along with a couple John Grisham novels which I can plow through in a day or two and feel entertained and still somewhat intelligent.


I'd like to recommend the two most recent books I read. The first is Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (he is also the author of Blue Like Jazz)


For those who have appreciated Donald Miller's witty, down-to-earth style and honest perspective on the Christian life, this book remains true to that. His style amuses, challenges and engages you throughout the whole book (and yes...there are some quirky illustrations in this one too!)

Two screenwriters invade Don's life on a project to write a screenplay about his life. Through this process he is struck by the power of story in the human existence and what it tells us about our purpose and our life with God. He defines a good story as a character wanting something and going through conflict to get it.

He points out that characters in stories always change, but that the change comes with risk and it always costs something. The greater the change, the greater the cost. He states that "the point of life is character transformation."

We are drawn to people who live good stories, whose lives count for something and challenge us to think and act and love and respond in a deeper way. A "character is what he does"...not in a legalistic way of what we do is our identity, but we don't live good stories just by sitting on a sofa and willing our stories to be good. We have to get out there and live them. In the book Don does this by taking a trip to Peru to hike the Inca trail (and inviting a girl he was interested in along for the experience) and going with some people to bike across the US. He deliberately tries to live a better story.

I also appreciated the point he made towards the end of the book that someone one who is living a good story invites others into it and in turn that other person lives a better story as well. This is something I want to improve in. I admire people who are so welcoming and can get people on the fringes involved or can get a group of people together. I want to invite more people into my story.

So the book leaves you with the question "What kind of story are you living?" What does your story say to others about what you are living for, what gives you purpose? Who writes your story? I have to admit with my 30th birthday just around the corner, I've been looking back over my life and the story I've lived. It's been one of adventure, that's for sure. I don't feel as though I've wasted my story on a sofa feeding my brain to a television. But, I sometimes find myself waiting for the story to happen to me, rather than contributing a line or two to the plot myself. I want to pick up the pen and write a bit more....

************


The other book I recently finished was The Search for God and Guinness. This book gives an overview of the history of the Guinness family of Ireland and the beer that they are so famous for.

Guinness began in a time when gin and drunkenness was wreaking havoc on society. The brew that Guinness is famous for was offered as an alternative to hard liquor and a better option than inebriation. The Guinness family, many of them devout Christians, also used their wealth and influence to bring about societal change. Many of them helped improve housing in Dublin and offered a job environment that far surpassed many of the other factory jobs. They sought to improve the quality of life for their workers and in the process were also astute businessmen and immensely successful.

This book gave me a great appreciation for the history of beer, and the way the Christians have interacted with it. I found his chapter on prohibition in America and the average American Christian perspective on alcohol enlightening and insightful. Though the book doesn't offer a straightforward Biblical treatise of Christians and alcoholic consumption, I daresay it quietly speaks to the positive influence beer has had in the face of the bad reputation it may have received over the years.

And I have to say when I drink my next pint of Guinness, I know that it has been a part of a wonderful tradition not just of brewing but of societal influence and godly people making a difference through their business. If you want a good read on an interesting model of faith and the workplace, I recommend picking up this book.

Switzerland

I have not been blogging as much as I intended on my vacation...and for a good reason. I've been too busy enjoying life and haven't been on the computer much.

I just got back from a fantastic time in Switzerland with my friends Zac and Stef Fischer. We all did our TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) training in Montana summer of 2008 together. Zac and I were in a teaching group together and we had some great times together, and a lot of laughs. I don't think I've laughed as hard as I did that month...between the random, sarcastic banter that all in our teaching group are adept at, to randomness of other students, and bizarre skits. So, when they heard I was going to be in Europe they invited me to Switzerland.

My time in Scotland has been a break, but it's also been a time for processing, prayer, seeking advice, debriefing, and just letting the noise in my head and spirit quiet down so I could hear the voice of God and hear myself breathe. Switzerland was a time to put soul-searching in the shelf and appreciate friendship and the beauty of God's creation.







And find beauty, I did! Zac and Stef just welcomed me into their every day lives as well as showing me some of the highlights the country has to offer as far as views and landscapes and good food. From sunsets over the Alps to the lakes that are so blue it looks like the sky fell into them and is just puddled there between the majestic mountains, it took my breath away and restored my soul. I have a love affair with mountains that began when I moved to Colorado and I think will remain an addiction until I die. (still asking God why I am living in a DESERT!)



I was also introduced to Raclette, a fun Swiss specialty. You melt cheese in small trays in the little oven on the middle of the table, cook your veggies and meat on top, and then put it all over potatoes! It was delicious and an interactive, community way of sharing a meal together. If you ever make it to Switzerland, I highly recommend it.



So a huge thank you to my hosts and friends the Fischers! I'm so thankful our paths crossed for a crazy month in Montana and that our friendship continues. The more I get to know you, the more I love and appreciate who you are. God has put his great heart for the nations in you and I know that he will impact many lives through you. He has given you talent and passion and fun that is a blessing to all you interact with. Thanks for welcoming me into your lives and generously blessing me! Let's meet again on this little globe sometime soon.

Step in to the pub

Well friends, come with me on a wee journey to a nice pub down yonder. We've frequented a few but this one tonight is of note because Sunday evenings are live music nights. Here, come through the door and order yourself a pint at the bar. It's quite the nice atmosphere in here isn't it? Dark wood, small tables and cozy booths. Well, it would be quite nice to stay in here but once you've got your Guinness, follow me to the back room....



Here, have a seat at the big wooden tables. How fun to join 12 other strangers at your table isn't it? The music is mellow and folkish. A couple is singing and harmonizing and you'd swear it was in the English language but the lilt in their accent is so strong that you can't recognize all of the words. The candles provide the majority of the light in the room, save a few lights along the wall and shining onto some paintings.

The Scottish men sitting next to you proceed to down two pints, two bottles of beer and three shots of whiskey without seeming affected at all. I know if I had that, I'd be crawling out of this place on my hands and knees! But the Scots are known for their liquor intake and subsequent tolerance. I will just take my time with my Guinness and have no need for something else, because it truly is like drinking a loaf of bread.

The music is lovely isn't it? Although it seems as though "unrequited love" is the theme for the night. I guess that provides material for the most emotionally charged lyrics doesn't it? Thankfully the man with the bagpipes or the banjo player will jump in with a lovely Scottish tune that makes you feel like getting up and dancing a jig. The mandolin and the fiddles fill in the gap as well. In between those songs, it's almost like a library as people huddle and whisper to each other or carry on conversation in low tones out of respect for the music. The white-haired men pipe in with an occasional acapella tune about a bonnie lassie they once knew that broke their heart. Death Cab for Cutie even made it on the repertoire this evening.



Well, that was fun. On the way out we stop and I give my compliments to the banjo player and he leans in so close his nose almost touches my face. He smells of cigarettes and whiskey but seems a nice enough fellow. I have to ask him to repeat himself a few times because his of thick accent and within the next five minutes he's invited us to every gig he's doing up and down the west coast the next month. We'll be seeing you Mick! We really must go. It was a great experience, maybe we'll see you another time soon.

Change is a'comin!

Do you ever get that sense that you are at the verge of something new, something that will flip your world upside down and you have no idea what it is? Like you just want to run after it with everything you have, and yet you are hesitant because it will mean life change and leaving things behind.

This is the amorphous zone I'm in right now. I'm happy to say that I'm a bit more happy right now. I had some great times of prayer, some debriefing, building some new friendships, hung out with people that have different perspective, different experiences, and wisdom to offer.

One thing I am breaking free from is GUILT! I have been tending to hang that like a weight around my neck and making decisions out of it, and holding back because of it, and sitting under a cloud of it. I have had some time looking at the root of guilt in my life and breaking it off. I don't think I will never feel guilty again, but I feel as though I've found a dose of freedom during this time. And Christian guilt is the worst. We shroud it in this thing that looks like holiness and servanthood, but really it's ugly, stinky guilt. Really, we are not called to take on all the world's load, we are not called to be walking martyrs because it induces some kind of spiritual perfection in us, we are not called to serve because there is no other option....we are called to live an abundant life in Christ! We are called to run the race marked out for us. We are called to take on His yoke. We are called to live a life of fullness and abundance, not heaviness and drudgery. My mother and I spoke last night on the phone and she even commented that I don't sound so guilty any more. Praise God! Freedom is a beautiful thing.

But still, there are some decisions in my hands right now. I have a number of things that I'm praying through, processing and talking with people about. I wish I could divulge more, but I do ask for your prayers as I wade through all this. I guess the thing I can tell you is that change is happening. I have had a sense that transition was upon me this whole last year. That feeling is even stronger than ever. So, I'm waiting on the Lord, asking him for the fullness of this next season for me.

I will be heading to Switzerland in a week and I'm looking forward to a change of scenery and hanging out with friends I haven't seen in a while as well as exploring a country that I have not been to yet!

19

Saturday came and went.
The rain fell. I walked the streets of Glasgow, sipped on a Starbucks Gingerbread latte, and thought about my brother James, a lot.

It would have been his 19th birthday that day.

It seems like a cliche but I really can't believe three years have passed with him no longer on this earth. When he died, I thought time would have to stop to just absorb the loss, but as anyone who has walked the path of grief knows, time continues to pass, whether you think it fair or not.

There is this forever space in my life. It's so strange now to meet new people and they have no idea the space is there. They have no reference to tell them what once filled the space apart from the things I can tell them. I still don't know how to answer the question "So, do you have any brothers or sisters?" The pain is not so sharp but the answer still seems forced and never complete.

I woke up Saturday just more aware of that space than I have been other days. The day passed. People, mostly strangers, interacted with me without knowing, and life moved on. The day was relatively quiet. No expectations. No cake. No phone calls home to say "Happy Birthday little bro!" Just rain, memories and a few tears. Another anniversary come and gone.

To the depths of the well

Burnout comes when you come into a higher level of responsibility and haven’t tapped into the corresponding revelation of God.

This week I am sitting in on the lectures for the School of Frontier Missions here. The speaker is sharing on Member Care.

Today she made the above comment and it hit me straight to the heart. I felt this resonate in relation to the wall of burnout that I have encountered myself. She had us take some time to seek God as to the challenge in front of us and what God wants to say about who he is in response to it.

So, the following is the picture I received:

The challenge:
I am standing at a well of water. In my hands are a bucket and in front of me is a crowd of people waiting for water. I have been giving water out, quite energetically for quite some time. The well was brimming full and many people have received water as they came.

Over time, I noticed the well was starting to diminish. However, I didn’t think much of it as there was still plenty of water every time I dropped the bucket down into it.

Now, I’m at a point where the bucket and the rope it is attached to is barely reaching the surface of the water. I begin to panic, and I begin to stop giving out the water. I think to myself, if I give out any more, it will be gone. I should wait for it to fill back up or for a good rain shower. I can’t give away what I don’t have.

This is so clearly how I’m feeling right now, a deep vacant well, an empty bucket and many people asking for water. But, what is God saying in the middle of it all? What is the revelation I need to go with the corresponding level of responsibility?

As I listened, God spoke:
Your perception of the well must change. You are seeing the well as empty, when really, you do not know the depths of the well. The resources you have to go to the depths have only gotten you so far, now you must go deeper for water. In the depths the waters are fresh, cool and life-giving. The well will not run dry. It is not empty, you just have to go deeper.

Take me deeper Lord! I will send my bucket down to those depths. Fill it! Take me to that depth with you!

The love of God

Yesterday there was a break in the clouds and the rain. I glanced out the window of the YWAM base and saw the sea was still and it was almost as if it was calling my name. I put on my coat and grabbed my camera and walked along the beach for about 2 hours. The seals were basking on the rocks and playfully jumping in and out of the waves. The sun over the Isle of Arran painted pictures across the sky going from golden to purple.

I’ve been consumed by the love of God the last few days. In many ways I came here wanting to search for answers and direction. I feel that those will come in time, but first and foremost, God wants my heart. And he wants to take me deeper with him, and open my spirit to his extravagant love.

Sadly God’s love is something we reduce to a basic Sunday School concept and we nod with agreement in our “spiritual maturity” when we talk about the love of God for people. When really, the love of God is something that should make us weak in the knees when we encounter it. It is the very force that sustains our existence, and it is the very thing that makes life worth living. How dare we be passive about it.

Sadly, in my drivenness, I’ve put the love of God on the backshelf. Even in this last week, God has dusted it off and set it in front of me. I’m forced to reckon with the love of God, and when we encounter it, we are never the same.

The love of God washed over me as I stood on the beach yesterday. Me, small, meek, insignificant in the scheme of things, but known by the God of the universe. He spoke his love as he painted a majestic sunset across the sky for me. His Spirit whispered to my heart. Words of intimacy, beauty, love.

“My beloved speaks and says to me, ‘Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away…’” (Song of Solomon 2:10)

If you have not heard the song by Kim Walker, I suggest finding it and letting the truth of God’s love sink, sink deep into your spirit. Not just Sunday School knowledge, let it ruin you and weaken your knees. Let is send tears down your face and shake you to the core of your being. This is the intensity with which we are loved:

He Loves Us

He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy
When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory
And I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me

Oh how he loves us, so
Oh How he loves us, how he loves us so

We are his portion and he is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in his eyes
If grace is an ocean we’re all sinking
So, heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way

He loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves

A few beautiful things in Scotland so far:

On time trains. coffee. Glasgow. the sea. sleeping in. rain. more rain. lots of refreshing rain. curly hair because of the rain. new friends. old friends. a comfortable bed. corporate worship. red-faced Scottish men offering to buy me a pint. grocery stores. brie cheese. Guinness. high speed internet. skype chat with my family. the sun peeking through the clouds. smiling hellos. the front seat of a car. more coffee. hot water. men that look me in the eye. hugs. a walk by myself. my headscarf in the bottom of my suitcase. the Scottish lilt. men in kilts. soy lattes. using a credit card. cadbury chocolate. prayer. jeans. the English language. green grass. the fall leaves. electricity at the flip of a switch. freedom.

A few photos from a walk I took this morning:

Teams will come and teams will go...

I am presently preparing to catch a flight this afternoon for a much-needed two month break. I'm looking forward to refreshing and spending time with God and hopefully making some new friends.

But, as it is in this organization, the door is always a revolving one. I got up early this morning to say goodbye to a team that has been here with us for the past month. I really enjoyed having them here and they served our team and blessed the people of this place, especially the women, so much. It was life-giving to me because much of the stuff we did together is where my heart is.

This photo was from a local friend of mine's birthday party. There was much dancing, talking and eating after this photo was taken.

I love meeting new people, but it's always hard to see them go. Thankfully, the world is a really small place and chances are I'll see people again.

Off I go!

Get you up on a high mountain....

(Isaiah 40:9)




There is something exhilarating about mountains. It is such hard work to push your body up one, but once at the top, you forget all the pain, all the exhaustion and the burning in your lungs, and you stand in awe at the view around you.

I hemmed and hawed about whether I should join my two friends on the hike up the mountain. I was the one who pushed for it, but when the morning came I panicked a little. I was afraid I would hold up the group. I have been working out fairly consistently but the town we were in sits 6,000 ft. above my city. Then we were going to ascend another 6,000 ft. I wasn't sure I was used to the altitude and in good enough shape. But that morning, I got up, hard-boiled some eggs and of course, drank a good strong cup of coffee. I donned the strangest outfit I've ever worn hiking a mountain before: black dress pants (they were the most durable and comfortable of the two pairs of pants I had with me), a punjabi top (to maintain culturally appropriate attire), a fleece jacket and a head scarf.



We set out before sunrise...myself, a friend and former teammate of mine from America, and a Pakistani man working with another NGO in town. The two of them started walking really fast, and I was a bit worried the pace might wear me out quickly. We had to hike an hour just to the base of the mountain, traversing peoples' wheat fields and passing by shepherds already bringing their animals out for early morning grazing.

As we started up the mountain, all the jump-roping I had been doing the previous months was paying off. I was keeping pace with the men and even urging them on at times. Our Pakistani member of the group insisted on taking a few tea breaks on the way up. He even bought his own full thermos of black tea and a glass! We told him you could meet 100 hikers on a mountain in America, and he'd be the only one with tea to share! While he took tea breaks, I kept moving forward and beat both of them to the top.

At the summit (sitting just over 14,500 feet according to the GPS) the view was fantastic!!! We could see the peaks of the mountains from three countries all around us. I was in awe at the beauty of creation all around me. We had lunch and then sat at the top for about an hour. The guys took a nap. I closed my eyes for a bit but wanted to just take in the beauty and the grandeur all around me. Creation always leads me to praise the creator. I can't help but worship in the outdoors. This day was no exception. I let the praise flow while we were up there.





I have been hoping for an opportunity to do some hiking and climbing since I've moved here but this was the first real opportunity. The mountains closer to where I live are still littered with landmines and I haven't wanted to take that chance with my life! This area however saw little to none of the war and the countryside is free and clear. I hope there will be more opportunities like this in the future.

Girl, you wear your bathrobe with STYLE!

I wish I had any pictures from that morning, but words will have to create the scene instead. Every Saturday is the Tajik Bazaar. On this day, the peoples of from either side of the Tajikistan border come together to mix and mingle, sell their goods and reveal close up the juxtaposition of two very different worlds.

A river runs between the two countries and at one place the river splits, leaving a small piece of land in between. You cross a bridge on either side of it, leaving your passport behind at the border station and a lingering question haunts you, "which country am I in right now?" There's probably a legal answer for this, but on Saturday, bumping shoulders with Tajiks and Afghans, it's anybody's guess.

It's mostly men at the bazaar from the Afghan side. My friends and I walk through the crowd, feeling a bit like celebrities as the local governer, the principle of the school, the head of security, and the border commander all stop to say hi and give their greetings, many of them wearing their Karzai-style coat giving them an air of dignity and even, maybe, royalty, at least in this small village-kingdom that they rule.

The thing that strikes me however, is the women. My head has been so immersed in Afghan style, literally even, as I wrap my headscarf around me as it keeps getting blown off by the wind, that I am taken aback at how different Tajik style is. (and feeling a bit shameful as I remember a time when I looked at a map with all the "stans" and thought, isn't it all the same?!). The Tajik women are both selling and buying at the bazaar...already revealing the somewhat greater freedom of movement and involvement outside the home. They are dressed in what I can best describe as a flowered moo-moos, and of course, their pants underneath are another pattern and color scheme entirely than the top. I brush by girls in their young twenties who would look right at home in America: skinny jeans and t-shirts with name brands boldly printed across the front.

Janna, one of the other girls on my team, elbows me and whispers "oh my goodness. Check out that girl!" A Tajik girl walks by us with head held high. She has around her a terry-cloth robe which is brightly pink striped with the words "I love you" written all over it. It's dotted with red hearts. She has on pants just as bright and knee-high rubber boots. What I might wear to a "bad taste party" she has carefully purchased, dressed in and paraded through the bazaar in this collision of cultures.

The story of the goat and the mouse

Well, I am back from the remote northeast and there are many stories to tell. I figured I'd just post on here as I have time. But I wanted to start with a little fun tale that was a memorable experience. (and as a note of caution, for those of you who aren't so keen on bathroom stories, skip this post and wait for the next one to come...)

It was late at night at our friends' guesthouse. Their accommodations are a bit more well, primitive than a 5 star guesthouse in say, well, anywhere else. The toilet is basically an outhouse (but keep in mind, many peoples' bathrooms are just a spot somewhere on the ground outside).

This particular night, I had to use the bathroom after the generator had been turned off for the night. So, I donned my handy-dandy headlamp and made my way to the outhouse. I lifted up the seat to the toilet, and I don't normally glance down into the toilet of outhouses, but my light from my headlamp happened to shine directly down into the hole. I saw something moving in the light. I did a double take and saw a white little mouse scurrying around on the...ahem, pile. My thought was, "sucks to be that mouse right now." Then I turned around and what should have made its way into the outhouse behind me but a goat! I grabbed the broom in the corner and hit the goat on its butt trying to get it to make its way kindly back out and leave me in privacy. However, the goat was stubborn as all get out and refused to move, let alone leave me alone to take care of business. So, I figured well, goat and mouse, we will experience this trip to the bathroom together.

Yep, a moment I will remember forever...and the goat and the mouse probably will too.

Our team

God has entrusted his task "to the ends of the earth" to people such as these. :) Inspires great confidence doesn't it?!

Our team is off to a more remote part of the country for a few months. I am helping co-lead the team for a month of this time, helping getting project things set up and running, and especially talking with the government officials. It is going to test my language skills for sure!

So remember us as we go. I won't be near the internet for about a month's time and we are not guaranteed cell-phone coverage where we will be. I'll post some photos and an update when I return to civilization.

Until then....

I took photos of my room when I first arrived back in February. I looked around at all the work that had to be done and figured I’d feel a lot better about the process if I took pictures and compared the progress.

Today, the president of the country came to my city so we are just keeping a low profile today. I usually spend at least one of my two days off all day at home, catching up on reading, doing my laundry (in the machine, or by hand, depending on whether there is electricty). Today was an electricity day and so I decided to tackle a project I have been waiting two years to finish…I hemmed my curtains. I had a local woman make them for me but she made them about a foot too long and they have just sat there with the extra foot piled at the bottom collecting dust….a LOT of dust.

Well, I took out my sewing machine that I bought off another worker that left earlier this year. It is a beautiful sea-foam green and is from Japan so I can’t read a thing on the dials and have to experiment and guess and hope that I have the right tension for the stitches, etc. And, I actually hemmed my curtains. I’ve been looking at them every weekend thinking, “I should hem those” but something else always seemed more important. I guess life still can be productive when you are holed-up inside your house! ☺

So, without further ado, here are the before and after pictures of how I’ve made my room into a nice little sanctuary…
Before: (sorry the poor quality. They were taken with my camera phone at night)






After:




The room is a weird shape…long and rectangular. So, I split it into two with a sitting area so the other girls can come in and sit and chat and we watch movies in here sometimes. The other half is my bedroom area and I just finished what I was wanting to do by hiring someone to make my bookshelf. Now, after 7 months, I have finally unpacked all my stuff!

Colorado rest

This last week I spent in Colorado around Denver, Colorado Springs and the Breckenridge area. I can't tell tell you how refreshed my soul feels when I am in the outdoors. It makes me wonder why people in Colorado are not some of the happiest on earth.



I also had some time to catch up and hang out with my dear friend Augustine (pictured below) and Bob and Donna (my other, southern parents) and visit the Y base while I was in town. It so blesses me to have relationships that can continue on even after months and even years of not seeing people. If I didn't have friends that could just pick up after time has passed, well, I wouldn't have very many friendships at all because I'm so in and out.



So, this afternoon I board yet another plane and begin yet another journey across the ocean. It's strange how this jumping back and forth, switching from tank tops to head scarves, speaking English and Persian in nearly one breath, going from green trees to brown desert within a day has become normal. I have to admit that the transition and the current stress of life overseas has taken it's toll on me. I am sensing a need for a possible extended rest. I may not know what that looks like and I feel that I am to keep going hard through the finish of our school (March 2010). For those of you who do pray for me, I'd ask for you especially to lift up this area. I want to walk in fullness and really am seeking to find joy again in what I do, my relationship with God, and with others.

To those of you I spent time with in the States or talked with on the phone during this time...thank you for blessing my life! You are all so important to me and thanks for pouring into our friendship. I love you!