tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51124944721402654282024-03-04T23:24:19.738-05:00Sloppy Passionlookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-70888177729140039382018-04-13T13:18:00.002-04:002018-04-13T13:18:53.908-04:00Bear Witness<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bear witness. Peace Corps is often a series of moments, a
series of experiences or events that you are simply a part of. It’s this
incredible opportunity to uproot yourself from one narrative to the next. You
are plopped into the middle of a story that has been going on for the entirety
of our own lives and beyond. We don’t begin a book, change the plot line, or
influence all of the movements that we secretly or publicly wished for when we
signed up for this whole “journey”. We are literally imported, into another
story and the thing we do more often than anything else as Peace Corps
Volunteers is bear witness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve witnessed the birth of a newborn child (multiple
times), the pain of the mother, the struggle of the delivery, the work of the
midwife, and finally the cry of the infant. I’ve witnessed the moment of
determination in an athlete’s eye and the devastation of a loss that rode on
the coattails of shattered expectations and dreams. I’ve witnessed the consequences
of alcohol abuse, violence, and absent parents. I’ve witnessed the wails of
family members who lost their loved ones suddenly or too soon and the comforts
and strengths of a community that rose together in solidarity and support. I’ve
witnessed the aftermaths of suicide of all types, completed and attempted, in
recovery or in decline, in the moment and reminiscent, young and old. I’ve
witnessed corrupt powers, twisted money schemes, and disadvantaged students.
I’ve witnessed the death of a toddler and the wails of a mother hollow and
empty. I’ve witnessed the triumph of graduates who overcame unbelievable
obstacles to shake the hand of their Head Master and hold their head high in
front of guardians or parents. I’ve witnessed women take pride in their
femininity and men take ownership in their privilege. I’ve witnessed youth and
leaders log on to the internet, the cyber world at their fingertips for the
first time. I’ve witnessed the safety in children playing together, their
laughs splitting the quiet air and their feet thundering on the soft sand as
they race past my house. I’ve witnessed birthdays, holidays, celebrations, farewells, welcomes, new lives beginning and old lives ending. As I've moved out of my village and into the capital for work, I've witnessed my own farewell from my village, my hanoquata (home in Warau) as well. I've witnessed the waving hands, and straining necks of my villagers, all of us just wanting the last glimpse of each other as my speedboat round the corner for the final time. Bear witness.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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As you watch, you are blessed with the opportunity to see
and you are afflicted in the responsibility to feel. As a Peace Corps
Volunteer, you have very little you can change, you have even less that you
should, but you have every chance to see. You cannot control what happens to
the people that you have grown to love and adore, no matter if they grow up in
a culture that offers the world and the “American dream” or if they grow up in
the “forgotten interior” and are on the losing side of a widening gap in health
care and education. You cannot change the story, you cannot change the moment,
you cannot change the feeling. Bear witness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So what do you do when you see and cannot change? What do
you do when you feel and cannot stop? What do you do when you love, but are at
a loss? You simply, exist. Exist with deep intentionality and foundation. You
pray, you let go of control, and trust in God in the face of righteous anger or
heart shattering sadness. You listen and watch, even when you want to shut off
your ears and pretend you never saw. You hug and cry, you clap and cry, you
work hard and lose hope, you relax and gain insight. You ask about the
narrative that came before you with curiosity and you stubbornly believe in the
hopeful story that could be written after you. Bear witness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When life happens around us, this is what I have grown to
value: the beauty in the ability to see even when it’s uncomfortable and doesn’t
make sense, when it’s inconvenient, upsetting, unsettling, and inspiring. When it’s
all you can do - choose to bear witness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-81140424087551087762017-02-09T12:22:00.003-05:002017-02-09T12:22:38.798-05:00Just Start<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve started at least 4 different blog posts at this point
and each time I stop writing – either because I am interrupted by someone
calling at my veranda, I’m at a loss for words to describe it all, or get
distracted by some other task as I hop from thing to thing in hopes that by
some miracle it will all get done. Like right now there is a very aggressive
bat that keeps running into my bed net and I am very tempted to stop writing to
“deal” with this issue…but I will continue on and the bat will be grateful for
you all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Team, I have been in Guyana for almost a year now, which
means that I could have had a baby by now and none of y’all would’ve known…just
kidding Mom and Dad, they have Zika here, I’ll wait. Even though, I will say, I
have had my fair share of offers, and pleas of some older Aunties to be their
daughter-in-law (whether I know their sons or not). Also, I have had the
following conversation multiple times with <i>different</i>
people, “Have a Guyanese baby fuh me nah. Ya can leave ‘em wit me when ya gone.”
Me: “[nervous laughter], no”. Guyanese: “Me serious ya know” … Awkward Silence.
But, I digress. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me just give you the obligatory update then: It’s
official, I am head over heels for this Peace Corps job in Waramuri. I will be
honest with you, there are rough patches, rough days or weeks where tears seem
more natural than ever before, and missing of family and friends is more than a
molehill, but the second that my speedboat turns into the Moruca river from the
ocean there is this deep sigh of, “gosh, it’s good to be going home” in my
heart. Overall, this work has become my passion, my dream day-in and day-out,
whether or not it is easy or successful. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So what have these past 8 months been? Shoot, it’s really
been over half a year since I last blogged?? Whoops! Well, these months have
been a roller coaster of emotions and stories, my moments of frustration and my
leaps of joy alongside these wonderful Guyanese people have all gone down as
the “Peace Corps experience”. Essentially, I’ve started work on a local
Mini-Camp G.L.O.W. (an international effort by the Peace Corps to empower
women) with one other Peace Corps Volunteer, Eneka Lamb (who quickly climbed
the ranks of close friend and fellow jungle survivor), and 21 mentors in both
of our communities (she lives in Santa Rosa – the district hub about 45 minutes
by boat away). My supervisor and I have begun to work on a business plan for a
Computer Hub with internet access (egad!) and computer classes for the
community, and I’ve started doing health talks in the school and during clinic
days at the health center. Outside of that (aka the fun things after work
ends), I’ve started a running club with the youth (put on pause during the
rainy season where the running route fills with water), and helped coach the
girls football (soccer) team in Waramuri for our annual year-end Moruca
Football Tournament (we’re kind of a big deal, reigning champs and all =]). Let’s
just say that life got busy real quick. Outside of the “resume” things, my two
best friends have come to visit - shout-out to Kobes and Hilary for being the
best jungle conquistadors and soul-filling adventurers that I could’ve asked
for to say that I am privileged to be your girls’ friend doesn’t say enough. I
have learned the labor extensive process of baking cassava bread, making
coconut oil, catching crabs (all the muddy, ocean-traveling, mosquito infested
process that it is) and cooking them; I have learned that there is an art to
steering a canoe that I am not inherently gifted with, and I have begun to
practice the preparation of more foods than I care to admit to not knowing how
to cook before. =]<o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay, now that you know what I’ve started working on, here’s
what I’ve learned living wise: everything, the end, let’s all go home. Jokes.
Well, they say that the Peace Corps is an experience that strips you of
everything and then yells in your face the question, “WHO ARE YOU?” and “WHO
ARE YOU NOT?” I would humbly agree and also give a spiritual yummy to that
statement, “mmmhmmm”. I’ve taken pen to paper concerning the questions of true
service, “making a difference”, being an advocate, loneliness, resilience,
adversity, generosity, acceptance of generosity, and ignorance/”American
syndrome”. I’ve grown angry at the world and the way that it runs - perpetuating
systems of poverty, injustice, and greed. I’ve had to challenge my peacekeeping
ways to learn how to yell for the things that demand attention and are just
plain wrong. I’ve grown elated as I’ve carried newborns to the scale and
whispered, “Welcome to the world little one – you’ve got a lot to learn and a
lot to offer”. I’ve learned what I am not in the roughest kind of ways; I’ve
learned what I am in the most rewarding kind of ways and I’ve learned that we
as people are able to mold, fight, and adapt. I have faced the terms “American”,
“privilege”, “humility”, “arrogance”, “ignorance”, “selfishness”, “poverty”,
“service”, “vulnerability”, “racism” and “generosity” in a completely different
light than ever before. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was talking with one of the staff members at the Peace
Corps office and I told her that I was once given the advice that evangelism
and service is like one beggar telling another beggar where to find food. I
lamented that in the Peace Corps sometimes you find food after you’ve been
starving (for love, purpose, attention, actual food, etc.) and all you want to
do is eat, you don’t want to show anyone where the food is until you are full.
She listened quietly and then told me that it is when we are still hungry and yet
show the next beggar where the food is that we find the most worth. I quietly
accepted that statement at the time, but later took it apart. When we are
lacking, when we have nothing, when we are uncertain of the future, unsure of
the next paycheck, and unstable, then we will truly see the worth, the purpose,
and the soul of service. What can we do? What can we do when we witness a
corrupted system work its corrupted ways to pit a child against success in
their own future? What can we do when we hear of struggles that we cannot begin
to fathom or understand? What can we do when we hear of someone slighted in
sexual, physical, mental, and emotional ways? What can we do in the face of
injustice, inequity, and sheer privilege? When I asked these questions in the
past, my first instinct was to shrug my shoulders, sigh in overwhelmed
resignation, and then close my eyes (I’m sorry to admit).<o:p></o:p></div>
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But now, that’s not an option, and I am so damn grateful for
that. What can we do? Get started; start to pay attention even if it is just to
see something tragic that you cannot change. Sit to listen, even when it challenges
the privilege that you’ve grown up enjoying. Pay attention to the stories,
listen to the voices that are whispering for help instead of screaming and
determine what type of help is truly needed. Let yourself look outside of the world
that you have built for yourself and the future that you have already crafted
in your head. Be willing enough to hear the stories of someone that makes you
uncomfortable, someone who challenges your beliefs, someone who shows you that
there are so many things that you don’t understand. Don’t be afraid to be
proven ignorant, fearful, and entitled. We all are at some point. The difference
between those who choose to serve and those who remain sheltered is the <i>willingness</i> to be humbled in the face of
adversity, to be found ignorant, wanting, and uncertain. When we reach that
point, we know that we are exactly where we should be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anyway, this Peace Corps life is wonderful and daunting in
the same breath, a blessing and a blight, a great awakening and the ultimate
condemnation. It is to really see the gap, the things that we as Americans
close our eyes to because, who really has time to care about those outside of
what they know…and who actually knows that Guyana even exists? But it doesn’t
take moving to another country to begin to combat the selfishness or should I
say the ignorance that we often are inclined towards. There is diversity in the
US, in your state, in your neighborhood, in your home even. No two people are
exactly the same. Begin the journey, my friend. Just start.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The end. Here’s some pictures: =]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtaZdD2zcUL2APIOJc8-SAv-rSgjnL1RVZikh_GrWKES2i4wj8_t5s5lLcECgdKqWH90im-ZteGHkDVAiOvJMzhpccgPE8oV8w2LMcTXFvyACfOQqyePkaiewjxAXRzBePR_OwRalagMer/s1600/IMG_1276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtaZdD2zcUL2APIOJc8-SAv-rSgjnL1RVZikh_GrWKES2i4wj8_t5s5lLcECgdKqWH90im-ZteGHkDVAiOvJMzhpccgPE8oV8w2LMcTXFvyACfOQqyePkaiewjxAXRzBePR_OwRalagMer/s320/IMG_1276.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Sleeping arrangements
for Moruca Mini-Camp G.L.O.W.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57R3bxAUo-u_oDvgYoW0RoNDVjgk-5DSADQdn2p2HKshtagxvhmJAqzOIMe39vFMjTNqf9EhHETnD4gYELF5mYZNzPfGCFBNp6mrbLgei3T3k2jvYZYGemh93QuqnLd7BX79MHdj1CqM1/s1600/IMG_1292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57R3bxAUo-u_oDvgYoW0RoNDVjgk-5DSADQdn2p2HKshtagxvhmJAqzOIMe39vFMjTNqf9EhHETnD4gYELF5mYZNzPfGCFBNp6mrbLgei3T3k2jvYZYGemh93QuqnLd7BX79MHdj1CqM1/s320/IMG_1292.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<i>Being sworn-in with the G.L.O.W. song<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ebsc-UauhJ07KHtMbIMsUC_hE9iRfSibQwjMjK9MerG9PTlNzn_bo_NrCIicr_qE8_-Uyd5MqSY72TOB-cVW4rtLLKqEdgtHZfaQyCw5fITs3bNcqyVQgRBx-dFidK9Cx4snKicqiVLA/s1600/IMG_1422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ebsc-UauhJ07KHtMbIMsUC_hE9iRfSibQwjMjK9MerG9PTlNzn_bo_NrCIicr_qE8_-Uyd5MqSY72TOB-cVW4rtLLKqEdgtHZfaQyCw5fITs3bNcqyVQgRBx-dFidK9Cx4snKicqiVLA/s320/IMG_1422.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Free-time = football,
swimming, and slip and slides.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXzH-ImPH9XEDwV6x2XLujuS4cOm3hxmwjz810-z_2jt1zwysu21ssZtEaY1caeTdPO4IPjTX5F2H__we_5tUWld8NKAzlV0-Q9DiUSkGBG6HyNQB7tzY8_k95SLfUR2jLmp6Gh_pRl_q/s1600/IMG_1605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXzH-ImPH9XEDwV6x2XLujuS4cOm3hxmwjz810-z_2jt1zwysu21ssZtEaY1caeTdPO4IPjTX5F2H__we_5tUWld8NKAzlV0-Q9DiUSkGBG6HyNQB7tzY8_k95SLfUR2jLmp6Gh_pRl_q/s320/IMG_1605.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Sessions during camp.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKWay3V_v67h4HNmdTGOWirbfrDkqKvOJQnotbCTjnyo49r9xp3LXqyn1HPSBMZpj6VWO2sgp6t4k1OFCHgBnX0IEmqHTu6cpfCpLg-fFVBbJB9BFp4zIc8IpU2_UJYHjM975fK_VcVlp/s1600/IMG_1712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKWay3V_v67h4HNmdTGOWirbfrDkqKvOJQnotbCTjnyo49r9xp3LXqyn1HPSBMZpj6VWO2sgp6t4k1OFCHgBnX0IEmqHTu6cpfCpLg-fFVBbJB9BFp4zIc8IpU2_UJYHjM975fK_VcVlp/s320/IMG_1712.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Moruca Mini-camp
G.L.O.W. girls<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWXLUclX88Ib-ZZZ2XkLTge-NR9GwUEntyyOPNW1c3wFMrCyqfhUZFwplVMkSC_WWlX2RTh8WIlbvR4dJzuZfmv5k43LrS_qcgYEtJT85DOQwFVrctjSc5woS5JYfMsJscpjSoRvfqGVB/s1600/IMG_1850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWXLUclX88Ib-ZZZ2XkLTge-NR9GwUEntyyOPNW1c3wFMrCyqfhUZFwplVMkSC_WWlX2RTh8WIlbvR4dJzuZfmv5k43LrS_qcgYEtJT85DOQwFVrctjSc5woS5JYfMsJscpjSoRvfqGVB/s320/IMG_1850.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Christmas church service with the William’s kids
(aka my family away from family). </span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSj2MNG-8ZWhQsbqogr85Kh0bhZJsSVFXRaxJEnDj9YO6JWPajtXjRsYeZuZIT-1UCuCfSbpkj1AtlmNoRcYl2ZcEFEbAXkgUG3Ng5m2slTqnw0mF0Ut6GAFHsMH7rkoa-UbDBggG8UD6/s1600/IMG_2094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSj2MNG-8ZWhQsbqogr85Kh0bhZJsSVFXRaxJEnDj9YO6JWPajtXjRsYeZuZIT-1UCuCfSbpkj1AtlmNoRcYl2ZcEFEbAXkgUG3Ng5m2slTqnw0mF0Ut6GAFHsMH7rkoa-UbDBggG8UD6/s320/IMG_2094.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">Old Years Company. =]]</i> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QK-z71Ow4TYzUzyDtl5fM_EhUvwDG_NkeDFP7fIBbPDQ2ctHlrQcji9z3MuG3tNvLot2RK8LZd0gNG66zYCi2A1CXDi3Vt4JeF3BKaYODxnpvxqLj7rcWwF52ZAfrQzs22fXgsKICogM/s320/IMG_2096.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="213" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>My Auntie Norma (the
woman that I live with) and I dancing on Old Years Night. An avid dancer,
proper English woman, and incredibly entertaining woman. </i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3x8d-5368t71kso2l16SihYqj0JwwZLIdzu4K9iat7vIq3hPExEu8e1snFGDl8sYV6M6kEFIetrWSrNKLVvW1ECQeygU3ElMY9TYo7l7ERNztbRirlvocX4vxvu6IFkU9QW6-qu0351KL/s1600/IMG_2238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3x8d-5368t71kso2l16SihYqj0JwwZLIdzu4K9iat7vIq3hPExEu8e1snFGDl8sYV6M6kEFIetrWSrNKLVvW1ECQeygU3ElMY9TYo7l7ERNztbRirlvocX4vxvu6IFkU9QW6-qu0351KL/s320/IMG_2238.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Making Coffee with the
girls (we spent all day picking and pulping a GIANT tub of it).<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigC6qyxOPGXnsmztAp5INdRa3Cycd5_mcLAFdub_EyYhZnZ3jpJ6KnTi5E1jGuUcyzQsRuuaa7L-tgcpsVBulTlJyxQraX9HVZIIfyId7AzlTHRgeCi2bZFpkySld0irOg0RYtb07hJSWx/s1600/IMG_2294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigC6qyxOPGXnsmztAp5INdRa3Cycd5_mcLAFdub_EyYhZnZ3jpJ6KnTi5E1jGuUcyzQsRuuaa7L-tgcpsVBulTlJyxQraX9HVZIIfyId7AzlTHRgeCi2bZFpkySld0irOg0RYtb07hJSWx/s320/IMG_2294.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Old Years Night (New
Years Eve) was spent with this motley gang.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxE4N8jpokUQyRBpjBtbTvo63FVTL3VEud7N1AEtSAg0nzvqU9azP483amXqC2CZ96ULHOJZBnbSxlTKGoUG4nsSxwKJhCEFW_LcTK6wjM0qsLtXw5Vx0yb6fsjWKOGap3OCAqWQFkPSE/s1600/IMG_2380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxE4N8jpokUQyRBpjBtbTvo63FVTL3VEud7N1AEtSAg0nzvqU9azP483amXqC2CZ96ULHOJZBnbSxlTKGoUG4nsSxwKJhCEFW_LcTK6wjM0qsLtXw5Vx0yb6fsjWKOGap3OCAqWQFkPSE/s320/IMG_2380.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Visiting with two other Peace Corps Volunteers, Catherine & Robin, in their small Amerindian community.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-84820304460490135152016-07-18T15:52:00.003-04:002016-07-18T15:52:44.691-04:00Gratitude<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When you are thrown from
one culture into another, you are offered these incredibly unique scenarios.
You have your American upbringing, wherever and whatever that may be, in one
hand and are being handed an image of an entirely different Guyanese upbringing
in the other. I think, for me, I am capable of compartmentalizing well. So I
put my American upbringing behind my back as this Guyanese outlook was falling
into my hand. I pretended like my American life never existed as living in a
village of about 360 Indigenous people, regularly seeing monkeys/macaws/parrots/baboons,
watching grannies canoe boats to their farms or walk with straw baskets on
their backs, witnessing small children run across
the white sand playing sports with whatever materials they can find, listening to the incessant pounding of rain on my zinc roof, and
gaffing with people using terms like, “me nah no” or “how much years yo de?”
and hearing names like, “Mnemosyne” and “Kamuwell” became my new normal. I
pretended like bucket showers with cold water and walking down to the landing
to buy my vegetables from the greens boat was just everyday life; I let
it all be a part of this adventure that I was on and as a result I didn’t have
to compare my life back home to where I was. But recently, the realization has
been sinking in, I live here. This is my home and I am not only on an
adventure, but I am here for a job, for a deeper purpose, for the hearts that I
would encounter. But with this realization of my new home, the hand holding my
American life has come from behind my back and is now idling up to this other
hand that has quickly been holding more and more of the Guyanese traditions, (it only took 5 months of actually living here). The labor intensive process of making cassava bread and roti, farming
all fruits/vegetables, washing laundry by hand, and making brooms from old palm
trees. Here I see, the, well, the ways in which I have been blessed and
handicapped to grow up in a developed country. We all knew this post was coming
eventually hahaha, well here it is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I think the real motive in writing
this post was not to make others feel the guilt that goes hand-in-hand with
service in a developing country or even to express a guilt that I was feeling serving here; it wasn’t to drive people to go donate all
their money, sell their possessions, or feel laden with guilt for buying an
extra latte in the week; it wasn’t so that people would think, “wow, what an
experience SHE’S having” either. My motive in writing this was…well…gratitude. People
here have so many things to be grateful for: amazing communities of
family-based villages, generosity of the land and the people, a slower pace to appreciate the small details in life, gorgeous
rain forest scenes every day, and a more environmental/economically sound way of
living off of the land. They have these things in the midst of their struggles of lack of resources, inconsistent project plans, and limited opportunities towards diverse career paths;
in the States the gratitude and struggle is no different, but it becomes so convoluted
in the noise of wealth and the “American dream”. We have things we ought to be
grateful for oozing out of our ears, and so often we let those things become
our expectation, our demand even. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Let me say something cheesy for a
Peace Corps Volunteer’s blog: there will ALWAYS be a reason to be grateful. If you woke up
breathing today you have something to be grateful for and that’s <i>anywhere</i> you live. Gratitude, true gratitude,
doesn’t take the form of superiority or pity<i>.
</i>It doesn’t have to be contingent on other’s living conditions or life
trajectory’s. Gratitude is a choice that when truly experienced fills a void,
an emptiness, leaving no more room to complain; it is this response, this
demeanor towards the things and the people and the purpose and the hope that we
have in life. It’s a response that allows us to appreciate life instead of anticipate
or expect things in life; it is a response that allows us to feel touched,
instead of entitled, to be present instead of searching, and to become
encouraged instead of drained.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Gratitude can be found in the
details that you may have never seen before in your daily life. Like your refrigerator,
or all-day electricity, or warm showers, or running water, or a fully-resourced
health facility or school. There will always be a reason to be grateful; we have the
option to choose just how hard we are willing to seek it out. And I’m not
talking about the “sweeping the issues under the rug” kind of gratitude. I am
talking about the heartfelt, hope-inducing, inspirational form of gratitude that allows us to have resilience in the face of our struggles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
For me, as the adventure of living
in this beautiful, slower-paced life wears into the hard, tough, and sometimes
frustrating work of living in a developing country that is the thing that hits
home. As my hands, carrying these two cultures are measured side-by-side, these
are the things that I see. And as I live here, I will be grateful for the world
that I get to witness and I will be resilient in the face of the hurdles placed in front of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
Sincerely,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
that
American living in Guyana.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-53912755956968736912016-07-18T14:08:00.000-04:002016-07-18T14:09:15.088-04:00Dear Coffee Snobs, I Have Arrived<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, I am chronicling the start of a process that I have
only dreamed of in the past…harvesting my own coffee beans!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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For those of you who know my level of coffee snobbery and
addiction, you would understand the gravity of this proclamation! I stopped by my neighbor, Auntie Pearl's, house to ask if I could pick some coffee berries off of her tree that day and she decides to take me to her
cousin’s house at the back end of the village so as to get MORE coffee berries. We get
to the end and she points to the top of the tree showing the bright red and
ripe berries on the branches and starts to ask for a ladder. But, this is my
dream right folks, so I turned down the ladder and jumped into the tree. Now
I’m pulling branches of ripe berries towards me and dropping them on the floor
for the local kids (they follow me everywhere) to pick up and put in my bucket.
With a full bucket of berries:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghK-28FsIJYSU0FE00WAoAQqA8fvh6dqHlyhzINCK8OIhD7foYnLlddn2pIPAytEsKCAaPovzSHTPuGrT-AzD7MG73JYqM_4zpzqDC-f_R9SRX_9IxspIQfIiEHHmCS2uaMVuhi8rJsSgv/s1600/coffee+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghK-28FsIJYSU0FE00WAoAQqA8fvh6dqHlyhzINCK8OIhD7foYnLlddn2pIPAytEsKCAaPovzSHTPuGrT-AzD7MG73JYqM_4zpzqDC-f_R9SRX_9IxspIQfIiEHHmCS2uaMVuhi8rJsSgv/s320/coffee+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrKESApOalQoc6Tq068N09VKHeKETUsHQaZumJV5I5OKfUI6h_i-WpNu60KBbQLTw2HTFGfxEQy5ddE35k3iGVaQ44pBX7u8MsOL3ml2XFrKe_QGxxUDKhHHK7CtTZ3zfdjZfYU3OUcJ2/s1600/IMG_9528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrKESApOalQoc6Tq068N09VKHeKETUsHQaZumJV5I5OKfUI6h_i-WpNu60KBbQLTw2HTFGfxEQy5ddE35k3iGVaQ44pBX7u8MsOL3ml2XFrKe_QGxxUDKhHHK7CtTZ3zfdjZfYU3OUcJ2/s320/IMG_9528.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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I walked back to my house and:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg0cbRSAtlR_0ZOuRUnkmEwg-p4_feuOrWkUVV3U1zPnY8jyYQ4wrghU23aCRKz-z9vQ2DhavVrw-ztcUVbXdDUFx0YoQV8X3sEXS560HAsWgCrCATmmaYmTQ79Gp444AGMAlZfOoGxJq/s1600/Coffee+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg0cbRSAtlR_0ZOuRUnkmEwg-p4_feuOrWkUVV3U1zPnY8jyYQ4wrghU23aCRKz-z9vQ2DhavVrw-ztcUVbXdDUFx0YoQV8X3sEXS560HAsWgCrCATmmaYmTQ79Gp444AGMAlZfOoGxJq/s320/Coffee+1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Sat underneath the raised foundation at my newly constructed work station of a board and an old glass bottle. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLl694OPz8W-0Q9gSKyV_64fxKQq2TZ_e8B_tJu1tnZD-UFhIAeDfIShtHezrqzlpFFEzwR7Ox65jb8UtNOK9jJD9_oqIlR82qc0YhpaaFqX8-PFMoOddJgsAqe7qNZpFsupauq18C5Fip/s1600/coffee+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLl694OPz8W-0Q9gSKyV_64fxKQq2TZ_e8B_tJu1tnZD-UFhIAeDfIShtHezrqzlpFFEzwR7Ox65jb8UtNOK9jJD9_oqIlR82qc0YhpaaFqX8-PFMoOddJgsAqe7qNZpFsupauq18C5Fip/s320/coffee+7.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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At this point there were about 5 kids who showed up to
see what I was doing and started to help. Sooner rather than later I was the
manager of a child’s sweat shop … </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Iu9TLI_qwfiWwDoHU5S0NT210y7KPBrYqz5pD4OEEIq__24ZQvQ9CPCLXEqfy_MeSMo-Ya0jPKwJUFp1xsGXxuhC2SHDbqIxqmbGcBtlOzTmKJbbKulKWyGd4VncuCExBCvrpYCExwqN/s1600/IMG_9537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Iu9TLI_qwfiWwDoHU5S0NT210y7KPBrYqz5pD4OEEIq__24ZQvQ9CPCLXEqfy_MeSMo-Ya0jPKwJUFp1xsGXxuhC2SHDbqIxqmbGcBtlOzTmKJbbKulKWyGd4VncuCExBCvrpYCExwqN/s320/IMG_9537.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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First we “panged” or pounded the berry, just
enough to burst it open:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKrPkB2myVjG5sHiNWnp0GWkR-EG7Km1AjYtMzBQlbBDfneLCxLyXAEvrLnN6TRIMSkHKwV5T4OCrMADCZDaNVBQ7N1U2hyphenhyphenlZLcgu-NOgzmg6Z8LfQsQBnqFIAd2vqMcyos6nMC0haPJe/s1600/coffee+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKrPkB2myVjG5sHiNWnp0GWkR-EG7Km1AjYtMzBQlbBDfneLCxLyXAEvrLnN6TRIMSkHKwV5T4OCrMADCZDaNVBQ7N1U2hyphenhyphenlZLcgu-NOgzmg6Z8LfQsQBnqFIAd2vqMcyos6nMC0haPJe/s320/coffee+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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and then we pulled the cream colored slimy bean from
inside:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgneYOXzutSZ1EXMEkjfspDTekTm177G4Ld8K7e_mx7j-xA2GYj3eE4Xpsf7RKPsyNbJerBOR9ARezwNszkZ_QmEP_SpThTkOiKSLxYWMe4vUxIpNY405FVmjTkc7AW42f4TwGjb0h2cfy2/s1600/coffee+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgneYOXzutSZ1EXMEkjfspDTekTm177G4Ld8K7e_mx7j-xA2GYj3eE4Xpsf7RKPsyNbJerBOR9ARezwNszkZ_QmEP_SpThTkOiKSLxYWMe4vUxIpNY405FVmjTkc7AW42f4TwGjb0h2cfy2/s320/coffee+2.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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and put it in a bucket full of water to soak. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvMr-VFlhgkyt73LwvNPYYzV-nffc8rmCiLuqPt416a6cSWEWzapNWATJUysWoHHvP_EgTITizQyxksb-c6z8v4tBTp_lIOUnU2I_TxLCToow4CoI5c_DldYh4uGMDqVQu5oIrrpf27rQ/s1600/IMG_9540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvMr-VFlhgkyt73LwvNPYYzV-nffc8rmCiLuqPt416a6cSWEWzapNWATJUysWoHHvP_EgTITizQyxksb-c6z8v4tBTp_lIOUnU2I_TxLCToow4CoI5c_DldYh4uGMDqVQu5oIrrpf27rQ/s320/IMG_9540.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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The kids had a full
assembly line going and we finished in no time! Then the kids got bored and off
they ran to play cricket or catch a monkey or something. </div>
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Next, I soaked the beans until the slimy
coating on the outside began to dissolve (about 3 days). Then I washed them out
and put them in a pan to begin the most tedious, watching-paint-dry process of
drying the beans. </div>
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They have to be dried for about 2 weeks and cannot be rained
on, which means when it starts to drizzle you are dashing out the door to bring
in your beans (and washing if you can remember them/have enough hands for them,
priorities people). As the beans dry there is a thin shell that cracks and this
is where my child sweat shop managerial skills are impeccable. The kids
magically reappeared of course and together we peeled the shell off of each and
every single bean for hours. After that, there is a parchment that must be
rubbed off or sifted off of the bean to result in the green, non-roasted
product that you’ve seen in the real coffee snob’s coffeehouse as they prepare
to roast the beans. </div>
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I then walked with a container full of beans to a house
across the village where we roasted the beans in a Cahari (type of pot) over an
outdoor fire until they were browned aka roasted. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yLRA5DG_yuzlYGBVKv3GnxOk_OrO_dlxn0CrLS2NggIcRey2fp16Ma6qhYtMgDWzEBGynLItYR28TfatKvng048uyBrh4A0rWIz8K0_BAZvXopEbMQLEvAHPJMJCWYGluMaeqAmuH5V3/s1600/coffee+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yLRA5DG_yuzlYGBVKv3GnxOk_OrO_dlxn0CrLS2NggIcRey2fp16Ma6qhYtMgDWzEBGynLItYR28TfatKvng048uyBrh4A0rWIz8K0_BAZvXopEbMQLEvAHPJMJCWYGluMaeqAmuH5V3/s320/coffee+9.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjaJqqT1VzyLLz3xtttfhA-kgxwcoU8KeaEhucGWGmkQDn-ynYbCYn7c1qHBlblhvJIM0voPSlQgulVUO6uRSFLcO5DEvDKIWczipmlV-1X35ZZP1g2iKut3PSx0mZLppKUJPMBSMQfsv/s1600/coffee10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjaJqqT1VzyLLz3xtttfhA-kgxwcoU8KeaEhucGWGmkQDn-ynYbCYn7c1qHBlblhvJIM0voPSlQgulVUO6uRSFLcO5DEvDKIWczipmlV-1X35ZZP1g2iKut3PSx0mZLppKUJPMBSMQfsv/s320/coffee10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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We immediately pulled them
off of the fire, sifted them one more time, and then we put them in a hand mill
that was passed down through generations for over 200 years. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8LZ0YqDDYy9rB5Y6Oumd4_DCq9sk5SAqvNPZAJX36xh4bPjlvaI-jRSE102odZkZhggKLTb_GIdqm2msk72KU_g3rWDWjVob_N-hxm5WdHw91IilZKGgUv_j8ruI9J9mFH3PZt2lhiAE/s1600/coffee+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8LZ0YqDDYy9rB5Y6Oumd4_DCq9sk5SAqvNPZAJX36xh4bPjlvaI-jRSE102odZkZhggKLTb_GIdqm2msk72KU_g3rWDWjVob_N-hxm5WdHw91IilZKGgUv_j8ruI9J9mFH3PZt2lhiAE/s320/coffee+11.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I walked back
across that village with a FINE smelling container of freshly ground/roasted
beans with a smile and spring in my step, that truly marked an addict in
anticipation of their next fix. =]. On my first morning enjoying the coffee, I
used my travel French press to brew these celebrated Guyanese beans. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-cdPAK6L6aablz8fYIBiKopU39HRRZSLHs3P0JwM1c4TEsWuRwgE-29wUFWG-1MHh51FFgFmMObCyZA03f4G6DwyK0AIDLNyk2aw3QJ7WZz0-55fixCSexTw0-osXag7EhDkyOTxSjm-/s1600/IMG_20160516_073852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-cdPAK6L6aablz8fYIBiKopU39HRRZSLHs3P0JwM1c4TEsWuRwgE-29wUFWG-1MHh51FFgFmMObCyZA03f4G6DwyK0AIDLNyk2aw3QJ7WZz0-55fixCSexTw0-osXag7EhDkyOTxSjm-/s320/IMG_20160516_073852.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Breakfast completely brought to you by the land of Waramuri.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1EIwAk6dQVJc0LpPM_LkDIr-wM7Bal_nXme8hdiKVylKQVobLSsX4WK_eOVxv7VkNzrH9ZG3flGpEtZnJ7nSvdtQlZFYcZjA9DN0FRO8EEXe9o_V3Rh0yEYMmjF03UjL9yrmnoYV5ReOv/s1600/IMG_20160516_074120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1EIwAk6dQVJc0LpPM_LkDIr-wM7Bal_nXme8hdiKVylKQVobLSsX4WK_eOVxv7VkNzrH9ZG3flGpEtZnJ7nSvdtQlZFYcZjA9DN0FRO8EEXe9o_V3Rh0yEYMmjF03UjL9yrmnoYV5ReOv/s320/IMG_20160516_074120.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I tell you I will never be the same and my
snobbery will be 500% worse when I return to the states, of that I can
guarantee. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18-A0zSShDwsfM3q1dPlEdyUk2KtZ5MCt6edwIWSz4hF8QVTdcZSqUFxojdXiBT6UIzxC53W976Dz8YX0He_FqQtD_uaH7NcU3t2OUo7pIYi2hPHLuOusw-p7F_4fp0lIekShNW1_qU5n/s1600/IMG_20160516_074016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18-A0zSShDwsfM3q1dPlEdyUk2KtZ5MCt6edwIWSz4hF8QVTdcZSqUFxojdXiBT6UIzxC53W976Dz8YX0He_FqQtD_uaH7NcU3t2OUo7pIYi2hPHLuOusw-p7F_4fp0lIekShNW1_qU5n/s320/IMG_20160516_074016.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Voila, coffee made from start to finish!<o:p></o:p></div>
lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-4928891221766647092016-07-18T13:38:00.004-04:002016-07-18T13:39:07.818-04:00Birthday, Take 24, Jungle Book Edition<div class="MsoNormal">
My first birthday in Guyana. I didn't
take too many pictures team, so sorry on that factoid, but the reasoning is because I had moved to my new community, Waramuri, 4 days prior to this celebration and truthfully, I felt a leetle awkward about taking any pictures. BUT I woke up and Auntie Norma
(the 69-year-old, semi-British woman I live with) had made a big breakfast and coffee and we sat out on the porch to enjoy our coffee and took in the
scenic jungle background with the sound of monkeys and macaws chattering about. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2NYLZiLKGARJ3ROEP5gckLa4HlfanelFPUxeQQWkR4wrgYJV8hUmCwaGOl-S3NvsHTENJz8W0ixPkRlN9rH0z0RcfoYS_Iy-0hfqtjYNrXhQRDUZTVAKlQbuiCSDJFOvVyMpIG6U28C3/s1600/IMG_20160416_093058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2NYLZiLKGARJ3ROEP5gckLa4HlfanelFPUxeQQWkR4wrgYJV8hUmCwaGOl-S3NvsHTENJz8W0ixPkRlN9rH0z0RcfoYS_Iy-0hfqtjYNrXhQRDUZTVAKlQbuiCSDJFOvVyMpIG6U28C3/s320/IMG_20160416_093058.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2PUFNxB7Hqv8iEmXAtWL4LFDDtK8MCT4a47WW0DG5V-TkDCYz5AbsdIsm-JniSHbh11OOFFz-y1_xQ1mIXKeI2FaIkIX73jOd7Z_-Y-pQtuDsb41FiYt_l0CffrjZMbRW2cXkKhX2scT/s1600/IMG_20160416_093116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2PUFNxB7Hqv8iEmXAtWL4LFDDtK8MCT4a47WW0DG5V-TkDCYz5AbsdIsm-JniSHbh11OOFFz-y1_xQ1mIXKeI2FaIkIX73jOd7Z_-Y-pQtuDsb41FiYt_l0CffrjZMbRW2cXkKhX2scT/s320/IMG_20160416_093116.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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WARNING: Pictures on my phone have very poor quality, but they get the job done and they look a bit like paintings, so it's super artsy. </div>
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The neighbors at this point started up their generator and blasted Happy Birthday music for 20 minutes. And of course, “Go shawty,
it’s your birthday” started playing and Auntie (69 remember) started danced to the whole song, dragging me in to dance as well. The
neighbor kids made me the sweetest birthday card and we had a wonderful roast chicken lunch with some family members of Auntie
Norma’s as well….and remember, I moved in 4 DAYS AGO, this community is positively wonderful.</div>
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That night, I hopped on a crowded bus to travel through the
jungle to a town about 40 minutes away called Kumaka where a Pentecostal
revival was going on. I got there and it was a huge field FILLED with Guyanese. They started to play worship music and all the youth went to the front to dance and
celebrate. Just like that I was a part of a worship mosh pit of Guyanese
jumping up and down in the middle of the jungle singing at the top of my lungs,
steam rising from our heads, and sweat POURING. That went on for about an hour
and then the pastor gave a talk and off we were. On the bus ride back, we were
jostled every which way by the rough road through the jungle, but I couldn’t
stop smiling as I thought, with sweat drying in my hair and my seat neighbor
practically in my lap, “WHAT A BIRTHDAY!!” And just like that I turned 24 in
Guyana, stay tuned for 25, I’m planning on hosting a jaguar-wrestling party. <o:p></o:p></div>
lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-62069573654208248762016-07-18T13:25:00.002-04:002016-07-18T13:25:40.620-04:00Site Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2jR0qAPtvg1d6hCN8mE4af_23SX2i2R8y6nGYsNicPWbeGmF2EZRMdokLnYoxCoqm36AxKIfvdXs44BLa1jbgdcivywHnIqd7nN1GNABqcrYUnd3xLCWsXyWHWhtoa7MkLK6E_Rsv78t/s1600/fjkdal%253Bs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2jR0qAPtvg1d6hCN8mE4af_23SX2i2R8y6nGYsNicPWbeGmF2EZRMdokLnYoxCoqm36AxKIfvdXs44BLa1jbgdcivywHnIqd7nN1GNABqcrYUnd3xLCWsXyWHWhtoa7MkLK6E_Rsv78t/s320/fjkdal%253Bs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is the landing from the Moruca river into the mission.
Across the river is all savannah and jungle, not another village to be seen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4prirC1uaHNzOGCnkJ_JiCQmxp07jom_SjLMkDgK7gomsHdqVQaJ6C28El-j6__yN5OkQlGZ72-TbTOlQIVRcbUHet8_ZrKNKUaoa3Y5lX429eE0vT-_B1fL6oEtLsh1SGk2SmwURSBJ_/s1600/ffj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4prirC1uaHNzOGCnkJ_JiCQmxp07jom_SjLMkDgK7gomsHdqVQaJ6C28El-j6__yN5OkQlGZ72-TbTOlQIVRcbUHet8_ZrKNKUaoa3Y5lX429eE0vT-_B1fL6oEtLsh1SGk2SmwURSBJ_/s320/ffj.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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More landing views from later down at the mission.</div>
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My calves will be legit after playing football in the sand
for the next couple of years…hopefully. =]<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Amr-XEtOLw6qEr55CCbDUAnr5tJSwFfgDfwLPczBbDDD8p2MfaHr6fwXVBJ5jMclNI-EqrRn-NAHJweEyK9MA2RXRAR80Jy4C-mwYAC-Y2bhfgA-P1LH7gM3OU8XNxxLN9SO1WovpDqv/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Amr-XEtOLw6qEr55CCbDUAnr5tJSwFfgDfwLPczBbDDD8p2MfaHr6fwXVBJ5jMclNI-EqrRn-NAHJweEyK9MA2RXRAR80Jy4C-mwYAC-Y2bhfgA-P1LH7gM3OU8XNxxLN9SO1WovpDqv/s320/blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is the savannah view from the far side of the mission.</div>
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This is my Auntie Norma who I will be staying with in the
village and her little niece Michelle. We took walks around the community after work and this was our little path across the village.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is a group of the village kids including all my neighbor girls: Michella, Danielle, and Kavita on the left, Adena and Mary in front of me and Michelle, Eron, Lilliana, and Shakeel to the right. They are all adorable and frequently visit the house. We are at a bathing pool in the jungle that the community uses.</div>
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lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-78013876941202685672016-04-07T15:16:00.002-04:002016-04-07T15:16:57.486-04:00Just Words<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Here I am back in Mainstay Village
in Region 2 after an 11-day trip to meet my counterpart, Dr. Orin Lewis, whom I
will be working alongside for the next 2 years. I also traveled to my new
community, Waramuri in Region 1 to meet the rest of my colleagues, host family,
and community members. After touching base with multiple other PCV’s one could
say that the emotions raged for everyone just about as much as they did when
that lovely stage of puberty graced our presence. It is interesting the wide
range of emotions that we humans are capable of when thrown into an entirely
new experience and surrounded by everything foreign. You grasp at anything that
makes you feel comfortable and familiar; that feeling of being UNDERSTOOD
becomes one of the most precious gifts that you could be given. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We all spent a week in our
respective communities. Some of us were the only Americans in the area for
hours, others were placed into the somewhat busy coastal regions. Some were placed
in a house on a river without a canoe in complete isolation (one could say that
they were up a creek without a paddle) and others closer to their neighbors
than they care to experience (aka they could probably hear you fart…smh). I was
among some of the more isolated volunteers in a village on the Moruca river. I
did get to see a PCV from the year before me, Eneka, for about 30 minutes
during a supply run for our health center at the district hospital. My heart
nearly burst seeing another American and for someone who has taken pride in
independence and a confidence in meeting people from different backgrounds
(hello FreeZone!) that was a foreign feeling. I feel like it’s in those moments
that you realize that you are never going to stop pushing against your comfort
zone; it’s a continual choice that will consistently plunge you into the
unknown, whether in the states or in a different continent. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I walked around in the
community, being watched and analyzed like a zoo animal, trying to get to know
the traditionally shy and reserved Amerindian community, I felt the feeling of
discouragement wash over me. Conversations were short and simple, people
avoided eye-contact, relationships were proper and professional, and I, the
eternal child, was melting away as it seemed. Of course this propelled me into
the journaling and prayer (per usual), and as I prayed, this question slammed
into me, “Am I just trying to make myself feel productive, useful, and liked or
do I actually care about the people that I’m serving?” Service is a more
complex thing than I had previously thought. It is tested in the face of
challenge. Do you continue to serve the people around you, or do you retreat
into your deservedly felt emotional distress? When in a position of service, do
you choose to continually plead to God to open your eyes to see the needs of
others or do you plead to God for him to open his eyes to see yours? I know
that in this week I just wanted to feel seen in a community that only saw my
skin color, my nationality, and the clothes that I wore; a community that only
heard the oh so out of place American accent that I spoke in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Whether you are choosing to love a
difficult friend or family member, launching into a new stage of
schooling/career/therapy, or trying to integrate into a new world, do not
forget that you are already seen, loved, known, pursued, and desired. You have
a God that is BIG and in control. You are held tighter and closer than you
could ever know. This was the deeply needed message that I heard God whisper to
me as I journaled and gave him that emotional distress. Not to say that I won’t
feel those same feelings of failure, discouragement, and insecurity. This is
simply to say that I will pray for remembrance of truths that have propelled me
into service and that I will ask those who read this to partner with me in
that, for their own lives and for mine.</div>
lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-1976445575751437922016-03-10T16:41:00.002-05:002016-03-10T16:41:36.487-05:00Site Placement<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Here’s another post simply to say:
I KNOW WHERE I AM GOING TO BE FOR THE NEXT TWO YEARS!!!! So the way that they
revealed where we were going was through an insane game of Pictionary. There
were 5 teams, one giant map of Guyana with post-it notes all over it, and a
room full of emotionally amped “adults” coated in our accustomed South American
sweat. Each time a team guessed the picture correctly the drawer got to
go up to the map and reveal a site where one of us was going. I have never been
dripping sweat so aggressively while sitting in one spot in my entire life! I
was revealed pretty quickly into the game, someone pointed to the farthest
post-it note to the west and sure enough there I was. I will be serving in
Waramuri village in Mourca, Region 1. I will be the only one
in my group (GUY 28) going to that region. </div>
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From Georgetown (the capitol), I'll have to take
a minibus for an hour to the Essequibo river and then across the 23 mile wide river on a speed boat,
another hour long minibus ride to Charity, and then will have to take a boat up the Pomeroon river, out into the Atlantic to reach the river head for the Mourka River, which then runs through my village. Let’s just say that I have
enough money to travel to the coast once a month haha. I work in a health center
and will be living in a village with 432 members that are predominately Amerindian. I get to travel there next Saturday to see what the site
is like, what the health center is like, and what projects my counterpart Dr. Lewis will have for me. The site doesn’t really have any running water,
electricity, flushing toilets, or wifi capability. That being said though, I
will have some limited cell access, because they have a tower, but I’m just not sure how
reliable that signal will be. All that to say that I have grown accustomed to "gaffing" (creolese for chatting), liming (hanging out), and in general enjoying the silence since I've arrived. There is a simple beauty that comes with lack of amenities, that's for sure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am ridiculously pumped to be
going somewhere new and with a lot to see, so it seems, but I am bummed that I
will be 3 hours from my closest group member. The GUY 28 (30 of us) cohort has become
family so quickly and the hugs, laughs, deep conversations, and random
pranks/walks/secrets handshakes/squaaa poses are going to be desperately
missed. It seems crazy to think that we’ll be so far apart
after being together for the past 5 weeks here in Training, somehow when you force a group of 30 Americans to spend a ridiculous amount of time together in a foreign country they become instant soul mates, weird. Our sites range from the west coast to the
east coast all the way down to the furthest point in Guyana known as Region 9, which is 18 hours away from me and of course 2 of the 5 of the Mainstay 5 are placed there...RIP Mainstay 5, RIP (Don't worry we've already made reunion plans); however, I get to come into town once a month to retrieve my monthly stipend which means that I get to see my host family once a month!! I’ve grown ridiculously attached to these kids and my host mom. The
other day I was going to celebrate site placements with the Mainstay 5 volunteers
at one of their houses and as I was leaving, Jaime, the 5-year-old, yells out
after me, “I miss you every time you go Amber” as the rest of the family
watched me walk down the street. Jerry, the 10-year-old, was getting ready to
get in the shower (we all bathe in a line of youngest to oldest as we wait
outside for each other) and he stopped and turned around, looked at me and
said, “Amber, when you get to your new host family, you know that this is still
your home right?” I just about melted in my spot, both times. They are such
wonderful humans and it seems as if living with them is God's little message in the clouds saying, "I've got you kid, let's do this together". Okay I’ll leave this off with a few pictures of the family
and the group. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckJJ7rfoBUghspHc4k8vl47RnVm_-xwLVu64XGP8F56jIBl9yQz3_cIGSZbnAR5jpoB9880rn6OGZhdTH8oXg665TXe2tQMxauzc3XpmRXUU9tDOoUq8zsqQf6qQPN1XuB1Ty7Cd5SjAA/s1600/Classic+Taylour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckJJ7rfoBUghspHc4k8vl47RnVm_-xwLVu64XGP8F56jIBl9yQz3_cIGSZbnAR5jpoB9880rn6OGZhdTH8oXg665TXe2tQMxauzc3XpmRXUU9tDOoUq8zsqQf6qQPN1XuB1Ty7Cd5SjAA/s640/Classic+Taylour.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This is one of the most classic
Taylour and Amber pictures that could have ever been captured. =] </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1croXhQFJosnL9eO2lTxCXxJr_bONOHHGfXINkI2IbhvByqlFpBYN7Ph65AWB1aJPpaqnKlGAT0Qv7PKOQmka2z38RJGq0MvV7xO-ayGjLW46_EyLn8P7qKLY2hjT8bx-8TyRNjnncOfd/s1600/East+Indian+Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1croXhQFJosnL9eO2lTxCXxJr_bONOHHGfXINkI2IbhvByqlFpBYN7Ph65AWB1aJPpaqnKlGAT0Qv7PKOQmka2z38RJGq0MvV7xO-ayGjLW46_EyLn8P7qKLY2hjT8bx-8TyRNjnncOfd/s640/East+Indian+Wedding.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We were invited to an East Indian wedding one weekend and were able to dress in traditional garb to witness the ceremony! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjESexmm5A0UwJDb8TGTQ1Dy35kFdyLepA7aDpqeDsS0FnwZryBWzy3qN6jHmcDeQoFBEWT3AjscA0gIQ2uyCcTUwoC2ZOd-9xLsv6Hr9GL6GxVZG4tegeRWk3Edfymf2P4EMhtd8Ej3j/s1600/Group+Culture+Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjESexmm5A0UwJDb8TGTQ1Dy35kFdyLepA7aDpqeDsS0FnwZryBWzy3qN6jHmcDeQoFBEWT3AjscA0gIQ2uyCcTUwoC2ZOd-9xLsv6Hr9GL6GxVZG4tegeRWk3Edfymf2P4EMhtd8Ej3j/s640/Group+Culture+Day.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Then we had a cultural day where we dressed in traditional Amerindian, African, and Indian garb and learned about norms and traditional practices done by each group.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4psGE7jRAn8iMdeJ-OIWwpnDhNxhFQyW3fYCpZFhv9r9JOaf7kT4S54E20g2lDq-mModlIJZZ8pt2O6ojy6nCMqNCRhGkT33GdFIBQf9NDJjgNE6UqEX53CCQiYUcNOpts8hIH-jMYg0/s1600/OG+Squaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4psGE7jRAn8iMdeJ-OIWwpnDhNxhFQyW3fYCpZFhv9r9JOaf7kT4S54E20g2lDq-mModlIJZZ8pt2O6ojy6nCMqNCRhGkT33GdFIBQf9NDJjgNE6UqEX53CCQiYUcNOpts8hIH-jMYg0/s640/OG+Squaa.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This group is the OG Squaaa, we
bonded on the first night in Miami chilling in a room as I played guitar and we
exchanged jokes, and we have stuck together through the PST (Pre-Service Training) process. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhqhSV2aAdtZ8cfOdbzEbI2nCGz6w4PuvcqZDZkdmUiNETTItZNPQ_1LV8kKgI3qvF9OvbdxGPSIah-WV8swc8Jc5G1FsLQS5zpo2uboIm_bmoTuRiPlPKFUN4WtMCLncjps0PyhFpaal/s1600/The+Fam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhqhSV2aAdtZ8cfOdbzEbI2nCGz6w4PuvcqZDZkdmUiNETTItZNPQ_1LV8kKgI3qvF9OvbdxGPSIah-WV8swc8Jc5G1FsLQS5zpo2uboIm_bmoTuRiPlPKFUN4WtMCLncjps0PyhFpaal/s640/The+Fam.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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Guys, this one is my host siblings (Kimberle, Jerry, Kindle, and Jaime). I already love them more than I should considering the small amount of time that I have known them. Each one of them is so ridiculously unique and adds this wonderful dynamic to one incredible family to be a part of. </div>
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lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-69667446815532149992016-03-10T16:16:00.004-05:002016-03-10T16:16:55.888-05:00Pre-Service Training Deets<div class="MsoNormal">
Social Media World,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hello, it’s been a while since I’ve touched base eh? I’ve
been placed in my host family in Mainstay village, which is a modernized yet
still somewhat remote Amerindian village. The village has about 500 inhabitants
and there are SO many kids who live here. My family has 4 kids: Kimberle – 13,
Jeremiah – 10, Kindle – 9, and Jaime – 5 and my host mom Naomi.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My host dad is in the interior, which means that he’s in the
jungle mining for gold on months on end. I might get to meet him at some point
in time before I leave, rumor has it. They are freaky awesome and remind me so
much of my siblings back at home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We don’t have any wifi and the internet data is pretty slow so I don’t get a chance to get on social media very often, but when I do, I promise I'll make it worthwhile.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am one of 5 volunteers placed here in Mainstay, so of
course we became the Mainstay 5 and actually spend quite a bit of time together
considering it is very hard to get to the coast to meet up with the other
volunteers. They are: Zach, Taylour, Gabrielle, and Kristina! Taylour is the
other Health volunteer and the rest of the three are the education volunteers.
Taylour and I have already done a health talk in the school and we got to
listen to a fetal heartbeat during antenatal care clinic. Also, we were able to
observe vaccinations, and dengue protocol. Not bad for the past 5 weeks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This was the first night that we were at Mainstay and the
kids were displaying their cultural dance. I later learned that two of the kids
in the dance troupe are in my family, Kindle and Jerry! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78dkrebwRHwitaK8jHp2L7QNvbCMAdZ-_-MDcTBNRrExKKjoC1E8_RTMVddBkIPNyZLLv2IrffIZTNZigYMKf3DctmXXunio5F_ZeGzvnLRTtHKmX1EgG1VtHxb9lOd94ni6EXFQUH48v/s1600/Dance+Troupe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78dkrebwRHwitaK8jHp2L7QNvbCMAdZ-_-MDcTBNRrExKKjoC1E8_RTMVddBkIPNyZLLv2IrffIZTNZigYMKf3DctmXXunio5F_ZeGzvnLRTtHKmX1EgG1VtHxb9lOd94ni6EXFQUH48v/s400/Dance+Troupe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is them playing red light green light, which later became a regular game they played at their school.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3oWR53usNUgeYtTBW1p_SqvWgxCOR6e-iGo3qX6V8-Q_Yb4yxVcChZutgGkzUxq275ouutN5yWgefuIUNsVrSKahtXcJ4TXaE9dLhV3s6XBsMLGFQKDAQA5ATaPNX-xFcrZ2lgUP2cK8o/s1600/Red+Light+Green+Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3oWR53usNUgeYtTBW1p_SqvWgxCOR6e-iGo3qX6V8-Q_Yb4yxVcChZutgGkzUxq275ouutN5yWgefuIUNsVrSKahtXcJ4TXaE9dLhV3s6XBsMLGFQKDAQA5ATaPNX-xFcrZ2lgUP2cK8o/s400/Red+Light+Green+Light.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is my backyard with the neighborhood kids, two of the Mainstay 5 (Zach and Gabrielle), and my host siblings!</div>
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This is another of the Mainstay 5, Taylour, and I at a cultural event where we all had to dress up as different cultures found in Guyana. If you can't tell, we're Amerindian. =]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-bnMeIoVBNpfsS9U_MvLrESRtLY0uMKkb0anzmB_hsS0oSAkOGcFMNQdGwkJcwiV_LAqwzMl18hq9__SiDW9nVowvAfzlHI2n4W6aVpfYNpPd8N5PJ0aCOfmIF20ih5QOhu4hJyVEGM_/s1600/Cultural+Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-bnMeIoVBNpfsS9U_MvLrESRtLY0uMKkb0anzmB_hsS0oSAkOGcFMNQdGwkJcwiV_LAqwzMl18hq9__SiDW9nVowvAfzlHI2n4W6aVpfYNpPd8N5PJ0aCOfmIF20ih5QOhu4hJyVEGM_/s400/Cultural+Day.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My host mom celebrated her birthday with us on February 21st, so we all had cake and toasted! Jerry wants to make it clear that he is embarrassed that I am posting this and that he doesn't have a shirt on (he's the oldest boy, 10).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKAPdWwrpXlsAaRqO6AJBgvT-9CaBzjQUE71arknN9bcRknyLbS8uqLa1_VzoZytL33WY_OPlxs5z6LOSBDtcMmkZVGrkz9PUcWcXppROr7faGJof7CfTX9LWTwD6P4vt5a5O44vF7J5D/s1600/Host+Mom%2527s+Birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKAPdWwrpXlsAaRqO6AJBgvT-9CaBzjQUE71arknN9bcRknyLbS8uqLa1_VzoZytL33WY_OPlxs5z6LOSBDtcMmkZVGrkz9PUcWcXppROr7faGJof7CfTX9LWTwD6P4vt5a5O44vF7J5D/s400/Host+Mom%2527s+Birthday.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is a group of neighborhood kids and my littlest sister Kindle (she's on the top far left).</div>
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So I have to start getting used to actually working hard at chores here. I do my laundry by hand and hang it out on the line and have to wash sheets once a week plus on Saturday we all have chores day. We deep clean the house, shower, pit latrine, and sweep inside and outside of the house. Also, this is my backyard! The rest of the green is jungle!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKI3rTrbPAfrk3gOX0HzYds4Gl5UwIm5IiHZcc-Jsa_bh05hzMYt8GSVO5BDhpSdVruFQutkmhzXbp3Tg9s5mKEWomMhto98m66V8B714tDYI_F0MuHQL8Om9CMhEVCNC4Qku4Zh7IOQL/s1600/Washing+Clothes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKI3rTrbPAfrk3gOX0HzYds4Gl5UwIm5IiHZcc-Jsa_bh05hzMYt8GSVO5BDhpSdVruFQutkmhzXbp3Tg9s5mKEWomMhto98m66V8B714tDYI_F0MuHQL8Om9CMhEVCNC4Qku4Zh7IOQL/s400/Washing+Clothes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-54867869441267173912016-02-05T17:16:00.002-05:002016-02-05T17:18:54.575-05:00Arrival and Training<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Okay social media people! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I know I promised to post pictures of things, but this one
has to be a words only post because my cord that connects my camera to the
computer is in my checked bag and the Peace Corps is holding it hostage until
Saturday when we meet our Pre-Service Training host families. I know excuses,
excuses. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Anyway, we made it to Guyana safe and sound and were
cheering loudly when we landed, much to the surprise of the flight attendants
and other passengers (social apology to those people). The humidity was for
sure evident when we stepped off of the plane, but it was Guyana, and we all
knew we would come to love that humidity sometime soon. If you turned around
there was just pitch black rain forest, which was definitely a new and exciting
sight!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The next day we took our trip to Lake Mainstay Resort from
minibus to ferry to minibus through the jungle. The first minibus ride we
crossed the “longest floating bridge in the world”, I’m thinking maybe it is,
maybe it isn’t but hey! It sounds pretty cool. When we were on the ferry we saw
all kinds of tropical forested islands and went 23 miles across the mouth of
the Essequibo river, which is the widest river in Guyana. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now we’re training at Lake Mainstay, enjoying Guyanese food,
and learning all about what it’s going to look like to work as a Peace Corps
Volunteer (PCV) here in Guyana. The group of 30 of us here have probably fallen
in love with each other far too fast and far too strongly to be healthy, but
they really are a wonderful group, I promise! </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We just found out where we will be living for the next 10
weeks and I will be staying in a village in the hinterlands. The hinterlands
are the inland parts of the country that is still rainforest and some can be
mountainous as well. I will be working at the health center and will still be
in training until swear-in, which is April 12</span><sup><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: "calibri";">! </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-68167693665532348902016-01-31T02:53:00.000-05:002016-01-31T02:53:18.690-05:00THE FIRST GUYANA POSTAlright people of the palace. It is time for the final USA blog before heading out to the sweet sweet lands of Guyana! Here is the low down. Guyana, yes, that is a country, no, I am not saying Ghana wrong. It's in South America and is the third smallest country on the continent. One could equate it to the size of Idaho in the United States, but it only has about 800, 000 inhabitants. I will be there for 2 years and three months and I will be working as a Community Health Specialist, but I do not know what I will be doing there yet, nor what part of the country I'll wind up in, BUT I promise to update you on all of that on THIS NEW AND IMPROVED (but really just the old thing repurposed) blog!<br />
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I'll probably just be posting a lot of pictures and won't be posting all that frequently because of spotty internet connection, but I will take all of my wonderful social media peeps with me to the jungles and waters of Guyana.<br />
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The packing process has been quite the ordeal, but in the end I have one bag that weighs a total of 49 pounds, one guitar for the purpose of practice and play, and one carry-on backpack that has way too many things to handle. And now it is 11PM and I am writing this blog and getting ready to head to Miami to meet the rest of the Peace Corps cohort!<br />
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Okay, I'm heading out and to stay true to my word, here's a picture of my luggage:<br />
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<br />lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-43619132575894189102015-07-18T01:33:00.000-04:002015-07-18T01:33:04.363-04:00A Reflection of What?I started a new job a little over a month and a half ago at a local cafe in Fort Collins and was scheduled to close just me and another guy who was a little newer than I was. I ran into two or three snags as I was closing, which my brain interpreted as, "COMPLETE FAILURE!". I got in my car feeling like I wasn't functioning at my fullest potential and as I drove I let all the little things that made me feel that way replay in my head. I felt the frustrations and the anger and the inadequacies all over again and couldn't stop feeling them. So when I got home, I grabbed my phone and headphones, started up a new playlist I made, and sat outside on the porch of my house that is off the beaten track. There were no clouds in the sky and the bright stars jumped out at me from their velvety blue background. As I looked at the stars, "Old Pine" by Ben Howard began playing. The chorus: "We stood, steady as the stars in the woods. So happy-hearted and the warmth rang true inside these bones. As the old pine fell, we sang just to bless the morning." This was quickly followed by "Turn to Stone" by Ingrid Michaelson. The lyrics: "I know that we are nothing new. There's so much more to me and you, but brother, how we must atone before we turn to stone."<br />
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All of those scenes that replayed over and over again, well they sank away as I stared at the stars and was reminded of how big our God is. It reminded me of this metaphor that I've actually used a lot recently. You have to let me paint a scene for you first though. Okay, here goes. Imagine a valley filled with gorgeous wildflowers, blue, purple, yellow, orange, swaying in a slight breeze amidst their green cousins of grass and wild plants. On the edges of this valley are mountains of course. Mountains so tall and snow capped, yet covered in a gentle, soft green before the peak. Everything is quiet. Everything is wild. Everything is sacred. In the middle of this valley is a room of mirrors. Four walls with mirrors facing outwards and inwards. Now, place yourself inside of this room of mirrors. What do you see? You see you. In everything you do, you see you. In everything you say, you hear you. In every decision you make, it reflects you. That in my mind is the definition of brokenness, blind pain without hope and freedom. Everything in your life is a reflection of you. If you fail, it's because you aren't good enough. If you succeed it's because you are amazing and did everything right. I feel like my car ride home today was that room. I stepped in, closed the door, and then pounded on every wall, pissed off, feeling injured and upset, controlled and slighted. Every event was a reflection of my identity.<br />
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Freedom. Freedom, is when you step outside of this room and every scene that is reflected is something greater, more meaningful, more stunning, more wild than anything that we could create. It is when our lives are able to reflect the glory of Christ, the beauty that He created us to be and to see. Our heart no longer reflects a grave identity of our actions, but instead the quiet strength of the ever-present mountains, and the flowers that reflect beauty with every color. We reflect Christ's bigger plan. That for me was the reminder of the stars. The reminder that things happened that I felt slighted by; that things happened that made me feel inadequate, yet they no longer mattered. As I stared at the stars with majestic music and a cool breeze gently caressing my face and bringing a small smile to my lips, I realized that there is something bigger to pay attention to. All of a sudden those mirrors didn't seem so daunting and awful. They felt exciting and fortifying. Let's stop outside of our mirrors and see something more team. Let's believe in something more and become something more.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-34269362342075711342015-06-08T03:19:00.000-04:002015-06-08T03:19:46.109-04:00To Be Searched. To Be Known."Search me, O God, and know my heart" - Psalm 139:23.<br />
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I read this the first time in a blur of other verses and in a rush to finish the chapter so that I could say that I made it through another chapter in this behemoth book of Psalms I took on months and months ago. I put on some Of Monsters and Men, which will always put me in a pensive state especially their new EP releases, but I digress. I put on the music and then I felt the urge to read it again. Then I read it again and again and then again. And in my head a vision formed: Me standing, arms stretched out, palms wide open with fingers that reached so far that they felt like they were trying to escape from my hand. Eyes shut tight, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards towards the heavens so that every freckle, eyelash, and crease on my face was illuminated. A subtle darkness that felt thick and foreboding filled the space and I stood in the middle of it all. Out of my mouth fell the words, "Search me, O God, and know my heart". It took on a new meaning at that point. Search me, O God, and know all the things I hide from everyone else, the lonely feelings, or inadequacies, the selfishness, and the shame. Know all the things that make me feel like a child again, giddy with joy and hope. Know the people that make my heart soar and the ones that make it rip and tear. Know the doubts that run through my head and fall into my ever so welcoming heart for a home. And all of a sudden, that phrase brought weight - both comfort and fear.<br />
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Isn't this what we strive for? We want someone to look into our eyes and know that they are seeing our hearts. It's the plot line for every romance story and often what we look for from our family or our best friends. We want to be known, deeply and accurately known. That is why it is so scary and trapping when we put up walls barring people from seeing our hearts through our eyes and scarier still when it works. That slow moving fade as friends fall apart and significant others lose their connection and families become marred by choices and by life itself instills this dull ache of our fears becoming true. And in our heart of hearts we retreat, we board up the windows that were our eyes and our words and we say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me" (Psalm 139:11). We fade our own uniqueness and our own courage which once allowed us to take risks and to be steamrolled by the broken world around us without the loss of hope. We put to rest our whimsical dreams, or our life passions of travel, or of changing the world, or of getting married, or of having kids, or of experiencing true hope, true joy, and true peace, or of whatever it is that we won't let pass our lips for fear of actually thinking that we might have a chance of it coming true.<br />
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But then that sentence: "Search me, O God, and know my heart". It comes with the following, "even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you" (Psalm 139:12). There is no fortress that can be built, no window that can be boarded, no darkness for our fears to use as cover, no walls to become wallflowers on. There is only you, the one that was "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14) standing and pleading that the God that made you would fully search you and fully know you. I tell you something, everything else seems to pale in comparison at that point, the silly insecurities that forced you to settle, the crazy fears that incapacitated your courageous love, and the unbelievable lies that blinded your sight. Read the sentence again and again and then again and make it your plea. It's crazy how liberating it can be when we let ourselves be seen; maybe then we can let the wild truth that we are pursued and loved sink in. Maybe then we can believe in a world that brings brave hope, foolish joy, and whimsical life dreams; better yet, maybe then we can partake in it.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-24836911118807057062015-03-29T23:55:00.002-04:002015-03-29T23:55:35.017-04:00This World of WaitingToday, I took a study break outside. It was a wonderful 60 degrees and I was setting up the grill to cook some marinated chicken. I was watching the sun begin the path below the horizon and I knew this would be a great sunset because the clouds were set up for the perfect show. My playlist, "The Glories of the Mountains" was playing on the stereo and my roommate's dog was running around my ankles waiting for me to play fetch. I finished up the chicken and grabbed some sweet potato fries just in time to watch the painting begin. The sun lit the sky on fire and the birds were alive with their God-given song. And I felt nothing. I felt no connection to this Divine Lord, the One in charge of the sky's orchestra.<br />
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I changed the playlist to "When Only Worship Makes Sense" and I dropped to my knees. These words pumped through the speakers for the third time today:<br />
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"Ye who think of sin but lightly. Nor suppose the evil great. Here may view its nature rightly. Here its guilt may estimate. Mark the Sacrifice appointed. See who bears the awful load. Tis the Word, the Lord's Anointed. Son of Man and Son of God."<br />
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It's the song "Stricken, Smitten, and Afflicted" by Fernando Ortega and it's talking about the death of Christ on the cross. I heard it for the first time this morning in church and I was slammed with the conviction that I had been believing my sins only affected me. I was the one choosing to do them, I was the one who would pay the consequences and the affliction...or not feel them if I chose. Here, I am reminded of why sin is so great. The burden falls on my Lord. The burden sits on the shoulders of my Savior on a cross giving His last breath so that I may have access to my Abba Father. So that I may rejoice over a wonderful sunset, or slightly charred chicken on a grill. So that I may live my life with the promise of salvation and a hope that never ceases. And in my ignorance I closed my eyes and jaded my heart.<br />
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As I stayed on my knees the life I had been choosing washed over me. I just recently stepped into my Masters of Public Health program and took a vow in my heart that I would be a voice of change for those who need it...and then I closed myself off to God. I chose to pursue this dream. I chose to build my own story. I chose to help others with <i>my</i> talents, <i>my</i> time, <i>my</i> hard work. And then my life became about <i>me</i> helping others, not about the Lord intervening. I felt the wall that I had been slowly building around my heart. I felt the severed feelings and the suppressed intimacy I had with the Holy Spirit because I had chosen my dream that <i>I</i> would make happen.<br />
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My life is meant to be spent everyday fighting for those in desperation. And I told God, wait until I finish my Masters. My life is meant to be spent standing in the gap. And I told God, wait until I gather the materials for a bridge. My life is meant to be saturated with the Holy Spirit. And I told God, wait until I'm done having fun. If I cannot walk through the process of preparation with the Lord's call to Freedom in my heart, who is to say I will dive into my career with the mentality? If right now, right here in comfortable Colorado I do not choose to fight for other's freedom, where in my dream will it fit in?<br />
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I was stricken with grief. Not that I had broken the "good Christian code", but that I had cashed God's Masterpiece in for a shoddy knock-off riddled with sin. I cannot be a part of the Divine Story of chains breaking and voices lifting in worship and gratitude if I choose to live my life for my goals, my fun, my resume, and my adventure. I can choose my life of meaningless conversations and tasks on a To-Do list or I can choose a life of deep, fierce, and urgent purpose and freedom. I would be a fool, and have been, to believe that the two lives can coexist. I want to see miracles happen and to see God work in the present moment. I want to be in the middle of what He is up to. So, with a contrite heart, I say, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner" and with a heart full of the Holy Spirit, I say, "Use me in this world of waiting."lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-12105927517385704062015-01-22T00:56:00.001-05:002015-01-22T00:56:18.355-05:00ExplorationFor a couple of weeks I was in Colorado with no plans and no school to attend, which meant that I had plenty of time to pour stupid money and attention into awesome things like snow shoe hiking, regular hiking, hiking in this place, and ALSO hiking in that place! Well, I had it in my heart that I was going to go on at least one solo hike, just me and nature. So on this particular day, I packed my kick-butt pale yellow snow suit, rainbow beanie, hazmat fitting snow boots, and snow shoes and took off for the mountains.<br />
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On the hike, I was completely alone, not a single other person to be seen. There was a light snow and in certain patches the sky was a brilliant blue. The pines stood tall and firm and the air was a brisk cold, not the kind that makes you feel like someone just tried to sandpaper your face off. I hiked uphill for quite some time until I reached this open space that I knew to be a lake that was completely surrounded by massive peaks covered in the most fluffy powdery snow that you could imagine. In places, the sun broke through the cloud coverage and gleamed off of sections on these peaks. I couldn't believe it. I stood still and looked at everything, being the sole pair of human eyes to be looking at that display right then. I looked back at my trail of snow that had been untouched by anything ever before. I took a break on a tree stump, stopped breathing loudly (uphill people, uphill), stopped crunching snow and just listened to the silence. I soaked it all in; the exploration was refreshing. The silence...it was stirring. God recently spoke to my heart and told me that He would give me courage to face my fears through the Beauty that I was surrounded by. In that moment, it made complete sense.<br />
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As I was hiking back down to my car I kept thinking about that statement, "Courage through Beauty." And I realized two things: 1 - my heart is bent on the thrill of discovery as beauty. 2 - I get the same feeling when I'm exploring a person's heart, it's a sense of being humbled and awed...and yet, it's been a long while since I've felt that sort of exploration. I was wondering about why that's been and realized that I had lost the idea that people are beautiful. You see, when it's not right in your face, the beauty of other's hearts and even your own, well, it becomes hard to see. I had felt like my exploration of that terrain had churned up less than glorious scenery, burned forests and dry desert, and so I shut my eyes saying, "no, it doesn't exist." I didn't even try to look further; I lost the belief that the exploration of hearts revealed beauty.<br />
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But you know, the Lord calls us into swamps, deserts, and burned forest, so that we can see the world that He believed was worth giving everything up for; the World that He still loves deeply. And He still sees the beauty. It's not always obvious through all the things that we call beautiful, good, holy, righteous, or even "right"; it's not powdery mountain tops in the background of a frozen lake; but it's there in subtle ways; it's the single flower that perseveres in the cracked dry desert; it's there through the honest question that is asked, or the vulnerable moment that is risked.<br />
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The beauty of exploration is not in the land that you see, but in the eyes that you see the land through. A snow covered lake was beautiful to me; it empowered me, and motivated me to continue through the exhaustion. I know that is the Courage God was talking about; it's a courageous beauty. A beauty that motivates. A beauty that inspires. A beauty that points to the Almighty. And all of that is found in us. Messy, sinful, broken us. We are still beautiful because we are seen through the eyes of our Father, Creator, and Redeemer. Those are the eyes that I want when looking at this new land. Those are the eyes that I want showing my heart the wonders in this world, which inspire me to be all that I can be. Because all of a sudden this world becomes wonderful, majestic, and bold. Let us explore.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-38349117844129600382015-01-09T16:39:00.000-05:002015-01-09T16:39:18.085-05:00A Wagon Full of MemoriesA wagon full of memories, pulled with delicate hands.<br />
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A little girl collecting daisies, hair blowing with the wind. Every detail memorized, every sun ray captured, in a wagon full of memories.<br />
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That wagon pulled through thick and thin hitting bumps in the road and jostling precious memories in tow. Some fall, settle into the dust, and lie there with messages of hope forgotten.<br />
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The wheels rattle over the path dropping what is known. The wagon fills with the bumps of the present.<br />
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What is so often left to settle in the dust and lay forgotten? What is known yet left behind?<br />
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I know of a pair of Eyes, that hold my favorite love, that see more than the world offers.<br />
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I know of a Heart that beats with strength in the fear, with sense in the chaos.<br />
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I know of Hands that fit mine so well and always seem to pull, pull where they've already been.<br />
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And I know of the dust that masks them.<br />
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All this to show that my eyes, my heart, my hands, they are more than I could make them; they are more than what I can even see: tools to love, tools to learn, and make this world something better.<br />
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So take care of the memories in the dust. Turn back to fill the wagon with the Truth of the Lord that loves and guides and redeems. It seems that then the wagon becomes a joy and not a burden; that life is hopeful and not despairing.<br />
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A wagon full of memories, pulled with delicate hands.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-48023376461130075102014-12-03T19:47:00.001-05:002014-12-03T19:47:16.370-05:00Worth ProtectingDo you ever have those days where you feel like you're just waiting. You don't really know what you're waiting for, but it just feels like everything you do and everywhere you go there's something on pause. Or maybe, you have those weeks, or months, or years?<br />
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I drive around on days like that and it just feels like everything is distant from me. I'm in this different reality where time stands still and I'm just watching and waiting. I don't actually get to participate in the moment, I don't get to fully be present in the conversation, in the task, in the adventure. Usually it settles in when I don't get enough sleep you know, sort of like that caffeine buzz where you're running on fumes instead of actual gas and you have this unnecessarily dramatic, "what is my life?" moment as you stare off to the upper left.<br />
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Well, I feel like my waiting game has been going on for a long time now and you know what I feel robbed; like, I'm missing out on something that I want to be a part of but can't, an adventure that I can see but I can't touch. I've thought about it and I've come to this weird connection. The more I think about myself, the more selfish that I become, the farther from living I get. I had this moment where I realized that those who are selfish don't get to leave an impact on this world. And if you know me then you know that making an impact in this world is something I crave more than pregnant women crave ice cream (I don't actually know if that happens, but it seems true). It seems counterintuitive really. The more you pursue things for you, the less you truly benefit. The less moments where you feel full, saturated, and alive.<br />
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I've been selfishly protecting myself from being hurt lately and while it is so natural to react to situations, relationships, and future plans with walls and safety nets we have to sacrifice to do so. In the process of safety proofing our lives we lose that moment right before you dive into the waterfall heart racing, fear being battled, we lose the moment right as you crest the mountain and everything you've climbed unfolds below you, the moment that you catch the last rays of sun gleaming off of the water, you forfeit the spark of life for a dull musty constant. Isn't it weird that when you start protecting yourself you begin to lose everything worth protecting? You lose the life you've wanted to preserve. It's like when you try to hoard up on some really good food before it gets discontinued (like twinkies that one time in that one place...you remember when that happened right?) and then you don't ever really get around to eating it, but instead you watch it mold on the countertop (well, not with twinkles those things could survive a nuclear attack).<br />
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What's really worth protecting though? Your version of success? Your image? Your laughter? Your light-heartedness? I've tried these past few months to protect these things against life's harsh themes and uncertain obstacles. And you know what, I feel empty. I feel less content in laughing, less light-hearted, and more trapped then before. I'm stepping into this realization that I can't protect my life (and will probably have to step into this again sometime in the future). I can't hold onto my dreams with clenched fists, eyes shut tight, whispering, "please, please, please". I can't always prepare. I can't always be certain. I think it's time for me to stop trying to protect myself and just let go, to let parts of me get chipped away and bruised. Maybe then I'll actually taste what I'm eating, I'll actually laugh when I'm brimming with joy, and I'll actually feel like my image. I'll stand at the edge of the crowd and dance instead of compare, because maybe then I'll look at God and need not look anywhere else. I'll hold the gaze and then break out into a smile laughing at the inside joke that my Lord and I share. I hear him say with amusement in His voice, "see, you let go of those dreams and I'll be able to take a hold of them and show you how they were just a foothill compared to the mountains. Let's go to the mountains."<br />
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I have this awesome feeling that when I follow Him there, I will realize that I am more than I originally thought I could be. I will realize the reason for being light-hearted, the glory that leads me to life-filled laughter. I will feel safe no matter what happens. Whether it be from instability (relationally or financially), my own fears, or from disappointments in life. I will be able to be weak and not feel the shame or the inadequacy that so naturally comes when my strength wavers. I will be safe from hopeless heartbreak. Then I will be free.<br />
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I look to the Lord now and I get to say "Lead me" and I hear back ever so quiet, "Forever and always my Daughter."<br />
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With a light-heart, I can rest.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-11756784447614930932014-09-24T18:28:00.000-04:002014-09-24T18:28:16.889-04:00The Insecure SowerI had a conversation with someone the other day that launched me into this crazy train of thought. This person is unbelievably awesome, but insecurity has infiltrated the way that they live and see themselves. Now I could say that this person used to be me (and it was) and you all would be like "Whoa, crazy writing technique where she described someone else and was like psych it's her." But, that's not exactly where I'm going, so calm down. This was an actually different person then me and you know, I bet some of you are reading this and are saying that it applies to you, or your best friend, or your parents, or your sibling, or whatever. I think it's safe to say that we all know someone who struggles with insecurity.<br />
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I was praying for this person and The Parable of the Sower popped into my head, so I read it. But, this time I read it from my old perspective. My old perspective of self-doubt, relational validation, and radical insecurity. Now the parable can be found in Matthew 13, and Mark 4, and Luke 8, yes it's popular. If you don't know it I definitely encourage you to read it, but essentially it's about a farmer who is sowing seeds in his garden and it describes the fate of the seeds in different environments: the path, rocky places, thorns, and good soil. Jesus uses it for a metaphor of how people in this world will react to the Gospel message. It's a beautiful message, full of hard truth. But you see I used to read it like this (putting myself in as the farmer sowing the seed, spreading the Gospel). When the seed fell on the path and the birds ate it, I would say, "how stupid! I threw the seed too far (I tried too hard to get these people to convert) and now look what I've done. How pathetic am I?" When the seed fell on the rocky places I would say, "how lazy! I didn't take the time to lift each one of these stones and make a good soil patch (devoted more time and efforts to these people's problems) for these seeds to grow. How selfish am I?" When the seed fell among the thorns I would say, "Where was I to protect them from all these thorns (hardships in life). What a terrible person am I?" And when the seeds fell on the good soil and took root I wouldn't even notice because I was so fixed on my failure OR I would take it as my "month fix" of the good-Christian high until it all faded and I felt like crap about myself all over again.<br />
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It doesn't have to be that extreme though. Think about it, how many times have we beat ourselves over the head because we tried too hard and we turned people away, or simply didn't care enough about other people's problems (Christian or not), or didn't protect people from feeling/going through terrible things and now we feel responsible for their pain or their emotions? How many times have we said, look what I've done! And then felt guilt, shame, and self-loathing or even pride and self-righteousness for the success or happiness that they feel.<br />
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Notice how Jesus explains the parable. He doesn't say, "See, the reason these people suffered and rejected me was because of that incompetent, selfish, lazy believer who was spreading my message of love and wholeness all wrong!" He says to the disciples that this WORLD is full of affliction and trials (sometimes even caused by our belief in the Word) and the influence of the evil one. He explains how these things get in the way for these seeds, that they are robbed by the world, not our actions or lack of action. We are not responsible for other's change! Contrary to popular belief, we do not control other's emotions, either good or bad! We can influence them for sure, but ultimately it is a choice on the person's part to feel a certain way. And the way that someone changes is based off of a relationship between them and their Father, their God. It is a unique relationship for THEM, just as YOU have a unique relationship with YOUR Father. So often we place our identity in where the seed fell and how people reacted. Did they reject you? Did they accept you? Have you failed in your ultimate purpose and thus failed as a person, or have you succeeded? It is so circumstantial, an identity placed on others. It is risky; it is hard; it is impossible to have a security in who we are, based off of other people, no matter how awesome they are. I am not saying, don't pour out and care about others. Please don't take that away. I am saying pour out and care about others because you know how poured into and cared about by God you are. Love others because you know you are loved. Be selfless because you know how valuable you are and you don't need to drag that question into every scenario in your life. Be selfless because you can, because everything in your life does not center around finding your own happiness; because you don't need to be seen by others, because you are ALREADY SEEN by God. That is why we should care for other people. That is how we can become selfless.<br />
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Imagine what it would be like to have your identity placed in the Gospel message that you are spreading, on the God that you are working for. Imagine what it would be like for someone to be having a crappy day and you don't immediately jump to what you did wrong to make them feel that way. Imagine the freedom you would have to love others and not have to think about yourself in it! Imagine the way that you would get to spread God's love - through sincerity and joy, not out of obligation or a necessity to feel like a good person or to have God maybe love the wretched person that you think you are. GOD LOVES YOU NO MATTER WHAT YOUR ACTIONS ARE. He loves you right now as you are - struggling through that sin, being that much of a mess. He loves you. Just sit in that. NO, don't do anything. Let it sit with you. Let it sink in. Let it infiltrate your brain and your heart. Hear it from God himself. My friend. My family. Don't let insecurity rob you of the FULL life that God has in store for you. Don't let it rob you of the Woman or Man that God is making you into. Don't let it rob you of the journey He takes you on; don't let it rob you of joy. Because it is a genius ploy of the enemies. But it doesn't have to be. "You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world." - 1 John 4:4.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-4016320778353297522014-09-22T06:12:00.000-04:002014-09-22T06:12:03.445-04:00Stillness It will create you or destroy you.<div>
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The stillness will be either stifling or freeing. It will evoke potential or regret. It will be the calm before the storm or the disaster there after. We choose in the stillness who we will become. We choose our guide, our voice of reason, our God or gods. We choose where we go no further. We choose to cut the rope, or tighten the noose. We choose between fear or courage. </div>
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In the stillness our foundation is laid. Every noise, every movement, every detail is noticed. Every thought, every belief is important. In the stillness we let go or we tense up. In the stillness we run or we fall.</div>
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The art has been lost in our world of adrenaline and success. The talent of non-movement, of standing still, has been written off as something of the past when there were no video games, internet, or glowing TV screens. </div>
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As a generation we pound our chests and proclaim: We are efficient, we are productive, we are driven, we are success. Well, we are sinking.</div>
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We are sinking in our ideals of identity and happiness. We believe that we can control our insecurity and beliefs through sheer force of will. We look to our own hands as the key to a full life and we grow grace-less in our works.</div>
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If we avoid the stillness - we avoid decision, purpose, true adventure, and true courage. If we avoid the stillness, we neither tense nor relax, run nor fall, fulfill potential nor regret lost potential. If we avoid stillness, then we successfully avoid risk. And without risk we feel no pain, we feel no love. We are safe in our metal box, filled with nothing worth protecting. If we avoid the stillness, we become our fears swaying in the winds of insecurity and uncertainty.</div>
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But, it is not until you stare down the empty road that you begin the journey.</div>
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There is a voice, waiting to be heard in the stillness, calling each one of us. Sit, don't move, let the panic settle and subside and know who you are. For when you stand again, it will be with new life.</div>
lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-88431111443465114362014-09-08T18:20:00.002-04:002014-09-08T18:20:36.227-04:00The Rich LifeI am a newbie Coloradan - fresh from the Indiana farmland by two weeks - and have been in the process of searching for a church. Well, I've taken up a terrible habit of sleeping in until like 10am every day because I only have class on Tuesday and Thursday. Needless to say, my morning Sunday habits have become entirely void these past couple weeks. Ergo, criteria for a church = offers a night service. =] There are two churches here who do that. One of them meets at 6pm and the other at 5:30pm. Last week, I went to the 6pm one, and it was great. So, of course, I decided to go back to it this week. I packed all my homework for after church shenanigans (#lifeofagradstudent) and left the house relatively early, for me. I walked into the church at 5pm in extreme confidence that I was right on time. False, the doors were locked and people looked at me like a crazy for even trying to get in. Regardless they let me in and I walked straight to the coffee providing counter (another plus for this church) grabbed coffee and then realized I AM AN HOUR EARLY!!! So, I walked out the other door because who are we kidding I'm not standing around in a church lobby for an hour! I got in the car and spontaneously decided to try out this other 5:30pm church. So I drove over to a different church with ANOTHER church's coffee in my car. That was when extreme coffee guilt settled in and I took action. I guzzled the whole coffee while sitting in the comfort of my judge-free zone car and walked in real casual like.<br />
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I tell you what, I have a strong belief that God led me through those doors that day, using my absolute disastrous attention to time. I sat in this church service as the pastor slammed us with the absolute awe that comes with the GLORY of God. The Glory that we get to respond to through worship, right? So we had a great time of worship and I had this moment when I stopped singing and listened to the body of believers sing with all of their hearts to a Glorious God and I couldn't help but goose bumps. After church, I decided to go to the top of this mountain to watch the sunset and took off racing the sunset all the way to the top. I got to this parking lot, looking over a small lake with the full moon already gleaming and the gradient of orange, pink, green, light blue, and dark blue alive in the sky. The foreground was the town I have already grown to love, Fort Collins, and the background was another mountain range where the sun rays pierced the sky. I rolled down my windows and walked to the waters edge as Fix My Eyes by Kings Kaleidoscope blared from my car. I stood, captivated. A stupid grin plastered on my face as I spun in a slow circle taking in the absolute beauty that was around me.<br />
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I've known that feeling a few times before in my life. In the times when all of my best friends are in one room or when a particular song has left me dumb-struck. The times when I have stood atop a mountain or in the middle of a forest or on a surfboard in the ocean or in a wide open meadow. It is a moment when time stands still and my heart is soaked in joy. That for me is worship. It is when I am so intentionally present that I can see God's timeline meet mine and it catches my breath and makes my heart swell. It is a second, or an hour, or a day where I believe that everything that God says about me is true; that He is doing something special in my live right now and I can see it. When I know that God is fulfilling a desire of my heart in that moment. It is when God gives me a glimpse of how good, how glorious, and how beautiful He is and it leaves me feeling saturated and alive. It is a gift. A gift that allows me to forgive, to survive heart ache, and to be sacrificial with my life; yet, in that process I feel more satisfied then ever before, more whole, more loved, more pursued...<br />
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You know what, it is a rich life we get to live and I for one love living it.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-79053560482168812922014-05-09T10:23:00.003-04:002015-06-07T21:36:01.878-04:00Next StopI am on a train. Current stop: College. Four years ago, I stepped off of the train at my platform, Purdue University. I started a journey that I would have never guessed would land me here, about to board the train again on my way to the next stop: Graduate School. At this station I have developed life lasting friendships, changed my entire life, and developed some of my most important and valued passions. I have been in one of my dearest friend's wedding in South Africa, I have done photo shoots, ran with my arms spread wide, watched sunsets and sunrises on top of parking garages, overlooking massive oceans, staring out on lakes, woods, and valleys of other countries. I have risen from a stage in front of 6000 students, and been challenged by people who are 100% different than I am. I have lived in five different houses/dorms/apartments and have developed unbelievable memories in unbelievable places. And now I am about to get back on the train that will take me someplace new. A new platform, a new adventure, a new life, with new faces, and new memories. I will develop old passions and discover new ones and I will experience things I could never have imagined or dreamed of. And I won't experience some of the ones that I have dreamed of.<br />
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Throughout this whole process I look back on the past train stations that I have enjoyed life at. High school, middle school, childhood, etc. I see the old faces, the old friendships, the old life that I used to have. I see the faces that I have left behind and have not seen in four plus years, and I see the ones that boarded the train with me and stayed in my life a little longer. Some got off at different stations, some got back on after a station or two apart. Life is full of good byes and hellos. What makes them bearable? What makes it okay to get back on the train? To say good bye to everything you are familiar with? Every time I get back on the train to go to a new station there is one big thing. I am always looking at a familiar face. He is my Father, my God, and my Savior. He takes my hand every time it's time for me to move on, to take the next step in my life adventure. He says to me, "Come on, I've got something to show you, it's just beyond what this station has offered you. It is something good, yet hard, hair raising yet knee sinking." I look at His face, I grab His hand and I walk. I walk away from what I know and I walk into what I trust. I trust that the Lord is a good conductor. I trust that whatever the next stop brings, He will be there. I trust that He loves me enough to give me joy, peace, love, grace, laughter, growth, hardships, challenges, and adventure. I am excited for what He has in store, because when I look back at the stations that could have developed in my life time, I realize how well He has steered my train, how intentionally He has laid my path. He has taken my through scenes that make my jaw drop, valleys full of meadows and peace, deserts that scorched, winters that froze, mountains that dazzled, rivers that flowed, trees that swayed in the wind, busy city streets that bustle with noise. He has driven me past the poor, the afflicted, the ones in need of a spiritual and physical advocate and said "love them". He has driven me past the rich, the apathetic, the selfish, and the broken and said, "love them". My God has shown me things I never wanted to see, and things I never imagined I would be privileged enough to see.<br />
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Leaving this station means leaving a lot behind and for that I will be sad. But I cannot wait for where God is leading me next and I continue to look forward to wherever He may lead me.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-62744732396109027162014-03-25T19:23:00.001-04:002014-03-25T19:23:21.836-04:00Adventure AcheIt is Tuesday, the second day of being back from a week long break from school. I'm sitting in a library after having just finished my Biology homework and stalking/editing the facebook world. My feed is currently jam-packed with world-wide adventures considering I have friends spread across the globe this semester. Meanwhile, I just fine-tuned my work schedule, making sure I have a minimum of 30 hours, checked my grades, calculated my finances, called the grad school I am planning on attending, molded my planner to give me room to see people, study, and work-out, and then sat back exhausted. How ironic that just a few days ago I sat back exhausted because I had just hiked 9 miles on sand with all that I needed on my back. I have a very familiar aching in my heart. I call it the adventure ache. It resonates in the post and pre stages of extreme adventure and the more you get it, the more likely you are to succumb to it.<br />
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Now, I am a firm believer in the notion that never in any stage of your life do you have to settle to be miserable or discontent for a pay off later down the road. I am not a believer in fixes in life, an adventure fix to put you over until the next one, or a God fix that fills you until next Sunday, etc. I am a believer in the everyday chance of joy, the everyday opportunity to truly be filled. I realize that this is the harder belief system to hold and even harder to live by. But right now in this setting I am faced with a hard question: How do I partake in everyday contentment and live, I mean really live, in the mundane and the schedule? When I am looking at all of these pictures of unbelievable mountains, gorgeous cities, and ridiculous adventures how do I remain happy sitting in an uncomfortable library chair doing things I don't necessarily want to do?<br />
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I won't lie I didn't know how to answer that question when I typed it. So, I shut my computer and walked home. I plugged in my music and talked with God as I went. Asking Him, how do you be happy? As I asked and walked, the cold bit through my coat and made my eyes tear up. The wind rustled the grass as I walked beside it and the clouds moved in a lazy fashion through the sky. The campus was empty and an imagination-provoking instrumental was providing me a soundtrack to my movie-like walk. I noticed the empty treetops gently leaning and heard the sound of my footsteps. It was as if I had been forced to move in slow motion and lightning speed at the same time, losing sight of the meaning of time at all. To be happy? Notice the world around you. That's what God was telling me. Listen to the sound of nature, no matter how small, trace the same path everyday noticing the different colors, the way the sky is shaped, the people that walk across it. Make new memories with the people you love by being intentionally present, study hard because you know it's a blessing to even have a chance to learn. Pay attention to the intricate story that is being weaved throughout your life and the lives of others. Don't waste time being jealous of others lives, others opportunities of adventure, when you are passing up the adventure right in front of you. Choose to notice, choose to laugh, choose to let your imagination fill an empty field with little nymphs, fairies, and fauns. Because I can guarantee, that wherever you are, whatever stage of life you're in, there is an adventure waiting for you. God is constructing an intricate play, a hair-raising, tear-inducing, life-filling saga and all we have to do is open our eyes!<br />
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<br />lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-55552227204017232482014-01-26T17:41:00.000-05:002014-01-26T17:41:12.685-05:00A Different Type of LeavingI grew up in California and I go to school in Indiana. I remember the time when I was deciding what college I would attend. In that time, I looked around the place that I made so many memories and said to myself, "I have to go." So, I packed up my things, said my good-byes and flew across the country to "go" to school. I had that feeling so strongly that I had told my mom years in advance that I was going to leave <br />
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A little sidetrack now. I called my sister and was talking to her about some future plans. We were just chatting and I was going through my normal routine of verbal processing/planning. And I finished that conversation, with, "I think it's time for me to come home." As I was saying the words I found myself choking up. As I was typing that sentence I started to choke up. For a long time I didn't know why every time I said those words I got emotional, but I think it's starting to fall in place now, especially in light of the next big decision (graduating from college) I have to make. When I was leaving home the first time, I was running from my past, who I was, and what was in that place. I ran because I wasn't brave enough to face my issues. As the years have passed I have found the strength and courage in God to walk through those things and am a radically different person now. I am no longer running a race to try to stay just one step ahead of my brokenness and shame. I am learning the power of staying and of rest. But, that whole term "coming home" is a hard one for me because I have spent my whole life focused on "leaving home". Because home is what I know, it is what I am familiar with, it is what formed me, and it is a deep part of me. And for a long time I hated everything about myself, home included. But now, I am a Daughter of God. One who is fought for and loved unconditionally. I am a Woman who fights for grace, mercy, and compassion. I am valued for who I am in Christ, not what I do or don't do. And now I know I have a God who is saying, "I think it's time for you to come home."<br />
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I have no idea what that means, or what I will face in the journey of "coming home". I have a feeling that it will encompass me walking alongside God and in His Will a heck of a lot more. I feel like I've been on this journey so far, out to sea, away from everything that I have known, learning what it means to be me, what it means to embrace pain and to seek hope in the extreme darkness. I have been on a journey to understand what it is that I really believe and which thoughts and emotions are in Truth and which ones are in deception. I have journeyed into my lands of judgment and malice and sought to understand the roots from which they grew. No matter how changed you are, no matter how "strong" you have become,
it is scary to walk the halls where tragedy and heartache has occurred,
and that is all the more evident in light of the shooting here at
Purdue. But now, it's time to come back to the places I ran from and begin to walk once again in the desolate land that I left so long ago. It's time to stand up in the lands where I once was weak and begin to fight for those who are in the same place I once was. It's time to get my hands dirty, it's time to "come home" to this world that is broken, but with a renewed hope and a strong heart full of identity, purpose, and grace.<br />
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So, yes, I will go, somewhere and somehow. When I graduate, I will go someplace new and be surrounded by new people. I will leave behind everything I worked for on this campus, the familiar sites and the places that I called home for so long. I will pack my bags, say my good-byes, and get on a plane to I don't even know where yet. I will be the only one who knows my past, my tendencies, and my memories. But, my leaving is no longer about me and my fear, and that is what makes all the difference. So, this time I will leave not to run, but to "come home".lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-21603201997719065862014-01-06T17:24:00.001-05:002014-01-06T17:24:15.570-05:00Love Without Fear"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. the one who fears is not made perfect in love." - 1 John 4:18.<br />
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Okay, so there's the verse that inspired the thoughts and here's the set-up as described to my little sister, Jenelle, and her good friend Nikki. We are now in a citadel and it is of the most elegant design that you can think of, I've leave it to your imagination to fill that one in and while you're at it fill in the subjects of the citadel as well. But there is a great harp band and perhaps some flutes and even a little piccolo if you would want to throw it in. All that to say that I've been reading a lot of the Lord of the Rings and I can't stop thinking in the following language and I fear that if I don't make a slight joke of the post that I would of die of suppressed ridiculousness.<br />
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Love without fear. What fear often holds us back in love? The fear of pain, betrayal, or simply of exposure? To love without fear is to have an identity in pure eternity, to leave shame behind in a quest into glory and worship, to forfeit what is "ours" in this world and to lose focus on the ever growing self-obsession. Safety, Security, and Settling are no longer words of happiness or a means to the end, but instead they are sweet words of the enemy. For it is my understanding that in this world we are driven to love one another out of fear and thus brokenness arises. We deem that in that love our fears of worthless invisibility are gone and importance is obtained. We pick up a title to falsely ornament our hearts with purpose and suddenly our identity is wrapped up, like a prisoner, with the fear of love. Or perhaps the fear of lovelessness. We place the highest importance in the cracked conduit and look not high enough to see the source.<br />
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Love may not be what it seems and often I've found my version of love to be shamed and fruitless. It becomes a combination of lust and longing; a heart in a barren land willing to attach to the first voice that is heard. But now I see that love is a heart in a flourishing garden and the companionship is simply to provide another set of eyes to discover the awe and grandeur of the land it resides within. Then, we may describe and demonstrate the land of love all the clearer as the length of our stay continues on and on.<br />
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I think it may be time for a move...lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5112494472140265428.post-48201066663881218412013-12-01T22:38:00.004-05:002014-09-22T14:29:01.437-04:00Elusive IntimacyI think that many people are striving for intimacy with God. I think that most of us desire to feel God's presence and to know and believe His Truth. There have been times in my life where I wonder, if people are striving for this intimacy when they go to church, are sitting in prayer, and are reading the Word, then why is it SO hard? Why do we feel disconnected, distant, unknown, and weary while sitting in church, or in prayer? How can we do all do these Christian things and still not feel God? Still not know Him?!<br />
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Well this much I've gathered. Knowing God is not an overnight feeling, or a temporary solution to the hurt. Knowing Him is not a standard we are striving to reach or a checkmark on our agendas. Being close to God is an uprooting of what we know and believe; it's a relationship. It is not easy to know God and for many, the risk is too large and the cost too much.<br />
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You see, to be close to God is to bear our hearts and souls as they are, to fight against the lies that try to creep into our hearts, and to be in the unknown and the uncertain. To be close to Him is to walk through the pain, insecurities, and fears that we've harbored for so long. To be close to God is to admit fault, release control, and give up entitlements to a "good" life. Intimacy with God is also to know hope in extreme despair, to never be alone, and to know that we are loved, valued, sought after, and deemed beautiful. Knowing Him means knowning wholeness and purpose, knowing Him means knowing Yourself. Because when we are in relationship with Him we are who we were meant to be. There is no need for anything more to be good enough, nothing else to prove. To be close to Him is to know and extend reckless love, nonsensical forgiveness, and agenda-ditching grace. It is where we were meant to be since the beginning of time.<br />
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So then, how do we start? We REST in God. We seek counseling, we cry with a friend over the hurt we've experienced. We trust our communities with the real doubts and questions. We repair broken relationships. We take down the walls. We show our real faces and see as the fears of rejection and pain become untrue and powerless in the presence of God. We wrestle with our guilt and shame and speak of the things that have been hiding in our hearts all this time. We pray fervantly to see Him and ask Him to open our hearts and minds to see how He will answer, respond, and show up. We extend our hands to those who need them, we use our money for those with nothing. We pray for others and become advocates for those who do not know of the sacrifice our God has made for them. We care about the hurt in the world around us and we rejoice in the ways that we see God working. There is no formula, there is only living.lookuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00489858605443721977noreply@blogger.com0