Tammi vs. World

new site

2011-08-05T03:04:00.000+02:00

Go here: http://tammivsworld.wordpress.com/
(the old posts previously posted here also exist on the wordpress site, so no worries)

home-leaving, home-coming

2011-06-07T18:08:00.000+02:00

Frankly, my dear ... oh wait, that's not how this begins. Being in another country, which should be home and is partially still but isn't at all anymore, is confusing to say the least.

Frankly, before departing my current home - Stuttgart, I was worried about what I would experience emotionally/mentally upon arrival and limited stay in Texas - my once home. Maybe worried is too strong; I was in deep consideration and mental introspection. I think I was expecting something similar to my culture shock and general uneasiness that occurred after returning from my six-month stay in India. I've been in Germany longer and I know that I am returning there shortly. So I know that I am not returning home in this trip, but simply here in familiar surroundings for a total of eleven days then back home I go (via Berlin for a class excursion for a week).

I arrived in Houston at some point ... time travel confounds me to no end, especially since according to the airline, I ate dinner at 10am and a midnight snack at 4:30pm, and it was all still happening on the same day that I left. Thus far, it has all felt exactly the same to me. I hadn't planned on this. Besides the particular activities I am doing or not doing, nothing is different, not even my perceptions - no cultural shift necessary. I don't find myself longing for the U-bahn or being surrounded by German talk & text or whatever else defines my newest reality. (oh! but that first taste of brisket was heavenly.) My sister has commented on a few things that I have said or done that are funny to her - one being my speech patterns: my english is different from being around people whose native language is not english, and I also have two other languages swarming in my head constantly. But why do things feel as if the last 9-10 months don't exist?

But that's me. I know life goes on. And really, my life has too traveled from that past into the present, but it's like I have compartmentalized my experiences. hmm.

I am not a loud person. I am not one that jumps into the middle of the circle or enjoys being the center of attention. I am in country for a specific reason: to be very present and supportive before/during/after my sister gets ordinated (I'm pretty sure that verb doesn't exist in the manner I use, but it works for me - ordination in the United Methodist church as a full-blown elder/clergy/pastor/etc.). That's why I've flown over. So when we were going through the schedule of my time here, I was glad that I was in essence staying away from my old city and old church (sorry gang) because the swarm of people is not my style. I like business-as-usual gatherings, either my presence doesn't change the stride of the conversation or it's like I was never gone. Silly to dream such things, I know. But now that I am here, I find myself not minding if I could meet up with friends on this side of globe. We will see; we will see.

In summation: I left "home" confused and have arrived "home" opposite-but-equal confused. Life is grand, ain't it?

texan

2011-05-10T20:27:00.000+02:00

No matter the language I'm speaking or learning, no matter the types or nationalities of my friends, and no matter where I "hang my hat" - you can never take the Texan out of a girl.

I know, I know, sounds silly coming from a partial émigré living in Germany with prospects to be all over the world, but I’m beginning to see the truth in it.

Why? I have had various country songs spring into my mind at all hours for the past months. The recent culprit: “I shoulda been a cowboy / Shoulda learned to rope & ride / Wearing my six-shooter, riding my pony on the cattle drive / Stealing young girls’ hearts / Just like Gene & Roy / Singing those campfire songs / Oh, I shoulda been a cowboy.

“I mighta had a side kick with a funny name / Running wild through the hills chasing Jesse James / Ending up on the brink of danger / Riding shotgun for the Texas Rangers / Go west young man, haven’t you been told / California’s full of whiskey, women and gold / Sleeping out all night beneath the desert stars / With a dream in my eye and a prayer in my heart “ (Chorus again)

Besides the tunes on my lips, nachos & chili run through my veins. I don’t want to deceive anyone – I am no cowgirl. I don’t own Stetson or Wranglers; I don’t have the boots or the shiny big belt buckle or the perfectly formed hat. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t before or don’t dream about it now.

There’s just something about the Texan lifestyle/culture that I’m thinking will never leave me. And I’m quite glad about that.

Makes me think about how my dad would answer and end a telephone call ... always: "Yellow." "M-bye." Texan born and bred.

multi-personality pics

2011-04-26T20:44:00.014+02:00

I was browsing through my collection of digital photographs that I have taken through the years (probably being distracted from some other thing that I should've been doing), most taken on travels, but some are of everyday life. And I noticed something.

My photographs show rather clearly that when I hold a camera, one of three personas becomes dominate: the Chronicler, the Artist, or the Observer.

The Chronicler: As a child, my sister was the family photographer because she was the only one willing to walk around with the beast of the thing that were cameras back then. But I also think psychology inserts itself here too because (I believe) she knew the value of that treasure - having tangible memories of time past. She acted (and still carries forth) like a middle child, although there are only the two of us. She's the peacemaker, the stable soul seeking stability. Now, I was the younger sister and played that role as best I could, causing grief to her daily. But I've always been fiercely loyal & protective of her too. As a pre-teen & beyond, I imagined that if she ever found herself in a fight (which of course is preposterous being a peacemaker) or was ever bullied in any fashion, that I would utterly destroy the perpetrator; she is, after all, my sister to mess with and make cry (sorry Kelli) and nobody else's.

All this to say, that I was not born chronicling, but have stumbled into it with perceived necessity. I've written before about memory and my amazing lack of it, so having a visual story-line that I can refer to as a manual recall of memories has become of great value to me.

(Summer studio 2007; Noragachi, Chihuahua, Mexico; process to make adobe block)

The Artist: these are the pictures that I most love to take. Some, without labels, I can't even identify what or where in context. My favorite topics: repetition, shadow & light, detail mechanisms or textures, and human interaction (though I have the guts to take far less of people because I don't want to intrude on someone else's moment).

The Observer: this is when I realize I have nothing to show for an event/occurrence/situation. I simply forgot I had a camera, maybe took a shot or two then simply observed in real time with both eyes. When I let the observer in me take over, I know I catch far more beauty in my mind's eye, and must then rely on some stray thought to recall them back from my disastrous filing system of my long term memory (or on someone else's pics).

However, if someone else has a camera, mine may never see the light of day. Maybe I'm an observer first and foremost, down to the bone, but I let the other me's come out and play.

sleep, sleep, slumber deep

2011-04-23T22:16:00.004+02:00

Holy Week this year is like no other I have experienced. Yes, I now live in Germany, which I suppose would change things, but not all can be directed at location. In 2008 I lived in India ... and yes, those Easter-related observances were quite different as well. But this is different from my time in Texas and different from that Indian different.

I really do understand that the Lenten season is a mental and spiritual journey, but this time around, I think that I missed it.

Even though, while in India, my friends and the culture were newer to me by several months than my familiarity with my world here, I was in an intensely Christian environment. We were all missionaries doing missionary work. To do Easter et. al. with them was natural and built into our small community.

Germany is not a Christian-hostile country, but it appears like a Christian-ambivalent country. Most of my friends (from all over the world) are religiously ambivalent, non-practicing whatevers. Some of our discussions when a few gathered for Kuchen/cake baking (and a 2 hour walk waiting for said cake to cool) was about how inconvenienced we were since everything seemed to be closed for the government holidays. And I was right there with them when we set our hopes on finding an open ice cream kiosk after our walk under the warmth of the sun. I did not go to services.

Back in Texas, I was very involved in the church, especially during Lent. Lent was always busier than Advent (leading up to Christmas). The prayer times and bible studies. (and of course Fiesta is thrown into the mix.) Oh, and the orchestra, my beloved music: the centering music at Ash Wednesday, the celebratory anthems of Palm Sunday, the heart-wrenching tones of Good Friday, and the joyous revival of life found in Easter carols. Playing those put me right there. But not this time ... none of it.

It's like I have fallen asleep and adopted the ambivalence of the world around me. A good friend asked if my faith was wavering. And no, no it's not. My answer: it's like it's waning. It's becoming devoid of passion and value.

It's this odd place I find myself this Holy Saturday, between the darkness I didn't experience of Good Friday (Karfreitag) and the joy of Easter (Ostersonntag).

future found!

2011-04-01T21:38:00.007+02:00

Have I found my future this very night? After hours and hours, weeks upon weeks of sifting through oh so many governmental agencies and international organizations, have I finally discovered a kindred spirit?

The United Nations Development Programme, Bureau of Crisis Prevention & Recovery: helps countries prevent and recover from armed conflict and natural disasters. (http://www.undp.org/cpr/)

This is exactly/verbatim/wholly encompassing of the direction I have wanted to take with my upcoming master's thesis project, and thus with my future career. Because my thesis semester is still one year away, I need to work it so that vielleicht I can collaborate my personal project (yet to be decided) with them so that then they can know of my awesomeness and hire me.

hmmm ... I need to discover the best medium and diction to illustrate my thoughts of "pick me! pick me!"

flying blind

2011-03-25T16:00:00.002+01:00

Okay, not literally flying blind, but it's called Blind Booking. The air carrier GermanWings offers incredibly cheap flat rate flights from certain destinations (one of which is Stuttgart) to a handful of destination cities. The trick: you choose when you want to fly & they choose your destination (obviously based on seats they have left). When my friends first mentioned Blind Booking I was extremely intrigued by the notion. It fascinates me because I like adventure and simple clueless wanderings, and it's just enough unknown to make the Type-A planner-to-the-last-detail in me squirm.

From Stuttgart, there are four groupings available to choose from: Culture (Barcelona, Budapest, Dresden, Leipzig, Lisbon, Rome, & Vienna); Metropolis Eastern Europe (Belgrade, Budapest, Dresden, Leipzig, & Zagreb); Metro Western Europe (Barcelona, Berlin, Lisbon, London, Rome, & Vienna); and Party (Barcelona, Belgrade, Berlin, Budapest, Lisbon, London, & Vienna).

For 30 Euro (really twice that due to taxes) you can fly somewhere. Where? Well, that's where the fine print comes in.

For a few weeks now, I've been waging a battle within me about how much planning should be allowed in preparation for this trip. Is it cheating to plan ahead on what's suppose to be an unknown adventure? When my sister came here after Christmas, I had already booked lodging in every city, train tickets purchased, maps w/ locations & directions highlighted, and a semi-rough itinerary laid out. Part of me wants to do that for each possible city that I could be shipped to. But that goes against the attraction of Blind Booking (besides cheap airfare). A friend last week pointed out to me that I could narrow down the possibilities even further through exclusion (pay €5 fee per city excluded) and I could check to see which cities don't fly on certain days (i.e. there is no flight from Stuttgart to Lisbon on Apr 4).

I am disappointed to say that it's not as mysterious as I imagined. I romanticized that the airline would let you know your destination when you showed up at the airport to claim your ticket, or in the least the day before (realistically better so that you'd know when to get to the airport).

But not so.

Apparently when you book your flight dates and chosen destination group, the confirmation email sent immediately after informs you of where you're headed ... which sadly leads ample time to Type-A plan. Na gut.

In any case, it's a pretty sweet deal, still slightly enigmatic, and something fun to do during holiday. Now, Eastern Europe or Western or maybe Culture? (if Western, I'm excluding London & Berlin ... been to both & will be back in Berlin in June ... I want to go somewhere new and, please God, warm.)

ends & beginnings

2011-03-16T17:13:00.002+01:00

The end of something will always mean the beginning of something. Sometimes we forget this.

I am most definitely at the end of something, though this "end" has been happening for quite a while.

Even before moving (and planning to move to Germany) I have felt that pull of needing to conclude a chapter in my life, to move on to something new, though I knew not what "new" meant. I still don't, at least not entirely. I have ideas, I have leanings, but let's just see where the path leads, even if cut my own path.

That big "end of something" was huge. I gave away my stuff. I packed away my life. Became literally homeless. Quit my job, which was so much of who I was for years. Cancelled accounts/services. Truck-sold. Motorcycle-sold. Honestly, the hardest for me was losing my bike. It became an extension of me, of how I learned to define myself. I had this not-so-secret hope that maybe it won't sell by the time I visit Texas in June so that I could hop back on and ride. Just ride. But alas, ends are not discriminatory. (Did you notice my chosen diction of "visit"? I'm not returning home for a week. It's no longer home.) The "end" was huge. And strangely I like it.

There's lots of types of ends however. There's the big, final, life-altering ends, then there's the short transitional ones, like my present situation. My first semester of graduate school in Germany is [quickly] coming to a close. Only three more exams (out of 11) then next week begins a month off awaiting the beginning of the summer semester. It seems both quickly passing and forever in frozen time; both the desire to move time along and an eagerness to slow its haste.

Time is truly measured. The measuring stick seems to be just beyond our comprehension, but we know it's continuous. Time marches on despite those ends. So there's beginnings. New semester, new chapter, new life definition.

singing

2011-01-29T18:29:00.003+01:00

Music has been an integral part of my life, well, for roughly my entire life.

I remember moments growing up where we would be in the car with country music on the radio and just singing it out. Those songs, when heard again, are dear to me. And if it wasn't country, it was classical music - with the powerful melodies or strong brass lines or dream-like flutes and strings - a place where my imagination could flutter away.

When I was a little older and my classmates were talking about and singing this classic rock stuff of the early 90's, I would "stealthily" listen to a radio station in my room when I thought nobody would hear. I still don't know why I thought I had to listen to it in secret, like it was against the rules or disloyal to like another genre. Strange kid, I know.

Middle school band changed my life. Seriously.I was the shyest introvert ever, but when you have to play and express yourself out-loud, whoa. And as a teenager, my French horn has been an outlet of expression for me when I didn't have any other way.

But you know what I miss? Today, while going to class on the U-bahn/S-bahn (local train) with my iPod streaming music into my ears, I miss singing out loud.

Back when I would drive to work in a self-contained vehicle and when I had my own apartment, I would sing along to the radio (or whatever else was playing in my head). Or start up iTunes and just have a field day with my favorites. I don't do that here. But I wanted to today. I really wanted to. I even walked to the edge of the train platform where nobody was just so that I could sing softly. I feel like I don't want to disturb people, and I'm sure self-conscientiousness plays a prominent role. But it's such a deep urge within me, that I only identified today.

I also miss worship music that I allow to impact me. It's like I've shut myself off from that type of emotion because I just don't want to deal with it right now. I miss music, and I miss music that impacts.

ich habe eine Idee / i have an idea: thesis thought

2011-01-23T12:43:00.004+01:00

One of my classes for the first semester of studies in this master's program is Power demand, supply, & distribution. Part of this class is presentations by fellow learners about their home countries' power situation (i.e. electricity). For the most part, I find this time rather interesting considering we have the United Nations represented in young minds right here. We have examples of countries with so much demand that it's pitiful when compared to the rest of the world (i.e. USA), countries that have an increasing demand as the country develops (i.e. many Latin American countries), countries that a minority percentage of households have access to electricity and even that the country cannot supply (i.e. Nepal & India), and countries that have an incredibly low population with access to "daily" amenities (from the eyes of an American) and seem to be okay with it (i.e. several African countries). It truly is fascinating to me - the world.

This last student presentation session was about different countries demand's for commercial nuclear power (as in non-military) and hydro-electrical power production. One person's presentation in particular struck a chord of some sort within me: Afghanistan.

But to back-step a bit, the country right before was Nepal and their extensive use of hydro. Some 40% of the small population (it is a small country consumed by the Himalayas, so the small population part makes sense) have access to electricity, and the government can only provide those with power for half the day - morning and evening/night. From living in India, power cuts are of no great surprise to me. But with Nepal in my head, Afghanistan was next.

In the mid-20th century, Afghanistan, with the aid of a few industrialized nations, developed quite a sufficient infrastructure including several hydro-electric dams. However, due to the Cold War fought on their soil, then civil war, then once again this "War on Terror" against Taliban forces, they are broken. (I'm not entirely sure who "they" is - the infrastructure, sure; the nation, maybe; the trust of the people, seems reasonable; the people themselves, I hope not.)

14% of the population have access to electricity. Wow. When asked about that percentage, my Afghani classmate responded that during times of war, when bombs and bullets are a daily sign of life, it is expected that one would give up on luxury items. Naturally. My bigger "wow" moment occurred when he talked about how his government is trying to rebuild itself. One problem with that: hydro-electric dams have huge up-front costs, and no financier will provide the government with a loan. In their [World Bank & Bank of China] eyes, the country is too unstable and a guarantee cannot be provided that their investment will last long enough to get a return.

This all makes sense, but it's devastating nonetheless.

So my internal wheels started turning. "War-torn and unglued: redevelopment after war and natural disasters." My thesis topic for next year popped into my head (well, potential topic, anyway). This is a good fit to what I've done, where my heart is, and where I am thus far. I want to study, and subsequently put said study into practice, how countries/nations/people-groups rebuild their lives, their homes, their world after disasters - human caused or otherwise. How do we get Haiti back on her feet after the devastating earth-quake or gulf coast regions on the U.S. after hurricanes or Afghanistan after decades of war or Rwanda and Sudan after genocide or North Korea ... does it finally make sense to me why I've wanted to go there? How did Germany and other Eastern Block, previous Soviet occupied countries rebuild after WWII and beyond?

I think I've figured out what I want to do. It's a good thing I'm studying in Germany, so part of my [potential] thesis research is at hand. And a bonus (though my friends might not consider this a positive), long-term travel can be arranged while in the thesis semester ... so I can go to other disaster-laden lands and see what I see.

memory

2010-12-23T23:51:00.003+01:00

I don't remember.

I caught myself looking at two pictures that I have in my room - one taken the day of my sister's high school prom (so I was a freshman in h.s.) and the other ... I think at someone's wedding several years ago. But I just don't remember. And I don't remember him: my dad.

The memories I have seem so few when I try to recall them, and when I have a moment in mind that should pertain to him, it's just a faceless individual. It's like I'm looking at a stranger, just trying to make it all make sense. I know that I can remember some moments or words or even feelings that happened years ago, but it's all very abstract - like it never happened, like I haven't lived a bit of it.

It has been over three years since my dad died, and for the most part, I feel nothing. I am saddened when I think about the life he is missing, the pride he is missing in watching and being present in the significant moments in my sister's and my lives. But I don't miss him - the person. It's like I don't even know him or that he was never even alive.

(I don't know. It all doesn't make much sense in my head, so why would any of it make sense using confining, limited words.)

But see, that to me hurts more. Not that my father is not here, but that he doesn't exist in my memories. In fairness though, my memories don't really exist in my memory. Chronology is a terribly difficult thing for me to grasp.

"Was it a year ago? No? Ten years ago? Really? Wow."

"What happened last week you ask? I know I did something."

"What did I eat on Monday? When was Monday?"

It is strange because in grade school, I was very good at those memory games. Maybe the physical stress I purposefully put my body through over the years is taking its revenge.

I must say, this kind of scares me a bit. I feel like I need to hold on to photos or samples of my middle school writings or journals or calendars because without them, I will not have a past. What happens to life without a past?

Maybe it hurts worse because Christmas is oh so very quickly approaching and that doesn't even feel real. This is new territory; though I suppose each step in life is new ... and yet incredibly familiar. Or maybe it's because this Christmas feels just as real as that first Christmas without him.

becoming German-minded

2010-12-06T14:39:00.001+01:00

I don’t know if I’ll ever be a true German. Don’t get me wrong, now – I am well on way to integrating, but there are several things that restrict my full conversion.

As for products and shopping, I am golden. All of my bath products and kitchen supplies and food (minus the handful of spices that I love that I brought from the U.S.) have German labels and instructions. I am learning the metric system, especially volume, when I use my mL measuring cup. I am now aware of my German shoe and pants/skirt sizes (which seems like too large of a number since I am use to the single-digit numbers from the U.S.). I have also traveled around on my own, navigating transportation, site-seeing, eating out, etc. to various places inside Stuttgart and other cities. So what’s holding me back? Mein Kissen/my pillow. The standard bed pillow size is 80cm x 80cm. That is 992 sq. inches of pillow surface. This is one crazy awkwardly large size. I probably use 10% of the floppy thing. Why would one make this standard?

Okay, obviously that’s not a real reason.

Living a separate, private life is a very German cultural custom placed in high importance. I too enjoy it, but I must resist. I know me. I know how I respond, react, or initiate. At first arrival to my flat and the town which I call home and upon learning about the rules pertaining to the student flat, I wanted to move out. (I use “Student flat” as opposed to the U.S. term of dormitory because it’s more like a shared apartment keeping in true German style of high privacy as a necessity.) I have lived in an apartment by myself for the majority of time since the 2nd year of college. Even growing up, I had my own room. I like having my own space that I can put holes in walls and paint and make my own. I like being separate and away. And because I know me and what I prefer, I also know this is not the best solution.

If I moved, I would most definitely move out of this retirement suburban community of Mӧhringen and into Stuttgart proper. I like city life and the noise and the people watching opportunities. This would mean moving quite a ways from nearly all of my fellow classmates/new friends. If this were so, I would almost entirely shut myself off from social interactions and sink into a depression if left up to my own devices. So I have decided to work against my nature and hang around here. Advantage: actual life with multi-national friends and my sanity. Disadvantage: little to do in Mӧhringen, have to decorate using sticky-backed hooks instead of nails, and little reliance on German because English is the common language. The extremely high commission to a 3rd party renter agency paid on behalf of the renter (as opposed to the free service provided in the States) also aided in my decision to stay put … for now.

There's also this thing in Germany called Winter, which I've been told lasts 4-5 months. But I think this is just a hoax.

spoiled

2010-11-15T15:18:00.001+01:00

I am spoiled. The people that I come from (my home country – the U.S.A.) are also spoiled. This concept is reinforced nearly every day in most of my classes here in Germany.

The classes that I take are geared toward infrastructure systems for developing nations (e.g. a large portion of the world and its inhabitants), and many of my fellow classmates are representatives from these developing areas.

So the running joke is that the U.S. is number 1 … number 1 for the most wasteful clean water users, number 1 in power consumption per capita, number 1 in waste generators. Well, now … isn’t that lovely. So what if we (my representative country) water lawns with drinkable water, fill swimming pools, take long showers, have pre-packaged everything, and have 18 different electronic devices/appliances running at one time per room. Oh yeah, the U.S. is an urban sprawl master (which is not necessarily a good thing).We have room to grow out our cities and expand ever further into the frontier, sure. The area covered by our large cities out-pace probably every other city of the same population. As a wanna-be planner, this is a nightmare – the lengths of pipe, power/telephone lines, and roads needed just to connect one sprawled neighborhood with that picturesque hill country/beach/mountain/river view (until of course, you are staring at the next development that comes along) to everything else is … well … sad. But I have grown up in this culture. I like going out for a drive (or more precisely, a ride on my motorcycle). I like the idea of having space around me to move and breathe and make noise without disturbing your neighbor one shared wall away, or the ones above & below you.

But those aren’t the only reasons I am oh so spoiled. Take English, for instance. That is my native tongue. My classes here are all taught in English. Easy peasy … for me. Even with the required level of understanding of English to be accepted in this program, I can’t help but think about all of my friends who think in the Indian languages, Spanish, Mandarin/Cantonese, Russian, and can’t forget the immense number of African languages. Most people around me speak at least 2, 3, or 4 languages. Me? I speak English. Yes I know enough German to get me in trouble (and probably not enough to get me out of it) and a very little bit of Spanish, and even less (= a selection of words & phrases) of Hindi. But I am pretty much a master of the English language (until I can’t remember what something is called. But just don’t ask; it’s embarrassing). Not even talking about my classes though, I have this assumption that people will understand me while in a foreign country. My first go here is Deutsch, aber naturlich. But when I get stumped … “sprechen Sie Englisch, bitte?” And for the most part, it works.

I find myself living in an odd paradox. My life here in a typical European metropolitan city (if a typical does exist) is like a novelty. Not having my own transport and relying on a very efficient domestic rail and bus system is different and enjoyable – not something I would’ve chosen, but I gladly except because “when in Rome …”. The other end of my quaint little paradox is something I’ve mentioned before. How I’m living feels natural, feels ordinary. An ordinary novelty. I thing that might explain me, as well.

happy birthday

2010-11-03T22:30:00.002+01:00

Thus concludes the first day of the 26^th year of my life. I actually aged quicker this year than the others, since I am living in the Central Europe Time Zone instead of Central Standard Time of the U.S. But no matter.

Birthdays can be like New Years. They are a fresh start in a new beginning. But I am not one for New Year’s resolutions. (Well, for that matter, nor do I get all excited about celebrating my birthday.) With new promises or goals, why wait for a particular day in the future? Eh, this is of no consequence either because this soap box is not the subject of this post.

I am remembering when I was preparing to leave for Germany to start this new thing. Amidst the stress of closing out accounts, opening new ones, and packing woes and worries, I remember a statement I made to a friend. I have a unique opportunity to become a new me, to reinvent myself. I am living in a country seven time zones away without previously knowing a single person that I am going to be spending many hours over the next couple of years with. How are these people going to perceive this person called Tammi? Do I want to be more out-going and girly? How about more knowledgeable about pop culture? Well, the perfect chance to make a new you is after you depart people who can predict the old you and before you meet people who don’t know the old you. There is just one problem with that which I encountered. I am still me. Not that this is bad. It’s just an observation. Coming from a self-proclaimed lover of change, I did not change. It makes me wonder if we can ever really turn away from ourselves, those characteristics that others and ourselves use to define what kind of person we are.

I think it’s like my writing. I naturally write in small block letters. I taught myself over time to write block print instead of lowercase print (and especially not script), but since learning how to write as a wee little tot, I have always written small. I have the ability to write larger, but there is no much concentration that has to go into it that as soon as I stop focusing, smaller and smaller the letters go. I possess the capability of being talkative and overly lively or dolling myself up and primping into gorgeousness, but when it’s just me being me, this isn’t me.

So, hi. My name is Tammi, and I now (and for now) live in Stuttgart, Germany. But I’m also Tammi from Texas.

auf Deutsch

2010-10-25T17:00:00.005+02:00

I must say it is quite exciting (and brings about a smidgen of pride ... okay, more than a smidgen) when I am mistaken for a German by a German ... or ein Auslӓnder (foreigner) for that matter. While wandering about in Ulm, DE, a guy stopped me and started talking to me auf Deutsch (in German). From what I could understand, he wanted to persuade me to sign up with the Democratic Party in Germany. After he did his spiel, ich hat gesagt, "Ich bin eine Auslӓnderin. Es tut mir leid aber ich kann dir nicht helfen." (I had said, "I am a foreigner. Sorry, but I cannot help you.") I must admit, once I caught on to what he was asking of me, I stopped listening fully so that I could formulate my German response.

I also had a street evangelist come up to me as I was eating lunch in front of the Ulmer Münster. She was speaking more quickly and with German words that I don't know yet, but she fully thought I could understand her. My last example of pretending to be German is while paying for anything - like a book or "dreihundert Gramms Rauchkӓse, shnitt, bitte" ("300g smoked cheese, cut, please.").

Just don't expect me to be able to hold a flowing conversation in German (though I was never really good at that in English either) because there is preparation that goes into sentences that aren't a part of my now nature vocabulary. Although my German edifice is ruined when I mis-interpret what the other person is saying.

expectation

2010-10-21T00:13:00.003+02:00

I feel like a small child on Christmas Eve- waiting, dreaming, drifting. The first snowfall of the season is supposed to happen very soon in these early a.m. hours. I want to be excited about it now because soon I know I will frown the icy crispness as I am forced to leave the warmth of my covers and head for morning classes.

To say that I am unaccustomed to a Winter season would be an easy answer, however nearly 3 years ago I lived for a spell in the Himalayan mountains of India. I arrived at the brutal end of winter (mid-late January), experienced near frostbite, and then enjoyed the loveliness of Spring and Summer (then, oh the joys of Monssoon) in the mountains. So I know that this coming winter will arrive and will leave in a similar non-dramatic fashion. One day, I'll look up and realize that the sun seems wonderfully bright today and wonder how long it's been there.

I would like to go into this with that awe, that level of expectation. I will be able to make a snowman and have a snowball fight with fellow classmates from South America, India, Mexico, Russia, China ... okay, well my Russian friends might think we are all a bit odd for being so enthralled with this cold, white, fluffy substance that though falls from the sky, will actually stay on the ground.

I would much rather find myself sitting on the floor, in front of the window, gazing blankly, waiting for little white particles to become visible (while listening to Christmas music, of course; it seems only natural). Otherwise, it's far too easy to find bits of misery to focus on.

My first potential White Christmas, I eagerly await thee. Please don't disappoint.

travels 2 (Ulm, DE)

2010-10-17T19:01:00.012+02:00

Ulm, Deutschland: Quite a small city. When I got off the train at the Bahnhof (train station), I found a map of the city and decided to snap a quick picture of it just in case I needed to refer to it later on. I over-exaggerated the scale. To those playing at home, what this means is when wandering (which I am apt to do), the appropriate distance that I thought I needed to walk in a certain direction was FAR greater than the distance I actually needed to walk to get to where I was trying to go. It simply boils down to: I saw more of Ulm than I had anticipated, which I am not complaining about. And really, when in Ulm, all one has to do to get back on track is either look up and find Ulmer Münster steeple standing high above anything else in existence or find your way to the Donau Fluss (Danube River).

From the Bahnhof (Train station) towards Ulmer Münster.

These are all of Ulmer Münster.

Ah, the Danube River (Donau Fluss). Very tranquil.

While walking along the river, I went up into a Rose garden park along the water. There I happened upon this hidden little gate at the end of the park. I just had to see what mysteries lie within. It turns out, it was just a workman's shed to tend to the plants.

After doing the river thing, I decided I wanted to make my way north to the city's old cemetery. I read something about it on the internet when I was figuring out what I might want to see. It turns out, I was further west than I had thought ... which was fine enough because I explored a bit of Ulm's business district and Congress area. I walked thru green areas and cute residential streets.

(Just really enjoy this pic with the colors, et.al.)

Well, as it happens, I walked too far north (right off my map) because I was too far West. I found the Alter Friedhof (old city cemetery, which happens to also be a park with walking/biking paths and kids' play areas) flanked be two churches.

I then knew that I wanted to go into Neu-Ulm directly south of Ulm across the Donau (and in the state of Bayern instead of the state that Ulm is in: Baden-Württemberg.) There should have been many clues along the way that I was indeed not walking South but instead walking East, but alas. There seems to be quite a bit more of Ulm to the East of the Bahnhof than I though ... especially since my map stopped at the train station. But I found it. I'm also pretty certain I would have continued walking in this fabulously wrong direction if it hadn't been for a road sign pointing a different direction than the one I was traveling to get to Neu-Ulm. I always thought I was actually pretty good with directions; this obviously doesn't put a vote of confidence in my favor.

(From the South Bank of the Donau in Neu-Ulm)

Then I headed back across the river to explore some more and kill time until I needed to check into the hostel. I went to Marktplatz which has the old Rathaus (government building) and the Stadtbibliothek (city library - a glass pyramid of 5 levels and a reading cafe on the top). I sat in the library reading eine Zeitung (newspaper) von Stuttgart for about 1/2 an hour.

(Alt Rathaus - detail work)

Fischerviertel (Fisherman's Quarter) - quaint & historic part of town with the Blau Fluss (Blue River) running thru it.

Then I wandered through Fisherman's quarter, on my way to Neu-Ulm to find dinner and check into the hostel. 'Tis all for Ulm. I "slept" horribly. Had a minor headache - just enough to be a bother, and the guy in the bed across the room had a cold so intermingled within his snoring, he coughed. Hearing my watch beep every hour away became very frustrating. When the sun came up, I decided to get on my way out and catch an early train onto Lindau am Bodensee (on the Boden Sea), the next destination ... which I will post those pics soon.

travels 1b

2010-10-16T21:48:00.003+02:00

(Heidelberg pics from 18Sept 2010)

Heildelberg, old town.

The international student affairs office set up tour guides for our group. So we walked through the old part of the city getting history and humorous German biases. I don't remember which church this is (I'm thinking Catholic). There are 3 in the the old city, each a different religious affiliation. Apparently, this part of Germany did not choose to follow the reformation and remained Catholic. Much later in the timeline, the governor of this city-state gave people the option ... hence the other 2 churches.

I think this is the Jesuit church. There is a partition in the front of the nave because there is another denomination that uses this church ... at the same time. So instead of becoming one body or alternating worship times, they put up a divider. Now, isn't that nice.

From across the Neckar looking out on the old city. A couple of friends and I decided in our free time that we would climb up to the "Poets Walk". Climbing the never-ending stairs reminded me of India (in Hardiwar, climbing up to Chandidevi Temple). I think we did 8 min. on the stair climber before we reached the top. And it was a lovely view and contemplative walk (Mark Twain did a stint here, among other thinkers). So lovely, in fact, that we kept walking - all the way into new town.

I like Europe for this. Different styles, different colors, even the horizontals don't align - and it's all good. In the U.S., we try to have everything neat & tidy. I like this.

Thus concludes excursion #1. Hopefully I'll be posting Ulm and Lindau/Bregenz/Boden Sea before classes start up.

travels 1

2010-10-16T21:09:00.006+02:00

Tonight I have returned from "ein Ausflug" (short excursion). As my German final exam on Thursday of last week began to approach and knowing that my full course load of graduate classes begins on the flip side of that Thursday (in one more day), I decided I wanted to get away for the weekend. How did I choose where to go? Looked at a map and said "uhh, there! oh! And I can go there too, just so that I can say I've been to Austria." So Friday morning I hopped on a train and was in Ulm in 1 hour. I walked ALL OVER the city (quite literally walked off my map in the East, North, and West directions. Then explored a bit in Neu-Ulm (which is technically in the state of Bayern and not Baden-Württemberg ... I didn't know that). I reserved a hostel several days before, stayed there over night (notice I didn't say sleep ... had a horrible headache and didn't sleep but 2 hrs). Next destination Lindau, Germany on the Boden Sea and Bregenz, Ӧsterreich (Austria) also on the water's edge. Then back to Lindau to catch my train home to Stuttgart.

I'm breezing through this weekend because it wasn't my intent to post stories or pics about my most current adventure because I haven't even looked at my pics yet ... I've been home maybe an hour.

I wanted to post about an excursion I did back in the middle of September (hosted by the international student affairs office) to Neckarsteinach and Heildelberg, both of which are just a small drive away.

Neckarsteinach sits on the Neckar river and is known for it's castles, one of which a ruin. Heildelberg, also on the Neckar, is a much larger city, has a university, medical research facilities, and use to be the King's homestead until early 1900s. Anyway, pictures can speak louder.

Ruine Hinterburg (literally "castle ruin in back"), looking out on the Neckar River & the town of Neckarsteinach.

Vordeburg (built in 1200s) ... literally means Castle in front. They named the 4 castles based on their position on the hill from the town. Ingenious, I know.

Altar area & stained glass of the church just a couple blocks from the water & city center.

Neckarsteinach downtown.

We took a boat from Neckarsteinach to Heildelberg. Yes, I'm a whimp. But he's from Russian and she's from the Ukraine, so I'm not doing so bad.

verbundpass

2010-09-13T21:05:00.001+02:00

I am not sure what kind of luck this is, but if you want to ride any of the public transportation with me in Stuttgart, have a ticket or pass.

The city busses and trains don’t have a place for you to “check in” or confirm that you are allowed to ride. You just hop on then hop off when it’s your Haltastelle (stop). It is quite an organized system, I think. And as Germans go, things are very punctual. However, there are VVS (the government sector that runs the transport system) workers that are dressed in plain clothes that “randomly” do spot inspections of all the passengers for a few stops before they move on to a different line. (I say random because they have a schedule; it’s just not posted for everybody to know when to avoid them.)

I have friends who have been here from 1 year to 4 years that have told me that they have been subject to the spot inspection once or twice in their entire tenure. I have been here 17 days and once again today, I was checked – making it my 5^th time, and one of those days the week before last, I got me twice. That’s averages nearly every third day that I should expect to be inspected for having a pass. Luckily, I am an owner of a month pass to every form of city transportation, and as soon as the semester begins here, I will purchase a student semester pass … otherwise it could get rather expensive to move about.

The sad part of this story is that my first time to be inspected (which happened to be my third day in the country), I did not purchase a ticket. I thought I could cheat the system. I had bought €6 ticket each day prior that allows me to travel as many times as I want in one day (you could also buy a ticket for a single ride for only about €1.40 or something like that). The guy stopped me on the last leg of a several leg journey that day as I was about to exit the bus for my friend’s house who was hosting me before I could move into my dorm room. That fine was only €10 thankfully, but he entered my passport information into the system. So before I was even registered with the city as being a new resident, I already had a file with the government. From then on, out of shear fear for getting a second fine (which jumps to €40), I have always traveled with a ticket/pass.

Moral of the story: if you want to live dangerously and not follow the rules, don’t ride with me; you will get caught.

Deutsche kirche

2010-09-05T19:37:00.000+02:00

I might need to rethink my original idea about attending a German only worship service. I have done that twice now (first, one near where I was staying with my friend in Stuttgart; second, 10 min walk from where I live in Mӧhringen). The intent when I went into this endeavor was to do a total immersion so that I could learn German faster. I still think that is correct thinking. However, the trade-off for now seems to be that I don’t know really what is being spoken of sung (except words and phrases). I think it is also hard for me to maintain any sort of attitude of worship when it becomes a linguistic exercise where I’m more focused on what’s begin said instead of the meaning and the point driving what’s being said.

Like this morning, for instance, I know the Scripture passage was from Luke (Lukas in German – that’s pretty easy to figure out). I heard multiple times “Gottes namen” meaning the names of God. I heard once “leben meister” (Master of Life, which I really enjoyed), but I also heard alleine (alone) and I don’t know who the subject is. Other than that and a several other words without any context, I have no idea what was going on.

So, I’m not sure what I should do. I still like the idea of not creating a crutch with the English language so that I really can be fluent in German. But on the other hand, I’m really not worshipping well in any sort of community with this initiative. Options: give it time (“it” meaning me until my German becomes better and better) or when the semester starts in October, find some student group where things are in English to supplement my German Sundays.

mein neu haus (my new house)

2010-09-01T23:13:00.000+02:00

I live in here!

what am I doing?

2010-09-01T21:02:00.002+02:00

There have been moments where I think to myself: "Self, what am I doing here?" I had just one of those moments this evening. After going back to the university to register my room for internet (the first trip today was to the international center to register for my new student ID & to look around the campus), I went back to my new room (yea!) (first was to check-in & other formal stuff with the Hausmeister - aka Super) to try out the internet. No go. But then a lady from my flat walked by and asked (in Deutsch) if I had internet because she really needed it - so apparently es war kaputt.

So anyway, while in Möhringen (where I'm living), I decided to see the Kaufland right next to my building: 1)because this will be my grocery store 2) t0 figure out what I am buying to make an empty room a home & about how much I'm going to spend. This Kaufland, you see, is 2-stories and a basement for parking. It's like a grocery store plus kitchen ware, shoes, pet store, liquor store, deli, bakery, and some simple furniture & clothing. Oh my. This is where my "what am I doing here" showed up. As I try to map out the store, it felt like I was having to discover another new city ... and all in German. Then it hit me: "How am I going to cook anything? The directions are in German and my conversational German courses didn't cover these technical terms. How do you even share a kitchen with 5 other people?" And those thoughts continued for a bit. But then ... aha! "I'm here for 2 years. I'm so going to be a pro at this." So that's where I'm at right now. That and how much money I'm about to spend up front to start this life.

Well, tomorrow, I head back to the university to (hopefully) pick up a temp student ID and then to take my German Language Placement Exam. From what I can tell, it's about 1 1/2 hours to 2 hours and (please God) multiple choice. The results of this exam will determine what level of Intensive language course I will be in. I'm not really worried though. It's actually kind of exciting to see how much I know and how much I can recall when I want to recall it.

So I'm here. Officially living in Germany. Officially becoming a graduate student. Und alles ist gut. (All is good).

importance of sequence

2010-08-30T18:53:00.003+02:00

I am indeed in Stuttgart, Germany. I have been here for roughly 48 hours now, and have actually seen quite a bit, either directly walking or various aerial perspectives from higher elevations. My friend who is hosting me described the landscape of Stuttgart as similar to San Francisco. (She would know since she is a U.S. expat.) Anyway, it is a very green (many km of parks and vineyards within the metro city), and hilly, and abnormally (so I've been told) wet and chilly for August.

Yesterday, after I wandered my way to a church (for what we thought was a church the night before was in fact not), and so I followed the sound of church bells until I found myself inside a worshipping community (and was only 10 minutes late). By 1pm ish, the two of us left on a "walk". 7 hours and 20,500 steps later we returned home to lovely chili dinner. Our walk was almost entirely in green spaces. The only city site we explored that day was a monument garden museum that collected rubble in Stuttgart from the war. There were sculptures, tombstones, columns, and entablatures from 1500s into the 20th century; some really beautiful craftsmanship. Oh, and we did pause to eat some wurst and lintel soup and pommes (french fries). Quite a lovely day really. And then I attempted to understand a German TV mystery show (I guessed the wrong murdered).

Today looked very different. One, it's really cold. Okay, cool. But for a south Texan girl when a cold rain is falling heavily while I am walking about without an umbrella, it's pretty cold. In any case, today I wanted to get mein neu Handy (my new mobile phone for Germany). I was there twice, and it didn't happen. Apparently there is a sequence to these things when moving to a new country, and I am completely ignoring the laid out steps.

So let's say getting a mobile phone is step F (it probably should be lower in the alphabet, but oh well). Well, so apparently the mobile contract has to be tied to a German bank account. So off I went to the new first step. I now have a German account ... with some money in it (but I need to wire more over, soon). But when setting up the account, I discovered the bank wanted to know my visa residency number. But I haven't done that yet either because before that I have to register with Stuttgart. Anyway, I have to go back to the bank in a few days. So back I went to O2, my almost mobile phone provider. We went through all the contract info, everything was signed, SIM card in my possession. And then as my info was processing, I was told they could not accept me yet and had to put everything on hold because nothing shows that I am actually in Germany yet.

So after being so hopeful, tomorrow I need to wade through different bureaucracies to first get health insurance then to register in Möhringen, where I am actually living, (you can't be official without proof of medical insurance), then back to Stuttgart to get my full residency visa. And finally, I should be able to have a mobile phone. All this for a phone. Well, these things have to be completed soon anyway. And I am praying things work out. Especially when I begin every conversation with "Guten Morgen/Tag. Sprechen Sie Englisch bitte?" So far people have been very helpful, which makes the process seem less chaotic. I just want to get all this done before class begins.

flying drama

2010-08-24T13:20:00.001+02:00

I have arrived in London! (minus my checked bag and cell phone) ... with just a bit of drama.

The flight to Boston was delayed hour and a half. I had 2 hours scheduled before my international flight to Dublin. That meant 1/2hr upon arrival at the gate to departure. At some point while rushing off the plane, trotting down the corridors, taking a bus to the international terminal, and re-going through security, I lost my cell phone. In any case, I got on my international flight just 10min. before they closed the gate. So I'm pretty sure that's where my bag failed to make the journey across the ocean. But none of that really matters because I can't use my cell phone here and I've packed everything for the week of holiday into my carry-on.

So all is well. I've either been in an airport or on a plane for 20 hours now. It feels good to stretch out in my hotel room. Now it's time to tour about the city. And undoubtedly get a little lost. Fist stop: the area around St. James Park; then the Thames River.

heading over the pond

2010-08-23T14:35:00.002+02:00

This last week has been a whirlwind of preparations and running around. So much so that I can't wait to get a "good" rest on my flights (first to Boston, then to London). I do not know how many different plans we had to make with all the changes and things not working out. But it all will work out, one way or another.

I have been in this planning phase so long that it just feels natural to be finally flying out. I've worked out an itinerary for my two days in London, two days in Paris, the train rides between the two, my arrival into Stuttgart, the shipping of my luggage, studying London's Tube map and Paris' Metro map, where I'm eating, where I'm sleeping, financing and housing and registering for the University, canceling insurances and bills and leases and memberships, saying goodbyes, and everything else it takes to move to a different county. I probably would be more excited, but in fact, I'm simply tired. I'm sure when I arrive in Europe (at 8am their time; 2am CST), it will finally click that I am no longer in the U.S. of A., and this major new step in my life has truly begun. Until then, guten Tag und guten Nacht.

details

2010-08-11T17:02:00.003+02:00

I seem to be having a rough go at this complete packing away/giving away thing that I find myself in.

I tend to live somewhat frugally with objects. I don't have much furniture because I didn't need it, and it's harder to be mobile and move residences every year or so (since I like change) when there is bulk. I have a twin bed, a small 2-drawer dresser, end table, floor lamp, filing cabinet, rug, and card table. The only chairs I had were camp chairs and I already gave those away. My problem comes into play when packing up to be flying friendly - which means take most of my clothes and shoes, some small sentimental objects, and 2 or 3 books/journal and give the rest away knowing that I will, once in Germany, go and buy those very same things that I just gave away. I have had some things for many, many years, and they function well still. It doesn't bode well with how I operate to buy a new something of what I already own.

And I still have this inner dialogue debating if this really is a permanent move out of the U.S. for good or is it an extended leave of absence. This is a very important distinction, you see. One means get rid of everything not coming with me because I will set up life on some other point on the globe. However, if it's the latter, why not hold onto a few things that I can reclaim into service after my up-coming 2-year stint (like my motorcycle and a dish set I bought a couple years ago). I feel in my gut the finality of the move, not really to return except to visit, but what do I know. My crystal ball has never shown anything except crystal.

And to compound to the dilemma, I am a good last minute packer. Before departing for India, I stayed up all night because I didn't start until the night before my morning flight ... and ended up doing a fun 4am Walmart run to get last minute items. But my current plans don't allow for that kind of procrastination. I am suppose to be packing for my trip to Germany. ok, great. But how am I suppose to also pack for a weekend trip to visit family and a week long stay at my sister's house? So I've decided to mock pack like I am just leaving the country now, make sure everything fits, then unpack what I need for this weekend. And then once again unpack, wash clothes, and re-pack when my flight is closer.

So in summation, ich finde dass schwierig. But I'm not complaining. This is a way cool time of fantastic change in my life, and all this is just details.

period

2010-08-07T18:41:00.003+02:00

I had a discussion with a friend this morning about the end of things and good-byes. (It must be my theme song stuck on repeat). We came to the conclusion that it isn't really about the good-bye or even that things are changing. It's the fact that it's a period.

It is a definite end to something - a thought, a rhythm, an era. Once you put the period after a word, it becomes a last word and you must start a new sentence ... and sometimes a new page. She was saying that periods are like when your kids leave for college. There's no turning back. They are no longer kids cuddling in your arms. Yes, they can return home, but it's never the same. It's the end of something.

The good thing though is that periods aren't the end of the story. It's easy to begin a new thought or a new chapter. Just put pen to paper and make a stroke.

Why are we so against periods? Is it that fear of starting something new and we don't know where it will lead? Is it the angst of closing out something old and familiar unable to ever return to that moment?

I don't think I mind periods. I would rather not live on the period - that place in flux after the end and before the beginning. It's that transition point that something inside me yearns to continue on. I much prefer the hope of the next thought, the next chapter. I get depressed and confined when I'm in the midst of a run-on sentence as well. I desire change and newness of place, of perspective, of being. Maybe that's why I love God's promise that we are being made new everyday. It's not a done deal and then live stagnate for the ages. He is forever perfecting His beauty within us. And the fact that there is purpose and direction in change thrills me.

It gives me confidence to make the next stroke and see where I end up.

bis dann

2010-08-07T03:01:00.002+02:00

I have discovered something: I am not a fan of good-byes. Well, that's not quite right. This is hardly a new discovery, so I'll go with a rediscovery of a well worn hat.

I have actually been quite cryptic and evasive with many people for the last several weeks about my last days on this continent. The different circles I travel in provide a varied timetable of leave-taking, and, well, since I don't like good-byes I hesitate telling people the exact time that I will last see them.

Well, maybe there is where my issue is. I don't like the idea of "the last time." I mean, who knows. I don't. I barely can figure out what tomorrow might look like, and I now have a very general idea what I will be doing for the next two years, but after that? Who knows. So this finality thing could really be not-so-final after all.

So, sorry for those who will not get a good-bye from me in person. But you know me. I am much more for the quiet exits anyway.

[Second] So, I have decided to go with the German phrase "bis dann." Bis später. Bis bald. They all mean the same thing. "See ya later." Now, don't get me wrong. I don't fly out of this country for another 2 1/2 weeks, but don't expect to see much of me.

I have a couple of days to pack, shed everything that is not coming with me or holds significant emotional value, and move out of my apartment. Then it's road trippin' time to Abilene, TX to hang out for a couple of days with my grandma, uncle, aunt, cousins, etc. Then down to the gulf coast to spend 1 1/2 week with my sister just enjoying each other's company ... and taking care of whatever business is left on my pre-departure check list.

All in all, I'm stoked. And I don't do good-byes ... or "how are you?" but that's for another time.

that's my beloved India

2010-07-12T19:43:00.000+02:00

"... then the chaos can really begin…

The forthcoming chaos is really just a scramble to fix broken things. In the first 6 months of 2010, most things in the office were broken to some degree. In the following 2 months, before the next internship, we must fix them. It all starts with the fact that to do our design & project work we typically require ‘files’. Indeed, nothing can be done without ‘files’. These ‘files’ are commonly stored on a computer. And a computer requires electricity. Thus, we reach a troublesome set of problems I will outline below:

Problem no.1: Adam (our file server) is dead. We don’t know how to fix it. It must be fixed.
Problem no.2: To fix Adam, we must have electricity. The generator is dead – may it rest in peace.
Problem no.3: In lieu of a generator, we must have electricity supply. This week we received ~21 hours out of the ~45 office hours.
Problem no.4: To stabilize the psychotic* electricity supply, we must have new “earthing”.
Problem no.5: To have this “earthing”, certain fellows must begin working for their money. They have not. One week has passed.
Problem no.6: For these certain fellows to work, it cannot be raining heavily. It is monsoon.

For the sake of tact, I have not touched on problems related to ‘telephone’, ‘mobile phone’ or ‘internet’, because I want to emphasize that we do have water, food, clothing, shelter, in short, everything we need to live. But it is just precisely these frivolous extras (such as electricity & internet) that are demanded by our very unreasonable ‘office’. This is why we pine and fret during 6-hour power cuts instead of sucking our tea to relax.

So, pray for us. We know that the Lord will help us to bring things together in time, and we’re willing to take creative views to get around our circumstances too… So we’ll see whether or not we need to implement the Night Shift (electricity supply is typically excellent between 6pm & 8am)…

In Christ, in India,
XX

*I use the word ‘psychotic’ since the electricity supply has recently had a sort of crazy murderous instinct which is unsettling. If I were a machine at the office, I would be scared. Very scared…"

(an email update from my friend in ministry, the director of the India office that I interned at)

world's fair

2010-07-06T19:41:00.000+02:00

I must say, I'm getting pretty excited. There is still so much to do within the next 2 months, and some have deadlines much closer to that. But that's the nature of departure, I suppose.

I received an email this morning from the university (specifically from the program director that I'm in) with a list of those of us who are getting an on-campus flat so that we could check accuracy. It has move-in dates (most being 1 Sept.), surnames, and country of origin.

The country part is the exciting one for me. (And I suppose that fact that I will have more official German address within weeks from now.) Chile, China, El Salvador, Ethopia, Ghana, India, Indonesia, Iran, Ireland, Kazakhstan, Mexico, Nepal, Nicaragua, Nigeria, Pakistan, Peru, Russia, Sudan, Syria, Uganda, & Venezuela. I am the only USA person, though I have already communicated with the other USA guy who has already moved into a place of his own in Stuttgart. But I am thrilled with the opportunity to work & play & live alongside people from so very different backgrounds and cultures. It should be a fascinating experience.

where I see myself

2010-04-24T16:03:00.003+02:00

"What?" I kind of got that in a ball park now. "Where?" This one is a rather elusive question to answer. The simple answer is: short term - Germany, studying at the University of Stuttgart for the next two years starting this fall; long term - uh, hmm ... well, somewhere??

I kind of see myself somewhere on this earth. I know, I know, that's not very helpful.

I had a strange thought a couple of days ago. Could I work for the United Nations? Their playground/office is all the nations. And there is a department that is UN Habitat. "The United Nations agency for human settlements, helps the urban poor by transforming cities into safer, healthier, greener places with better opportunities where everyone can live in dignity. One of their directives is to "improve the lives of at least 100 million slum dwellers by 2020", which sadly is "only 10 percent of the present worldwide slum population" - access to safe drinking water, reliable housing, and economic options. Pretty cool, huh?

But I don't know where I'm going to end up. I'm okay with that though, 'cause really, who knows anyway?

how I see myself

2010-04-17T20:35:00.002+02:00

"Ever since I was a little girl, I understood my place in the world – both present and future. For many years now I have envisioned myself as a licensed and practicing architect, and I have been progressively working toward that goal. I know that I am gifted and passionate about helping people bring what was just a dream to paper and finally to reality. Intermingled with schooling, I have deliberately found myself working and serving in cultures and locations not my own. Two years ago I began an architectural internship in India with a non-profit international Christian development design organization. Upon returning from India and other places like Guatemala, Mexico, Poland, Senegal, and inter-city neighborhoods in the United States, I understand my role differently.

Well designed architecture can have a profound affect on its physical and social worlds. But can functional, beautiful structures truly change things? Much of the developing world can indeed benefit from architecture, but there are other needs - sometimes more significant hurdles in development. It is easy to see an economy crippled by the health of its labor force that are needlessly sick due to poor or nonexistent clean and waste water management, or to sit in traffic for hours because there is only one road charged with carrying thousands of people, foods, and goods to the capital city.

After successful completion of the Master’s Program of Infrastructure Planning, I plan to enroll in an accredited master’s of architecture program to additionally fulfill the requirements for licensure in the United States. With both of these educational backgrounds, I will then have the tools necessary to facilitate positive change in developing countries by means of improving how they live, work, communicate, and travel, thereby improving quality of life around the world. My purpose in life is to bless people, and to help them do what they do better."

-Letter of Motivation to the graduate program in Germany I was recently accepted to!

chapter: senegal - part 6 (day of rest)

2010-02-08T20:28:00.004+01:00

Friday, January 15. Day 8 of the medical mission trip to Senegal.

After 8 days in country, I finally culture shocked. Oh man, it was rough. The medical part of the trip had concluded; the witnessing never finishes. We boarded our friend, the mini bus, and headed out with packed day bags for an city called Mbour on the coast of Senegal. This is essentially resort town. We arrive first at a boutique for shopping for those who are always eager to shop (I don't fall into that category, but I did buy my sister a postcard). When the store closed for siesta (another very positive trait I wish the U.S. would adopt), we walked across the street and down this long path in a park-like setting in this beach resort for lunch and general chilling.

Europeans every where. The street outside the gate: dark skinned. Inside the resort: pale skinned (and lobster colored). They do employ Senegalese men. But it was very odd. One of the things that bothered me about this was learning that almost all of the people here arrived via airplane in Dakar, was directly loaded unto a charter bus and dropped off inside the gate at the resort. Their notion of what Senegal is entirely lies within the resort property among fellow Frenchman or Germans or whatever (mostly French). How sad. I imagine they are content with such a shallow understanding of what Senegal is about. But I suppose we all do that. The affluent take vacations outside their bubble of knowing, hit the tourist spots, and call it done. The poor have an understand of different cultures based on movies or celebrities or what is heard. (All American women aren't Brittney Spears or Paris Hilton. I know, I know, It's news to me too.)

Anyway, the next step in this culture shock occurred as I sought a place to settle on the beach to read my book and plug into my iPod underneath shade. As expected on many beaches, people lay out in the sun. Apparently, however, the French have a history of being topless. Praise God it wasn't a nude beach, but to go from conservative dress (women in villages don't wear jeans) to topless bikinis is a large leap. I only felt comfortable enough to wear a tank top and shorts.

Once again it was reinforced that I don't do 'nothing' well. And yes, I realize that I was hovering over the rest of the team trying to get them to leave. I was anxious to leave and head back to Theis.

Thus concludes day 8. One more day to go.

chapter: senegal - part 5 (almost done)

2010-02-05T15:36:00.005+01:00

So I'm sitting in an airport once again ... but not some crazy long transatlantic flight. My point is, I am sitting at the gate doing nothing, so I might as well work toward the conclusion of this story before it becomes a month old.

The last I left you was Wednesday, and we stayed in Theis for the day doing clinic for young boys. Thursday started quite similarly to the first two clinic days in the villages, and the day was supposed to look close to the same as well. If you can't tell, I 'm leading into a plot twist.

We're driving along in our rented mini-bus thing (I forgot what they're called) that we've been in all week now, heading in a different direction going to a slightly different area of the country. This last village was the only Wolof speaking village on our schedule (the others were Seree). We're on our way, more than an hour into the trip when we stop with just a handful of miles between us and our destination. Why? Sand. The sand was so bad - so much of it, that if we tried to continue any further, we would have been stuck. Luckily (praise God), we happened to be driving along with this 4-wheel drive jeep that was carrying missionaries staying/working in a nearby village who was going to be helping us out with the clinic. So without much information at the time of what was going on, we piled in as many people as could fit and took off. Then the jeep went back and was crammed full of as much medicine as could fit; then people; then more meds; then more people. And oh boy were we sliding around on that sand.

Welcome to Ndakhar. We arrive (in sections) and like the other places we go, we are an instant attraction, especially to the children. We chatted (poorly on our end) and played. When the meds arrived, we set them up in a fairly dark two room school. A nearby pavilion became the consultation area, while the nurse area set up shop underneath the shade of a large tree. This day I stayed entirely working in the nurse area, mostly as the first point of contact - the weigh station. Part of my job description quickly became crowd control. The previous days the people waited, seated in some shade, waiting fairly patiently for their turn. As the villagers arrive, they are checked in of sorts and put in an order of first come first served ... unless you are triaged ahead of the line. At Ndakhar, the nurse station was the nearest shade, so they were waiting right next to us. Then it became that we had crowds of people huddled closely observing their neighbors and friends have their vitals checked and recorded. And several people throughout the day didn't really want to believe in lines, and wanted to push through to the next open seat. I am not being cynical or mean here. I experienced the same thing while in India. I was waiting for "my turn" at a hospital to pay, while the locals just pushed up and stuck out their ticket to get it taken which meant it was their turn. Sometimes, culturally, waiting in line truly is a foreign construct ... kind of like being on time and sticking intensely to a schedule. Funny things those are, I know.

My job morphed out of necessity to bouncer/ weigher/ usher/ greeter. Intense, but fun. And I got to work alongside a very cool woman who was one of the missionaries we meet on the road - Divi. She is from New Zealand doing a year service in Senegal (her term is up in May). She is my age, plays basketball, has a way cool accent, and was wonderful to talk with. She was a delight.

We did our work. Saw and helped more than hundred people once again. Chased a goat. Packed up and left the same way we arrived. Lovely day. Thus concludes Thursday, day 7 (maybe - who's counting).

chapter: Senegal - part 4 (@ dhara)

2010-01-31T01:52:00.002+01:00

So now it's been 2 weeks-ish since the Senegal mission trip. And the section section to be covered begins with its problems. The day to be discussed is Wednesday. By this time, the team is a pro at the Seree greetings from two previous clinics in Seree villages. So Wednesday's scheduled activity was to stay in Theis where we were sleeping and do clinic for street kids essentially. This is where the two problems come in. I didn't take any pictures of the place or the kids out of a fear/respect for the men running it. What I'm trying to say is that I didn't want to be seen as inappropriate and ruin the Christian witness to these Muslim religious leaders who we were serving and the witness from many others. The second issue is I don't know how to spell the place where we were serving ... which doesn't work so well for a written blog. So for a likely incorrect spelling I'll just go with "dhara". There are multiple dhara in each major city and even the smaller towns. In its pure form, dhara is school - an Arabic teaching Koran school for small kids. Parents send their boys (I think its only boys, but I very well could be wrong) so that they can grow up as good religious men. If you are wealthy you can afford to send your son to a decent dhara. If poor, well ... not so good.

The team that we joined from Pennsylvania had done clinic in two different dharas before. The first one, we were told, was on the "not good" side. The boys stay there, beg on the streets for money (to teach humility), and study the Koran in Arabic. I really don't know much about the whole process, especially as an outsider looking in on one particular instance.

The dhara we were in for clinic was not beyond imagination bad. The boys looked in pretty good condition. We were all kind of on edge and prayed up, not knowing what to expect. It was a large concrete structure with a second floor half the footprint of the ground floor. There was no solid floors, just dirt. We gave each child a vitamin, a dose of de-worming meds (as in intestinal parasite stuff ... it happens when you run around bare-foot), and tanga (means candy) - just like the lollipop after the dentist. After all the nursing station stuff, they went into the medical consultation area for specific stuff. I don't anything that happened in their; I was giving every kid one chewable children's vitamin. After we saw all the kids, some other kids not belonging to the dhara came in.

That's what we did. We played with with them; encouraged them to dance with us; mostly they just laughed at us; we tried to comfort them; we tried to give them motherly touches; show them love and care; be Christ for them. And that's what the day was all about. And it was good.

chapter: Senegal - part 3

2010-01-25T05:51:00.003+01:00

Let's see. Where'd we leave off last? Ah, yes. Time for the medical part of the mission trip.

Day 4: We began each morning with scripture and prayer and some breakfast. Monday was not any different even though we woke up to donkeys and the sound of early morning work done by the women. It made me feel more than a bit lazy. The women that live out in the villages work so very hard. Many of them just look so tired. Up before dawn, carrying water from the well, doing the cooking and cleaning, and still working as the sun sets. And yet they are so gracious and hospitable.

Sorry, back to Monday morning. We gathered in the church in Diohne, which is where we were set up clinic. We gathered every one together for prayer. A few minutes in, I felt my legs go weak. I didn't want to sit down because everybody was standing. But that didn't matter - down I went to my knees. I suppose God knows that sometimes I'm a better visual learner.

I don't remember if I began in the pharmacy or the nursing area doing vitals. No matter. We saw and (hopefully) assisted more than 100 people in each of the 3 off-site clinics - Monday: Diohne (a Seree village); Tuesday: Langomack (another Seree village); and Thursday: Ndakhar (a Wolof village). We gave vitamins to as many people as we could - but especially kids. We treated for malaria, intestinal parasites, arthritis, headaches, infections, colds, and whatever else ... I just do what I'm told with all that medical stuff.

Langomac on Tuesday went very similarly to Diohne. We met at a church plant, and set up clinic around the building. I was at the nursing area outside (near the outhouses) most of the day either assisting taking temperatures, writing the info on people's chart (half a sheet of preprinted paper) or helping at check-in, trying to make sure everyone was seen in some semblance of first-come-first-served. We'd pack up everything late afternoon so that we could be back on the road by sunset. We gathered together for dinner either at our hotel or a missionary's home. Most of the evenings, a few of Linda & my friends (those that were in Theis) would come over to hang out and chat. We knew these guys from their training and stay in San Antonio with DLI (Defense Language Institute - or something like that). It was good to catch up with them again. Other members of our team also enjoyed getting to know these fine Senegalese gentleman.

More later. I'm tired. Next for your viewing pleasures: Wednesday clinic at a dhara (or dara or darah) in Theis.

chapter: Senegal - part 2

2010-01-20T20:20:00.001+01:00

Sunday, Jan. 10 was the beginning of an amazing time. As a team, we decided to stay in one of the villages where we would serve over night. That morning after breakfast and a devotional we headed out of town for a 2 hour ride. Destination: Diohne (roughly pronounced Joe-heen).
There is a running joke/commentary from Westerners who live or visit almost all of the African countries. We called it Senegal Time. Essentially, there is no such thing as "late" because the important thing is that you arrived and the relationships you have while trying to arrive is more important than getting to a place on a schedule. Anyway, so we arrived at this church plant in Diohne on Senegal time. But no matter, the congregation was waiting for us by doing other things. We worshipped with them for a couple hours - they sang, we sang, we all danced, sermon message translated.
This type of worship is such a treat for me. Praise sung out to our God in whatever language; me not understanding the words, but knowing the heart, the content.
After the service and everyone greeted each other (I'm pretty sure I met everyone there), they all disbanded for siesta. Businesses and schools take siesta because typically it's just too hot outside during early afternoon. Several from our team sat under this huge tree and chatted and chilled and worked on our Seree (local language) phrases. Slowly people started reappearing again. Kids came out to play. We pulled out the futbols; we had card games going; we even pulled our sleeping mats together and taught some girls how to tumble. There was this one little girl that had her aunt's Bible in Seree. She would flip through it, point, and I would do my best to read it. Her aunt then sat next to me opened up to the end of Matthew and she would read a few words and I would follow her lead. Then I read the same passage in my English Bible.
Late afternoon, Robin (one of the team members) and I decided to go for a walk. We met up with Jerome who lived in a nearby community. (Diohne is a large village made up of several smaller communities.) Through his little bit of English plus charades, he told us about the history of the village. His family, a long time ago, actually started Diohne, and his dad is the oldest man living there. As we walked we kept bumping into his cousins or uncles or 3rd cousins twice removed (family trees get complicated). He told us how they make and store their millet (a staple food like grain). He invited us into his home and other people's homes. Each family group (all of the extended family) has wall around their homes with the individual families within the wall. When you marry, you essentially build your room(s) in your parent's backyard. That way family sticks together and everybody is there to assist.
After 9pm that night, there started a dance. The row of drummers on djembes came up with their own rhythms while a few people in a ring around the center would pop out, move their to the beat crazy fast for a few seconds, then sit back down in the ring of people. I managed to hide in the darkness while others of my team where pulled in to dance. But twas the time for our naming ritual. We were all pulled into the center and one by one our namesakes (people from the village selected us to give us their name) danced with us individually. So her name is now my name. My Seree name is Ndew Seine.
After that long day, 6 of us slept in a tent, 2 in the church, and the men somewhere else. The stars were brilliant that night.
Thus ends day 3. Day 4: clinic in Diohne.

chapter: Senegal - part 1 of whenever I end

2010-01-19T01:01:00.007+01:00

We have made it home safely ... with a bit of drama, but all is well. I have to continue with malaria pills, and I have napped often on the plane, in the airport, on the plane, and throughout today. But all this is the end of the chapter instead of the beginning, which is where I'd like to begin.

My friend and I got to Austin airport several hours before departure. Our flight out was slightly delayed. Meaning our layover in Dulles to Senegal shortened to about an hour. But no biggie - we just had to jog to our departure gate since they were already boarding. Onward to Senegal!

Day 1, Jan 8: We landed in Dakar as the sun was rising. First thing I notice was the scent of salt water and fish. I greatly dislike the smell of fish. Most people on the South African flight don't get off at Dakar (their destination is Johannesburg), so it's not a mad rush to get off the plane. Did customs without a hitch. Baggage claim, almost without a hitch. My friend Linda's personal bag was not here. All the meds made it which was fantastic. We speculated what adventure her bag was going to have. Maybe it didn't make the quick transfer at Dulles. Maybe it wanted a South African adventure. No matter, it arrived a few days later with the help of a Senegalese friend. In any case, we were the last people to leave. Nobody was even at security to check our bags.

We immediately left Dakar and stopped at a discipleship training facility just outside the city called Haven for Hope for breakfast and a nap. Most of us (including me) did not sleep well on the 8 hour flight over the Atlantic, so the nap was a God-send. Theis, another major city in Senegal was to be our base camp for the next 9 days.

I honestly don't remember much about this day. And I confuse the details I do know with the events of Day 2, Saturday. Yea for a digital camera with a date stamp. We ate some good food. Went to an Artisan Market. Had cultural orientation (which I don't remember). Visited Barthimee Hospital (Christian hospital in Theis run by missionary doc - Dr. Ted). Met with and had laughs with several Senegalese friends that I met in San Antonio. Sorted and packed medicine bags. Slept sometime in there.

Until next time: Day 3, Sunday, Jan 10. Village life at Diohine and a sleep over.

take-off

2010-01-07T13:18:00.002+01:00

The day has arrived. In 10ish minutes I will be heading to the airport on the journey toward Senegal to arrive at 7am (their time) or about 2am CST tomorrow morning.

My role is still a bit fuzzy to me. I have been told I will be a nurse taking vitals and such for the clinics that we are holding in the villages surrounding Theis (a major city).

If the opportunity presents itself I will try to post some stories and/or pics during the time ... but if not, definitely after the fact.

See ya on the flip side.

Senegal missions trip

2009-12-02T19:58:00.000+01:00

Senegal, here we come in just one month's time.

Here's what I know:
I have been successfully vaccinated with typhoid (again) and yellow fever. I'm forever good with Hepatitis A & B. Tetanus is still current.

Senegal is in the hugely large continent of Africa, specifically on the north west coast.
A friend & I will fly up to D.C. to meet up with the rest of the team (from a church in Pennsylvania) and fly into Dakar, Senegal (the capital). That's January 7th.

The goal of course, is to try our hardest to stay awake the whole first day, fighting jet lag, which could be difficult since we arrive at 7am (Jan 8). Soon thereafter, we will head out of Dakar away from the coast toward a city that to me sounds like "chess". (But allowing for mis-hearing it could really be anything.) And the real work happens in villages outside of that city.

The point of the trip across the pond is medical. Yes, I am non-medical. So the point of my trip with those medical people is to help in any way that I can and to be a blessing to whomever I can.

We are there for a week & 1/2, then depart January 17 (Sunday) at 2am (Dakar time) arriving at Dulles at 6am (EST). Linda & I will say our good-byes to our new friends from Penn and hit the air heading home.

I pretty sure that is the extent to what I know. Well, all that stuff above and this: God will be glorified. And that is good enough for me.

(If you want to help financially, give me a holler)

stumble upon

2009-10-23T18:24:00.002+02:00

Have you ever happened upon an amazing deal when you weren't even looking to buy? Have you ever bumped into an old good friend when the relationship seemed out of contact but with the one chance meeting has rekindled the connection? Have you ever been stopped by the absolute beauty of the world around you - a glorious sunrise, the aroma of a chili factory on the way to work, or the sparkle and smile of people living a world away?

This is how I describe the newest progression in my life. I have been struggling with how architecture (what I do) can help people that clean water or power is just a dream? What good is a well designed facility when shanti towns are the reality?

While looking for graduate schools I began to lose hope that two of my passions (architecture and missions) would not be able to coexist with relevance. I broadened my scope outside of the U.S. of A. to the world. England, Scotland, India, Australia, Costa Rica, Brazil, South Africa. Nothing fit. Then there it was. There is a program in Stuttgart, Germany (taught in English = geared towards international students) that is more than master planning or public works projects. "This Master's Program Infrastructure Planning emphasizes an interdisciplinary, integrated approach to planning and deals with problems especially relevant to developing and newly industrializing countries." Relevancy.

Relevancy for people that need for us to be everything that we can bring to the table. To share God's love by being present and able. I like that. That's what I want my life to look like. So, I'm applying. I will find out if I'm accepted in March. I guess that means I need to finish applying first.

sky diving

2009-08-31T19:43:00.009+02:00

I realized I hadn't posted any pics from my first sky diving experience from two weeks ago. Enjoy.

My tandem guy - Joe. He was great and knew what he was doing. It was his idea to back flip out of the plane and he let me steer the chute during a trick for a small amount of time.

Just hanging in the sky. Beautiful day!

And job complete! Thanks for all who joined the fun - either jumping or spectating.

hosea = me

2009-08-02T01:13:00.004+02:00

So, I've been thinking ...

I am preparing for a short-term international mission trip at the end of this year with Habitat for Humanity International through their Global Village program (HFH GV). It has not been decided yet where I will be serving (waiting on the team leaders of each trip) but it has narrowed to two people/locations: Delhi, India or Papua New Guinea.

During each phone interview, I was asked the questions: why do you want to serve with Habitat and why do you want to serve here? I have now come up with better answers. Not to say my first answer was wrong; my answer just wasn't quite there yet.

So, I was thinking about the prophet Hosea in the Bible. Not the part about marrying a prostitute (thank you God), but the children named not loved and not my people. God, in His love and compassion changes their names and changes their lives: "I will show my love to the one I called 'Not my loved one.' I will say to those called 'Not my people,' 'You are my people'; and they will say, 'You are my God.'"

I think we are called to do the same.

There are so many people throughout the world and within our communities that have been forgotten, lost, not loved, outcasted, hurt. I want my business to be about stepping into the lives of these and being present. I want to show tangibly that they have not been left behind and they matter. I want to guide people until they are face to face with God's love.

So if that means going to nations distant by miles and by culture - from an island nation that survives by subsistence farming where their homes are constructed of degradable materials to an extremely densely populated city where far too many are too poor to even have a roof over their heads - to work alongside those we serve to build homes that are safe and good. To say, "I see you. You are not invisible or forgotten. Let me walk with you."

Or maybe it also means lifting my eyes from my own little world to truly see those who exist around my everyday living. To spend time helping in a homeless shelter or soup kitchen. To be a blanket of comfort and compassion talking down a friend from suicide or grieving. To be a force of love.

Many times I fall short. But that's why I'm going.

not homeless

2009-07-20T19:41:00.003+02:00

Trying to rent a house is more difficult than expected ... except the very end - at least of my experience.

The process began casually. "hey Liz. You want to room together when our apartment leases are up?" We looked online, made notes, did drive-bys of selected homes, and perused neighborhoods we liked for other houses with for rent signs. Eventually we picked a realtor and started looking intently (11 or 12 houses is intense).

This is all pretty boring. Let's cover over the intermediate time by saying: things got slightly stressful as time was running out. He had hopes for a few houses ... then dashed hopes. Then renewed hope, then completely discouraged. My soon-to-be roommate signed back on for another year at her apartment, and I settled into trying to find either an affordable duplex or downsize in another apartment.

Then the call came. A friend from church read my facebook status (which in general can be cryptic) and thought that I was very soon to be homeless. She has been considering and praying about getting a roommate in her house and thought about me. How cool!

We made a simple arrangement (opposed to the application process that we were experiencing) and I move in at the beginning of August. sweet. Here's praying that we can be friends and roommates through-out and after.

passion

2009-07-06T19:21:00.003+02:00

Three weeks ago I found myself on a high. Not so much: 'oh man! life is so amazing right now. This is the best time I have ever had.' But more towards the: 'yes, this is how life should go. I am content and spiritually & emotionally satisfied doing and being right now.' Three weeks ago was my church's senior high youth mission trip to Memphis, TN called SOS (service over self). It was a wonderful time of service with the youth to an inner city neighborhood repairing homes. It was also a wonderful time of service for the youth - being in prayer over them & to them, playing & being goofy with them (including a water balloon attack), and simply waking some up in the morning to attend a student led girls' morning bible study.

The week ended, as it should. That first week after it seemed as if I was in a cloud - not really present at work or meetings or even my work-outs. I couldn't quite pin down what was going on because, well, I wasn't really paying attention to even myself. The second week after (last week for those playing along) I caught my mood in a continually dark state. Not void of light, but definitely dimmed out of joy. A few people caught on and asked me about my mellowness. All I could say is: 'this just isn't right. I feel off.' After outer discussions and much more inner discussion within my psyche, I believe I am back.

After mission trips, local or international, day or 6 months, I know where my passion lies. I feel the call on my life so intensely. My heart feels the most content & joyful in service, doing something that blesses somebody & ushering them ever closer to God. I don't feel this way "in the real world" at work. And that is something that I need to work on. God has placed me here specifically and at this time specifically, and so my response should be joy & satisfaction in being within God's will.

I've had some interesting thoughts, but one of the ones that seems (thus far) the most agreeable to how I am wired is working within the architecture world and possibly taking sabbaticals to fulfill my inner missionary. Who knows though. For now, graduate school in architecture is still the next biggest event to come. Till then, got to learn to live passionately in all I do, instead of simply what is easy to find passion in doing.

(Andy: will be praying for you & your wife as you begin a new thing in India w/ eMi)

selfish

2009-05-13T03:01:00.003+02:00

It has taken me a while to get here – probably longer than it should have – but I now have a more full picture of how utterly selfish I am. I am almost ashamed to say it, but I recently had an eureka moment. (huh, ‘an’ sounds odd)

What I discovered is this: many more people than simply me are/were grieved at my dad’s death. I know, what a shocker. I knew that I hurt. I knew my sister hurt because we stepped into the muck of emotions together on many days. I knew others were affected because they knew him and might miss him. So a few days shy of 2 years out from his death (May 16), it's a good time to be learning.

Before my dad was a father, he was a son and a brother and a cousin and a friend and a husband and a co-worker and a … well you get it. I loved him for only 22 years, and parents are supposed to die before their kids. Others lost much more than me. How easy it is to be so wrapped up into our own world that we entirely miss that others share the same circle with us. And what about now and into the future? My dad died a day before one of his friends’ birthday, and we buried him on one of his brothers’ birthday. Those celebrations are linked now with pain. There are probably many more of these linkages that I still don’t see. But it helps to see; it helps to know. And now I am sorry – sorry that I have been blinded to others’ hurts. And sorry that I continue to be selfish. I’m working on it. I promise.

upon the edge of nations

2009-05-04T14:55:00.002+02:00

These are not my words, but they have been my sentiment, especially in a nation that knows not the name of Jesus.

I stood in the dark upon the edge of two nations,
behind the village masjid with locked doors,
and covered my head with the sky,
to be with you.

Silver light touched hard mountains so gently,
that fell from stars which seemed so close,
perhaps they bent down their heads,
when I called your name.

Such an unfamiliar sound in this remote world,
it soon filled the valley and rang in my ears,
the trees turned up their hands with me,
while we stood before you.

Your majesty fills and bends time around itself,
so that a moment is longer than an hour,
and an hour passes like a moment,
as I bow down to worship.

The endless glowing heavens shouted for joy,
the whole earth was spread as my carpet,
and my mouth cried out silent words,
yet you heard me.

A desperate longing almost like pain to reach you,
but I could not reach further and wet my beard,
perhaps with tears belonging to you,
which you shared with me.

To hasten the day when these tribes and tongues,
will worship before you on this mountain,
as I did to bring glory to your name,
Yeshuaa, hasten the day.

Upon the edge of nations
25th April 2009, Kashmir

In Christ,

life's next lesson

2009-04-05T07:19:00.002+02:00

In the past several years I have gone through periods of themes. I suppose God knows that I tend to listen best when multiple sources are all telling (& sometimes yelling) at me with the same message. Some of the more notable heavenly lessons have been patience (several times, in fact - do we ever stop having to learn more about this?), waiting, trust God/in God, stop telling God 'no', and be still & draw near. Starting this last Thursday at Bible study, and again Friday, and yet again earlier this afternoon, and can you believe again just a few moments ago a singular phrase won't depart from my studies: 'Fear not!'

I have dealt with this before between me and God, me and teachers, me and coaches, me French horn teacher, and me and friends ... and I have never been able to come to any real resolution. I don't want to play that game anymore.

So what's the real issue? I am so paralyzingly afraid of failing. What if God calls me to something and I am incapable to accomplish it, inexperienced, or not fit for the task? In my head I know His promises. He does not call us without equipping us. His strength (His ability to do) is made perfect in my weakness (my inability to do). God will never fail me or leave me.

The prescription: application of the cumulative lessons. A step of faith forward (wherever that happens to be) knowing that I can trust God to be God, wait upon His timing to act or to speak, be still enough to hear His heart beat. Oh yeah, and when God says, 'okay my child. Your turn. And don't worry; my hands will always encompass yours,' He means it. Too bad my heart is a slower study than my head. I have an aching feeling I will be in this lesson longer than this weekend.

first time juror

2009-03-20T22:43:00.006+01:00

A few weeks ago, I was given a summons to appear at court for jury duty. On Monday, I fulfilled my obligation, and should not be asked again for another three years. This was my first time and honestly it was quite an experience and rather fun. I've decided for the purpose of being true to the moment to record what I had written in my journal while hanging out in the courthouse:

"10:26am - I am sitting in the Bexar County courthouse in the central jury room. I am summoned for jury duty ... or at least waiting to see if I am selected to be a juror. I have a back pack of stuff to keep me occupied for the day long of waiting. One, of course being this journal. Also, my laptop with free wi-fi and a book I am nearly finished with only an hour and half into this thing.

Well, all right. The third panel of the morning is called and I am selected, number 5 out of 25. We will see what happens.

...

10:58am - still waiting in the first floor hallway to be called into county court no. 1. So now I am undertaking the task of people watching. I am sitting on the floor at the intersection of the stairs and elevators and the main hallway. Lawyers are a funny thing to watch and listen to as they interact with each other.

The bailiff assigned to our little band of 25 is sarcastic. I guess it's better to make the job fun when dealing with volunteers who didn't really at all volunteer. I was trying to help him out by telling him what order were in (i.e. juror no. 1 is to my left) because a lady got out of line and forgot her place. He told me he put us backwards intentionally, and then made a funny comment about that he knows what he's doing. Juror no. 4 next to me told me after the bailiff walked away that she thought he was rude and didn't have to put me down like that. I just chuckled and told her that I can take his sarcasm. He's just poking fun & it's not at all malicious.

I would much prefer to jot the life happenings since returning from India (has it really been that long ago?!) and truly much is to be written. However, I have no idea when I will be called into the court room, and don't want to have an interrupted stream of thought - I do that well enough without help.

...

11:25am - Hmm. Still sitting in the hallway. It's 5 minutes till 11:30am when the juror peoples' lunch break is scheduled to begin. I wonder if the bailiff will tell us to do lunch then come back to waiting in the hallway, or we'll do our thing and have a late lunch. This is my first time; everything is a guess.

...

11:51am - Okay, progress! At 11:46am we were lined again for a change of scene. We were escorted into court room no. 8 and told that this would be our home for the afternoon. All I know is it is a criminal case. So now on lunch break, I am sitting in the hallway, just pulled out my laptop and ready to see what the world is up to.

...

12:52pm - I have roughly 20 min. until we are suppose to be back in line in the hallway where we've spent most of the morning.

(rambling on about different things that came into my head, ending with topics related to my previous post and 'Now what?')

'Now what' is to go back into court room no. 8 to see if I'm dismissed or selected. More later, whenever later is.

...

3:30pm-ish - whew. So the case is a DWI case, the defendant being a young male and the prosecution being the state of Texas as represented by the District Attorney's office. The funniest thing is every time the 25 jurors enter the room. The bailiff, leading us, calls out "all rise for the jury!" I smiled every time I heard it and tried very hard not to laugh out right. I never knew they stood for us, just the judge. eh, good times. And oh, all the jurors were re-numbered for some unknown reason (this is me hoping that it wasn't my fault for posting anything on facebook and twitter). I am now juror no. 4. The previous juror no. 4, my neighbor for the past hours is now no. 25.

So the judge explained a bit about what was going on and what was about to go on. Nice lady. She must have gotten tired of the black robe. The defense went first, asking us general and specific questions about our experiences with DWI, police, vehicle related accidents, different types of information presented as proof, and such to see if we think we would be fair and unbiased to both sides. Then the prosecution had their turn to do the same. I had no idea DWI was an opinion type of case. Without a blood-alcohol percent, it is the arresting officer's judgment if the individual is intoxicated (i.e. drunk) not just had been drinking or smelled like or whatever. I have discovered that I do not solely trust sobriety tests. If there was an established constant for each person, then I would feel better about it - but some people naturally have balance issues or eye-hand coordination issues. But then again, if are even possibly borderline intoxicated or had anything to drink shortly before wanting to leave - you should not drive! Driving is dangerous (and yes, sometimes fatal) without being hindered. Anyway, after recessing so that both sides could figure out who to eliminate from the jury as the faithful 25 went back into our real home, the hallway, we headed back in following the "all rise for the jury!". I was dismissed. Apparently I have the ability to be biased for and against both parties in several ways. So no one wanted me. Oh well.

Over all, not a bad first time. At least I was able to experience something outside of the basement (central jury room) by being called into a panel. My work here is done."

what's next?

2009-03-15T00:13:00.003+01:00

So ...
Sorry, disrupting post for a short line of thinking: I begin a lot of thoughts with 'so'. I think it has something to do with the fact that whatever finally spills out through my mouth (or fingers), I have been churning in my head. So nothing is a stand-alone thought. Everything has context and is part of a larger story. I simply chose to give voice to a few strands of ideas while the rest is filtered or forgotten. Anyway, back to my 'so'.

So, I have been investigating what life might look like next for me. The last several years have had dramatically different looks and situations and life-changing moments. It is very much in my character to have things planned out. Now, hardly ever do things happen in the way that I plan, but I'm alright with that - God's imagination is bigger and more eternal than mine.

Very recently I found myself pondering about becoming a Peace Corps volunteer. I was very willing to see how that might look for me. I was getting pretty excited. A week ago however, after meeting with a recruiter, I went away with a feeling that it was not a good fit for me. Their focus (though an extremely good one) does not fit my passions and gifts. So no Peace Corps, at least for now.

Well, then what? Since I would not need to contend with that particular 2-year commitment, what should I focus on? The previous ministry I served with in India (Engineering Ministries International) is an amazing organization doing good work all over the world. But for me right now, it costs money I don't have, and more to the point probably, I don't yet feel qualified to be the sole architect on a team. Some day - and I don't ever choose to use that phrase as a cop out.

I greatly enjoyed Habitat for Humanity, both locally and on the international scene. So I have already scheduled to volunteer several days with the upcoming spring build here in San Antonio, and hopefully a two-week trip to somewhere (Alaska, Brazil, Macedonia ... I don't know yet) this fall.

I have also decided that it would be good for me to stop putting off graduate school. So I will be working on putting together another portfolio, polishing my resume, writing essays, and getting transcripts and such. Hopefully to start in the fall on a two-year study for Masters of Architecture.

That's where I'm at. We'll see what sticks and what else God has intentioned and made ready for me to join him in. Here's to life. (clinks of imaginary drinking glasses goes here)

motorcycle evangelism

2009-02-14T01:13:00.002+01:00

I greatly enjoy riding my motorcycle. For me, riding brings me to a place of reflection, prayer, and general sabbath peace. So it is easy for me to speak well of it to others, to encourage people to become a rider, and ohh, the gas mileage is phenomenal.

I was at dinner with my sister. It was a wonderful time of conversation, but that's not the point. I met her at the restaurant on my bike. I set my helmet and jacket on the seat beside me, and the waitress serving us saw it. She said that she had wanted to ride for years now. And the conversation began. And it was an easy one to have. I told her what I like about my cruiser, how much my insurance was, and gave her info on the riding school I went to to get licensed.

Now I pose the question I asked my sister: motorcyclists have cool apparel and the beautiful body styles of the bike's themselves to spark interest and conversation. What are those things that Christians have? Why can't evangelism be as easy as talking up about the other things we love?

The cross, once powerful in image and full of meaning, now for many is a simple iconic fad accessory for no other reason than it is part of their look.

¿Qué más?

Carry my travel Bible with me? But that's awfully silly if the point of bringing it is to set on the table in public.

How about our lives? Our character and integrity of speech and action? Is that sufficient to perk people's interest in why and for what we do as Christians? I hope so because I know no better witness than our lives played out in love and faith in and for God. So then the next question is: is my life the witness I desire it to be?

school life

2009-02-09T14:43:00.004+01:00

So I have been trying (not very hard) to get my stuff together for graduate school applications. I oscillate between expectation of new learning possibilities and approaching even closer to my goal to be a licensed architect ... and not wanting to loose myself once again into the pattern of no (or very little) sleep, having no time for a life outside of school and work and church, and just being utterly tired.

The last go around of school, I didn't participate in the college life. My friends were good for inside studio (though I almost never stayed there to work) and sometimes a study partner here and there. This weekend, while celebrating my sister's birthday in Austin, I had the opportunity to hang out with and see what fun her UT friends had with each other. They made a point to get together. It is a pretty cool thing. I know myself and the excuses I give, but none stand up. For example: one girl changed majors a year ago, as a junior, to petroleum engineering, and still chose to graduate in four years. Nuts, I say, but she manages well to still have a fairly balanced life. So me saying, 'But I would be an architecture student in grad school. There is a reason all architecture buildings on campus have nicknames that all say the same thing - the lights are always on because students are always working.'

So, when I finally do get my act together and finish my portfolio, resume, essays, and other application needs, it would be good idea (I think) to discover how to enjoy school life meshed nicely into life outside of school. That's the plan anyway.

too much

2009-01-23T20:26:00.003+01:00

This week, the architecture firm that I work at has been conducting annual performance interviews for every employee. Really, it is purposefully a semi-casual environment that everybody dresses über professional for (i.e. guys in ties and/or sport jacket and ladies ... who knows). I have been at this firm for many years now (since my senior year in high school), and I have spent time with all of my reviewers (4 in all!), so there was no point in being nervous.

So we were sitting and chatting waiting for the last reviewer to join us. It started, it ended, no biggie.

One of the last questions asked me was how do I rate my performance over the last year ... well, half year. My answer: I feel sluggish because I am only working 30 hours and the market is a little slower. It probably seems much more slow to me because I am more accustomed to running than walking - working overtime and rushing to meet project deadlines than having time between tasks and taking off Fridays.

The K of RVK (where I work) corrected me. He said that my six month vacation was no vacation; it was a sabbatical. The best thing that I could have done for myself was going to India. I was at work too much and doing school too much. I thought about adding in church to the short list, but figured it would not help my cause. He then said that I had no life.

That was true. I am working on discovering what having a life looks like. it may mean hanging out with friends - like eating dinner, or enjoying not having something going on every evening after work, having time to volunteer at Habitat for Humanity, or (possibly my favorite) deciding and following through with a wonderful afternoon nap. Currently I am sitting outside at a friend's house watching and playing and loving their dogs. Sitting in the sun is good. Breathing is good. Life is good.

memory/legacy

2009-01-08T19:24:00.003+01:00

Part 1: My sister passed on an email that one of her friends sent her. Essentially, her military friend oversees had a conversation with an airman that was stationed in San Antonio at Lackland AFB. (He wants to go to a Spurs' game as soon as he gets back home.) The part that my sister's friend knew would be of interest to her, and thus to me as well, was that this airmen stationed far away from home knew and had worked with my dad.

"I thought you'd like to know that he is being remembered over here." It is very cool and special and some other emotions that I am not sure really what they are.

Part 2: My dad's old Sunday School class commissioned a sculptor in our church to have an altar cross made in memory/honor of my dad. It is a beautiful cross. (Thanks Mike, you did an amazing job).

My point in all this bragging of sorts is really a question. Why is having a dead loved one remembered by others (and yourself) important to us? They are no longer here; their body has begun decay, burned to ash, or (as I desire) played with/on by medical people. Why is memory something that surpasses this and goes to the heart of it all?

I have a hunch it is at least something to do with wanting to be an impactful people and not wanting to live a life that is purposeless in the end. Or maybe memory is one of those God attributes that we are given to illustrate that God never forgets.

grown-up christmas wish

2008-12-25T21:05:00.003+01:00

I heard a sermon illustration at the beginning of Advent that has stuck with me these weeks leading into Christmas. Here is the Tammi version - cut down in areas and elaborated where I want.

So kids have no issues telling Santa what they want for Christmas. They lay it all out there. Announce it to the world. Mail letters to the North Pole. And then they wait expectantly.

As an adult, it is like pulling teeth to figure out what someone wants. "Just tell me something so that I know what to get you" we say. But what do we really want for Christmas ... really? Do we not share our hearts and our desires and dreams because we have had our hopes dashed too many times? Are we afraid that it is simply not possible to receive that which we truly desire in the deepest of our beings?

This is kind of where I am at. I don't need "things"; I don't want "things". I have seem happiness when despair might have been a better answer. I have seen such clinging to hope when life isn't life. And stuff doesn't answer the questions that creep in nor the tears that appear without prompting.

I don't want anything for Christmas because what I want, I cannot have. What is my grown-up Christmas wish? To hug my dad, have him hold me. To have our fun, random conversations. To tell him that I love him. He didn't hear that enough.

So what else do I want for Christmas, something that IS possible? To love life, love friends, love hope, love my God. Merry Christmas all!

benefits of not being clergy

2008-11-27T18:02:00.003+01:00

I am exceedingly thankful that I am a lay person and not clergy. Why would anyone willing do this? (I say this knowing that my sister is clergy and I have many clergy friends.)

I was reminded why I am thankful for my non-profession status within the church last night. Right now, we (a substantial population of the Williamson clan and extended others) are gathered in Abilene, TX for Thanksgiving. Dinner today will be at least 30 people gathered around several tables, and then we disperse to various napping "stations" (where ever you sit/lay and manage to fall asleep) and football watching.

Anyway, last night both my sister and I were sitting on a couch when our aunt's brother-in-law came over and we started chatting. After learning that Kelli is a pastor, the questions began. The good thing is that he was asking honest questions instead of defensive or antagonistic retorts. I am a fan of the question we heard, "so what do ya'll (Methodists) believe?" Go ahead and try to answer that one. No other promptings. Good times. What I appreciated is that I could answer with, "well, this is what I have come to believe, but I am still learning and could very well be wrong". Clergy don't have that benefit. Once it is discovered what they do, they are direct representatives of that denomination/sect/religion. So my sister was trying to answer various questions with guarded and cautious responses because what she says becomes truth in his eyes. I like having the opportunity to be wrong (sadly, it does happen) and no harm, no foul.

So there's one more thing tallied up to be thankful for this day. Have a happy thankful day and every day.

hurry up and rest

2008-11-19T04:48:00.003+01:00

Being in a hurry is a strange thing. Not to say I am unfamiliar with the concept - quite the contrary actually (and sadly). Allow me to expound on it by way of something that I just realized today.

I don't eat breakfast. I like breakfast foods, just at other times of the day. I used to eat breakfast back as a kid until mid-high school-ish. Back then, I really looked forward to that time. I would need to get up early for morning practice (either basketball or band or both), and my dad would also be up early because he was very much a morning person and would drop me off at school on the way into work. So the morning was kind of our little space of time to sit, eat, and catch up on what was happening in that day. It was a nice breath time before the craziness began.

But now, I have learned to value my sleep. I am still a morning person, but I simply "maximize" my time. I get as much of those precious last minutes of sleep, I get up and ready, and then rush off to work. I don't want to "waste" my beloved morning time just sitting around. This is the part that I realized today. And how sad. But I don't want to remedy it.

I also encountered that this last weekend. I decided that I wanted to just go for a ride. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and I didn't want it to slip by me (especially with winter approaching). So I took me, my motorcycle, and my camera, and we (the plural me) rode out to Fredericksburg, about an hour from where I live. And when I got there, I turned around and headed back. But on the way, I found myself hurrying to get ... to get where? It was the ride I wanted and not the destination. Having to literally ask myself, "Self, why I am rushing to relax? Slow down, and enjoy the ride."

I am hundred-fold better at that than I was even a year ago. I do make time now to be chillin' - lounging on my hammock, jumping on my bike for a random ride, or even sitting quietly with my eyes closed when going from one meeting to another or one location to the next. But, oh how much improvement there is to be had.

disappointment with God

2008-11-15T19:34:00.003+01:00

(from Yancey's Disappointment With God, page 47 & 48) "For a time God did show up in person, and a man spoke to him face to face as he might speak with a friend. They met together, God and Moses, in a tent pitched just outside the Israelite camp. The rendezvous was no secret. Whenever Moses trudged over to the tent to talk with God, the whole camp turned out to watch. ... And yet what happened during those days almost defies belief. When Moses climbed the sacred mountain stormy with the signs of God's presence, those people who had lived through the ten plagues of Egypt, who had crossed the Red Sea on dry ground, who had drunk water from a rock, who were digesting the miracle manna in their stomachs at that moment - those same people got bored or impatient or rebellious or jealous and apparently forgot all about their God. ... God did not play hide-and-seek with the Israelites; they had every proof of his existence you could ask for. ... The Israelites responded not with worship and love, but with fear and open rebellion. God's visible presence did nothing to improve lasting faith."

And yet.

I [finally] finished reading a book that a friend from my time in India gave me just before leaving. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they accepted me for the internship. With good counsel, I had not made secret what I had recently gone through or was currently going through - and those wonderful people that I worked with, housed with, ate with, worshipped with, accepted the risk that I thought I was. I did experience some times of strong emotion - and not necessarily just around the days of a year out of my dad's death, or his first birthday non-anniversary. I read the book of Job as if I were back in English AP class, dissecting the text for every bit of anything. I so wanted to feel God's presence again, His arms around me holding me up lest I fall.

But maybe sometimes it is better not to have the direct encounter. Because I continued to seek Him, I found beauty and peace. That's not to say that I still do not wish God would say, 'I know I did the direct communication and visible presence thing with the Israelites and it did not work out well for them ... but I will give it another shot.' With the knowledge that God wants me to do this or that, it would make planning specifically much easier. I'm just saying ...

dreams

2008-11-08T01:03:00.003+01:00

So I have dreams. Nothing like ML King, Jr. - nothing particularly encouraging or life enriching. Simply a product of my mind deciding it never wants to shut down ... or even go into hibernation mode.

My dreams are vivid. Despite how much sense they don't make sometimes, I still have to question if things really happened. A consequence to that is I am tired when I wake up. And what was worse, while in India on a project trip near Mumbai, I needed to take Malaria meds. A major side effect stated was vivid dreams & hallucinations. Wow, those pills messed with me. I even very recently had a dream about Teletubbies, which was just strange. But this is all besides the point.

Most of the time, when analyzing and picking them apart, what I or others like my sister uncover is that what I ponder during the day, I also ponder at night (albeit in odd ways). Last night was just such a night.

It all started and ended with a mirror. I was speaking in front of a group of people about being real. I stood facing the mirror with my back to the audience. I said that what you see and what I see are very different. I don't know what you see, but I have an idea because I put on certain masks and mannerisms to present the Tammi I want you to think I am. What I see is a woman who is not in fact perfect - no where near it - and many times I don't even try to be. I see imperfection. I see pride even amidst my self loathing, but it's not all bad. I see someone that so desperately wants to hide sometimes - ah ha! that's progress because I used to always want to hide, to disappear. I see my wounds that I tried to make unnoticed for so long, too long. I see me.

I had gone home early on Thursday and while seeing what was on TV, caught the last bit of a Dr. Phil episode. Ordinarily I would skip on by, but the title and what was happening captured my attention. Apparently Dr. Phil is doing a series called Get Real Retreat. A man was telling the group that he doesn't have it all together. He owes child support, is in debt, isn't the father of his child ... he made the choice to be who he is in front of this group and consequently also in front of whatever extremely large television viewing audience.

Way to go secular television. Where is the church? We know that it is only God's grace that first accepted us just as we were, where we were ... and continues to redeem us in just the same way. Why aren't people finding freedom to 'get real' in church among a body of people who know exactly how good it is not to need to hide. And yet - and yet, we still hide from each other.

I am starting to sound preachy. hm. It breaks my heart to see people that are trying so hard and struggling so much to keep their mask (or masks) up. I desire for them to know that freedom - that I still forget I have - of being me.

So still standing facing the dreaded mirror, I say: I want to live my life, not this reflection's life that I have put before you. You and I see different me's, but I want to see me from God's perspective and live like it. And I want to see you - not the image you put before me or what you see, but I want to see you, and love you for you, the real you. As real as California cheese. (sorry, couldn't resist).

Crazy dream, huh? whew. Glad that's not real.

beauty

2008-10-17T03:47:00.005+02:00

This seems to be a focus for me lately (still?): the absolute beauty of God's creation.

Most recently, like a few minutes ago, I was reading a New York Times article online titled 'The World, Up Close'. In all confession, to reading, I mean like you can read a picture book. A competition was held recognizing photographs taken through a microscope. The images are amazing. The structure, the color. Beautiful. The first place photo is of algae, the most common type of phytoplankton which was found in mud. In an audio blurb with the photo the photographer said, "God’s finest creation in miniature. Absolutely stunning; they’re beautiful." The same applies in macro - like gazing at galaxies caught in time by Hubble telescope.

I have a friend in India (we went over together at the same time for internship with eMi; he just decided to hang around for another go) who recently survived something very scary. He and another guy from the office where on a bus riding up in the Himalayas heading to client when it started to snow ... lots of snow, in the mountains, on back Indian roads, in an old bus. They (the group of strangers on the bus) were stranded in a small pit stop, highway diner-esque type of place for six days because of an avalanche blocked them in. When the army finally found them, they all hiked three hours to where vehicles could only reach. My friend was just speechless with the beauty of the mountains and snow and yaks (!). He describes it as one of the most beautiful places he has ever seen.

Even where I am right now (which happens to be on the gulf coast at my sister's house). We went for an after-dinner walk along the bay as the sun was setting. It was cloudy, but right at the horizon, as the sun made its last appearance before settling in for the night, this bright orange ball glowed with such force over the waters.

Life is a beautiful thing. Sadly it is easy to overlook much of what God has skillfully crafted, but sometimes, sometimes it just slaps you in the face and awakens drowsy eyes.

choose you this day

2008-09-29T02:40:00.000+02:00

I met an amazing woman recently. She would probably object to being labeled as such. However, what I am drawn to about her is her utter level of honesty - even in group settings, even one-on-one among friends. She is who she is, and she owns her past as just that - her past. She is a survivor of many things, including rape and drugs. Though this helped to create who she is, she is not defined by it. She shares in a manner of unabashed openness. The same things that some may be put off by or uncomfortable with, actually draws me in.

My past is not like hers, but her response to what is and what was is something that I am continually growing in. I reveal me (my ups and downs) and I trust - but still cautiously. Her choice to live despite, to thrive despite, to love despite is an encouragement to me - and also a challenge I choose to take on.

who knows what I am thinking

2008-09-29T01:48:00.003+02:00

I have been negligent in blogging for some time. As a person who processes internally, journaling is a fantastic way for what I work out and work through to become "real". I have not even opened the pages to my journal since shortly after my return from abroad. I do not know why I do not write - is it a refusal, or me simply leaving no time because I am, once again, busy with commitments that fill each week, or maybe right now the journal season has waned for me? Whatever the case, without this important step, stuff - thoughts, questions, worries, insights, trivia - stays in my head. It is hard for me to create words from abstractions and feelings and parcels of put-together expressions. Hard not necessarily as in difficult, but as in time consuming.

All of this affects the state of this blog, for one, because I simply do not have complete thoughts to share. But also in another way - sharing with others verbally. "How am I?" "What is going on with me?" even "What are your prayer requests?" I don't know, I haven't asked myself.

On a very side note: I have noticed two (probably more, but I no longer remember) things that have made me smile while running around town. I notice more and more motorcyclists on the roads with their beautiful bikes. I do not know why, but it makes me smile. The second is the Indian population that I am seeing. I go to the grocery store or Walmart or driving and I see salwar kamis suits with those choking hazards that is known as a dupata (all of this is typical Indian women dress). What a lovely reminder. It makes me want to go up to these unsuspecting females and just thank them (and probably scare them in or at least confuse them considerably).

to grandmother's house we go

2008-08-30T16:02:00.000+02:00

Right now is a lazy Saturday. The smell of bacon drifting out of the kitchen to where I sit on a recliner.
So my sister and I took off the end of this week to head up to the 'Big Country' in Abilene, TX to hang with my dad's family - my uncle and aunt and cousins and grandmother. This visit/stay is important to me because I have not seen these loved ones since my dad's funeral, a little less than a year and a half ago. I enjoyed most just being able to join my two youngest cousins in their lives and sitting with my grandmother and just chatting. Mema (what we all call her) had hip replacement surgery while I was in India ... so she looks amazing - much more well and youthful than I last saw her.
We also had a fun night when my junior in high school cousin came home after cheerleader stuff and remembered that she still needed to put together her spirit bag for her buddy football player. We stayed up until 2am baking brownies and cookies and just being goofy. Then the next morning (in reality, a few hours later) we went to her pep rally to encourage and support.
This proved to be a fantastic opportunity before I start back to work after Labor Day Monday.
My Sabbath is almost over here. Rest is nice; Reconnecting is better. Life is good.

memory is like __... what's it called?

2008-08-25T07:04:00.003+02:00

My ability to remember is contingent on my willingness to write or record life.

Sometimes I think that I am so absentminded that if it were not for my calendar at hand and people (like my sister) to remind me that 'hey, rent is due,' I would be oblivious to large subtleties of life - say like being aware that I have not eaten all day (which I foresee happening once I again claim the busyness of life I was once so proud of).

All of this is to say that I am disappointed in my journaling efforts, either blogging or handwritten. I find myself in trains of thought as I work out things of faith, feelings of confusion or frustration, and revelations of God's good work ... but I neglect to record. And I know myself. I am not going to remember my mental, emotional, spiritual states that I have gone through this past month and the coming months unless I can turn back the pages of my mind a year down the road, a lifetime ahead and have a tangible witness of faith and God's ultimate faithfulness.

It is amazing to me, when I read what I have written during my time in India, the preparation of that step of faith and obedience, and the few years even before that when I became an earnest journaler. And yet, I am not spilling heart and mind on paper.

lovely ladies

2008-08-15T07:21:00.004+02:00

This week, while at my sister's place in Seadrift, TX (right on the gulf coast), I have had the privilege to spend a bit of time with two different small groups from my sister's two different churches. The first, Monday evening, was a bible study of 29 ladies. I was invited to join them at church the previous day.

Being with this group made me aware of something that I had not realized previously. Besides the grandma chatter around the table about grandkids, kids, and friends, they brought up some very deep questions. I knew that many in and around my generation are more certain that truth is relative, and Christianity's view of only one way to God (i.e. Jesus) is arrogant, narrow minded, or just plain mean. But two generations above me are also questioning ("maybe there is more than one way up the mountain?") and pained with the idea that those who do not accept Christ are ... well, not with God in eternity. I was not quite sure how I wanted to respond to these gentle, earnest, compassionate grandmothers of the faith - except that I know what the Bible says, and I trust it as truth.

The second group of ladies I met this afternoon for their small group. There were five of us total, the oldest being in the upper 80s years old. I did my first India presentation. After that, we just sat around the dining room table and talked. One of the ladies commented that she never knew India was that beautiful - in a wonderfully amazed tone. I was even nearing the point of tears during one section. Overall, a good presentation (for me to see what to edit and them to "travel" to India) and fun with grandmas.

I am glad that I was asked to join in with these two groups of ladies, and learn and live and love with them for this moment.

Next presentation: I think in Austin at my sister's previous church - the church council ... or maybe to my work ... or maybe to my supporters/friends somewhere, some time. How's that for planning?

non-culture-shock culture-shock

2008-08-12T04:09:00.003+02:00

I have been anticipating this post for more than a week now - writing bit by bit in a seemingly incongruous order. I should just learn how to process out loud, but that is not really my style.

I have been thinking about where I am and where I should be. Who I am and who I should be. What I am thinking about and what I should be thinking about. In my heart, I feel that I am off. I am not sure how else to describe it. Not necessarily wrong or out of place, but off.

In my attempts to beat "culture shock" to the punch and anticipate where it might appear, I think I have set myself up in a virtual world that is not true.

I wanted to be so different. To be changed by what I have seen and experienced and developed as a new lifestyle. I thought that I might have trouble relating back to this culture. But I haven't. I cannot say that I feel different, that I think differently and act differently. It is like life (the life that I had before this past six-month stint) barely skipped a beat. I find myself upset that I fit too easily into the groove. Time change proved not even an obstacle, Wal-mart was no shock, driving was no big transition, and busyness seems natural and comforting. I wanted to be so world/global focused, with newly learned and honed compassions towards the hurting, the broken, the downcast, or downtrodden. But I can only see my self-focus. And I see others' prayerful concern for the nations. Where is my heart and mind?

Why is no transition-based anxiety bringing me anxiety? I did not foresee a depression that is based on the fact that I am not "rightly" depressed. Funny how my mind works.

meet my new love

2008-07-30T17:59:00.003+02:00

So I finally got to pick up my bike yesterday. I actually bought it last week, but alas, Hurricane Dolly while making an appearance on the gulf coast of Texas, inhibited me from taking it home. Then I was out of town (in San Antonio) and so finally, after much anticipation ... my motorcycle.

I still need a name for it though. While in India, I decided on Priya (which in Hindi means lovely), but this bike does not look like a Priya.

I admittedly was nervous taking it home. I have not ridden a motorcycle in six months and I kept thinking of ways that I could make a fool of myself or drop the bike or crash. I did stall out twice before leaving the parking lot, but got use to the clutch and throttle combination again.

Next accessory to buy: wind screen. Going above 50 mph produces an incredible amount of force on the driver. When I got up to 70 mph on the drive back to Seadrift from Victoria (where I bought it), I was literally holding on the bike so that I would not blow off. I even lifted up my foot and had trouble getting it back on its peg. Wow.

But at the very end of my hour journey home on my new bike, I became an idiot. I touched my exhaust pipe to wipe something off. And burned my hand. It blistered immediately and was painful all night. Here's to stupidity.

not in India any more

2008-07-18T23:17:00.005+02:00

So these are various statements that I have made that have caused my sister to do a double-take, and then laugh with understanding. These might mean absolutely nothing to you, and I am sorry that you are missing out.

Me: "Wow, the cows are on the other side of the fence!"
Kelli: "Of course they are." (spoken with a very confused tone)
Me: "I guess they will no longer cause a traffic jam."
__________
Kelli: "You might see people walking with a stick."
Me: "Is that their monkey beating stick?"
__________
Me to U.S. airline steward: "Is this water purified?"
__________

Me (after using a washing machine): "Wow, actually my beanie (stocking cap) is already dry."

Kelli (after feeling my beanie): "It's not dry. Though I guess it is more dry than any clothing you have had for a while." (remembering that it is still the rainy season (monsoon) in Northern India and has been since May/June)

__________

Kelli: "Let's go for a walk on the coast. I'll get my car keys."

Me: "Keys? How far is it again to the coast?"

Kelli: "Half mile ..."

Me: "Why are we driving half a mile to walk to drive back home?"

(further update: we now walk to our walk ... and walk back home. And life is good.)

home

2008-07-18T22:53:00.003+02:00

Another major chapter of my life has closed and I feel like I am staring at the next page which appears to be empty ... or at least written in a foreign alphabet. Maybe God has drawn it with invisible markers, and slowly (ever so slowly, apparently) He will use the magic marker (the white one that reveals what is hidden) to bring various elements of the whole picture to the surface.

Anyway, so my travels back across the ocean and down to Texas went wonderfully. My flights were early, my bags did not take any unauthorized detours, and I had good conversations with various people on the planes. Yesterday was the longest day I have had in my life. I had breakfast three times ... all at breakfast time. My 30 some-odd hour day finally came to an end after taking a walk along the coast.

Oh, and a word to the wise: after a mostly veg diet for six months, it is not recommended to digest (attempt to digest) onion rings (fried) and popcorn chicken (fried) with a thick white gravy on the day of arrival. Though the food was amazingly good, I think my stomach is still working with it.

Besides that, I am recovering nicely, have a 'to-do' list that is ever growing, am moving in with my sister, and not culture shocking surprisingly (it will probably hit later ...).

'insignificant' things

2008-07-14T18:37:00.003+02:00

Father, where shall I work today?
And my love flowed warm and free.
Then He pointed out a tiny spot,
And said, “Tend that for Me.”
I answered quickly, “Oh no, not that.
Why, no one would ever see,
No matter how well my work was done,
Not that little place for me!”
And the word He spoke, it was not stern,
He answered me tenderly,
“Ah little one, search that heart of thine;
Art thou working for them or me?
Nazareth was a little place,
And so was Galilee.”

(author unknown)

As I am about to leave India very shortly from now, my hope is to look ahead and be obedient. I pray that in those small things, I can prove faithful to where/what God has called me into. Which means shelving my pride more often and divesting me of myself to invest more deeply into others. For God is doing a new and good thing today (and tomorrow and the next ...).

2 week vacation/ transition

2008-07-11T20:34:00.005+02:00

Just several hours ago I returned from a conference/ school on inner healing and deliverance. Half of us 'delegates' (students) were pastors or full time evangelists here in India - though from south to central to north. What an amazing time!

It was a vacation only in the fact that I took time off of work to come. Our schedule was full from morning to night with teachings, worship, and surrounded by prayer ... and of course with morning tea and afternoon tea in proper fashion.

I made so many wonderful friends and really found myself at new heights in focus, worship and prayer to God. I came in thinking that the main thing I would leave this time with was direction and guidance in knowing how to minister to fellow brothers and sisters in Christ who are struggling are hurting. But God had much more in mind! I have found wonderful healing for myself in some deep wounds. Oh what fantastic freedom I have in Christ from shame and fear in particular areas! And what a joy it was to intercede in prayer for so many during this time.

Praise God that He showed up and that we were able to truly see His movements among us and through us. This is definitely one of those precious mountain top experiences.

So now what? I do not even know what the rest of July looks like beyond next week, but I am not at all worried or anxious. God has a plan and it is His ministry that I am walking by faith into. Let's see where He leads. He has promised that it will be good.

(What an amazing site to see grown men and women doing action songs declaring Christ's light has come and that God is our strong tower.)

(We had marathon ping pong fun until midnight - or later - many days nights ... and of course had great dance music going too.)

(So, what's up with this? Microphones and I use to not get along. When God puts something on your heart, you cannot help but tell.)

able

2008-06-28T07:39:00.002+02:00

"He [God] seems to say to us, 'You have tried, I know; But stand still now and see the salvation of God. I will do what you have failed to do.'" (Revival in India: 1905-1906)

baptisms!

2008-06-25T19:50:00.009+02:00

This last Sunday was a special day in the life of my local church here in Mussoorie - Baptisms! We all first met at the church building for worship (and also to congregate everybody together before trying to venture off the mountain as a group). The chosen baptism location was in Dehradun (an hour and half drive down, except during tourist season when traffic is nuts ... oh wait, that's now). So the church hired a bus that holds 44 passengers which is why we fit slightly more than 50 people. There were also personal cars and motorbikes. Anyway, so we left church to head for Lacheewala, a park with a river - beautiful setting, lots of people. Long story short: nine people were baptized, fun playing in the river, and great chicken biriyani (a deliciously flavorful Indian rice dish). And then back up the mountain we went.

Ah, food.

Anybody for a game of cricket?

Baptism: what a beautiful witness/sign of God's grace and forgiveness and the church's role in compassion and edification

And finally, just floating on the river. Good day.

exit & re-entry

2008-06-16T19:09:00.000+02:00

I just wanted to send a quick note out (though with really slow internet, "quick" should come with a disclaimer).

I am doing my exit interview at the end of this week. eMi does this about a month before departure so that what is discussed about re-entering our home culture and leaving the culture and community that we have learned to call home ... these things can soak in. We will talk through what stumbling blocks we might encounter, what specific things could trigger culture shock, and how to move back in with as much grace as possible. Also on the agenda is how I have seen God here and how I feel God has changed me. So many deep, introspective ponderings and questions. I will let you know if I pass. (just kidding).

Two new interns have arrived from the states, and two more will arrive in two weeks. The summer interns here first went on a project trip and then have come up the mountain to continue and hopefully finish the work they have started. It was fun to listen to their stories of all the "firsts" they experienced during this first time in India. It reminded me of when I first arrived and the newness of everything. There is something spectacular about it - seeing God's children here and His amazing creation with fresh eyes. I want to hold onto the part of that which enables me to be utterly amazed at the depth of God's movement ... every where I go.

monsoon rolls back in

2008-06-10T17:11:00.002+02:00

(This makes more sense ... though it is sufficient to be a stand alone picture ... with the previous post, and also the one before that. Just to let you know.)

This is looking towards Dehradun (the big city down from the mountain where I live) on the same sunsetting evening as the Himalaya picture prior. The clouds are starting to roll back in. And we had another storm that night/morning. You can actually watch the clouds climb up and over the hills as they move north. Once again, absolutely beautiful.

monsoon clears (momentarily)

2008-06-10T16:58:00.002+02:00

(This post makes more sense within the context of the last post.)

So monsoon cleared and cleared the dust with it. This is our view from our front yard. Foot stool to the Himalayas. Sunsetting over the mountains. Beautiful! This is the clearest that I have ever seen the mountains. Not only is the first layer of snow caps visible, but also a layer behind them. Honestly, I was just happy to stand outside without feeling wet with the ability to see the hills nearest our hill (one layer back).

I am sure I am now no longer to seek pity for situations while living in India (like the fact that I am still wearing three layers of clothes at all times ... and it is June!).

monsoon = rain

2008-06-10T16:26:00.005+02:00

So many people around Mussoorie have been saying that monsoon is here, has been here, and it was early - really early. Let the fun begin.
Exodus 40 - God settled over the tent of meeting like a cloud ...

One of the best things about monsoon season is that you can know, visibilly, that God's presence dwells witin our camp ... thickly many times and as the season progresses, continuely without stop. How to describe it? How about "dense fog advisory" for the whole day with on and off rainshowers (heavy at times), and on and on wetness (which means always wet). It is spectacular to see cloud at your feet - white cloud vapors flowing at ground level and eye level and roof level and sky level and ...

I know I am making it sound absolutely wonderful, where you might be tempted to say, "I want a monsoon too!" Let me simply emphasize that everything is wet, all of the time. Everything turns green with growth because of it. The grass (yes, grass appears), the leaves on the trees, the trunks on the trees, even the roads grow green! Some of it is leafy, but most is mold - and lots of it. The mold has not hit heavy yet but I have been told to just wait. No more hanging clothes outside ... they will just get more wet.

Does anybody have a slip-and-slide? That could be really fun living in the mountains with a constant sprinkler/hose source.

Oh, but when the rain stops ... glorious! The rain clears out the sky so much. The Himalaya mountains seem at arm's reach (okay, a little farther than that). Yesterday was one of those days. Just before sunset, the clouds broke and God's glory broke through. I am trying desperately to get a picture posted. For now, I am sorry to leave you with only: "it is absolutely stunning easy to stand in awe of God's masterpiece."

distracted

2008-06-02T09:58:00.002+02:00

I have been really distracted these last couple of days. It has been hard to keep focused. It is like at some point I turned a corner where I knew that I am leaving India and this chapter of my life. Even though I still have seven weeks, I feel like I am on my way out. I would like to stay in it here. I still have a bit of work to do; I am still living here in Mussoorie in community; and God still wants to continue to shape me. And it does not help that there is this large "white board of destiny" that holds our lives in four month intervals. It is now the beginning of June, May is erased and September will be added in its place right next to the already posted June, July, and August - all laid right before our eyes in the center of the office. I do not know about the rest of ya'll, but our year seemingly goes by three times as quickly. So no wonder why I feel like I am already back in the States and needing to figure out what life will look like in 2009 (nevertheless for the rest of 2008).

holiday with kelli - part 3

2008-05-22T16:11:00.000+02:00

The Taj Mahal is incredibly large and incredibly ornate. I was fascinated by the detail work of the marble and the beautiful in-lay work with other precious stones. The mausoleum itself was much less interesting than the progression through the gates and courtyards and the approach to the building. Stunning. We were given foot covers or “booties” (as I affectionately call them) because thousands of people removing their shoes would be chaotic, even for Indian standard. After the Taj we went to the original Red Fort (where the Mughal emperor first established his kingdom before moving it to Delhi). Then back on the train and back to Delhi we went. Tuesday morning we all took it easy and watched a DVD and hung around. The guys left to catch the afternoon train back up to Agra, while Kelli and I had a late lunch at a Westerner’s restaurant where we could order pasta and thick milkshakes. We went shopping to get a curta (Indian style shirt for Kelli), ate dinner with some friends, and then taxied to the airport to send Kelli off and back to the States (and I immediately left for a train station to take the night train back).

Needless to say, when I arrived at 8am Wednesday morning, I was wiped out and quite sleepless (I am never good at sleeping on trains). Began work again on Thursday and half of Friday, prepared for the office’s intern BBQ, and left Kelli to once again (in a short amount of time) adjust to a new time zone. She graduated and headed out with her college age kids on a mission trip through UMCOR (United Methodist Church On Relief) to Kentucky. Then she packs up her things and moves out of her apartment to start her appointment to two small churches on the gulf coast. So, essentially, she is not yet allowed to breathe … while I enjoyed my weekend and started right back to work.

holiday with kelli - part 2

2008-05-22T15:58:00.000+02:00

Anyway, we went to St. Thomas Basilica, where his remains were once buried. Chennai is one of two places where it is believed that the apostle Thomas arrived in India. It is a beautiful church. We spent a couple of hours there. We then went to a hill spot (St. Thomas shrine) where it is believed he was martyred. The first day there was both encouraging and disappointing: Christianity is much more visible here than in the north (window stickers on cars and driving by churches) even though less than 10% of Tamil Nadu is Christian; some of these Christians here seem to be worshipping St. Thomas (or even more sad) or a statue of him instead of the only one how deserves our worship. Besides these architectural things (which I found fascinating) and an abundance of, to me, random relics (which Kelli, as a learned clergy person and master of divinity, found intriguing), we spent time at both a snake park and reptile park – what do you expect while being escorted by four men? I enjoyed it, and Kelli even pet a baby crocodile. On our second and last day in Chennai we went south of town down the coast to Dakshina Chitra, which for my San Antonio friends is like a really cool Institute of Texan Culture. The complex showcased traditional living of south India (Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, and Andhra Pradesh). We saw potters, weavers, painters, housing, worship, wedding, and such all in traditional South India style. I even got a henna tattoo there. Awesome place.

Then it was back to the airport to go once again back to Delhi. This time (Sunday) we stayed around and toured about. We got an early start so that we could go to a church that my sister’s Austin church supported. It is in the north part of Delhi and we were staying in the south. So after a rickshaw, metro, change lines to another metro, and walking around, we arrived … somewhere. I had gotten us lost. After an hour of wandering, we gave up and headed back to find a metro station to continue with our day, when lo and behold! There before our eyes was the landmark that we had been looking for. So an hour and a half after the service, we got to church – took pictures and left. We went to Delhi’s Red Fort and Jama Masjid (the largest mosque in India). Then utterly exhausted, we went back to our temporary home. The next morning, we got up at 4am to catch the morning train to Agra. Upon getting off the train, we were found by two of the interns at eMi2 (Ryan and Ryan) who came along to see Agra with us. First stop: the Taj.

holiday with kelli – part 1

2008-05-22T15:43:00.001+02:00

My intern holiday officially began when I caught a taxi at 3am to get to Dehradun to catch the 5am morning train to Delhi. I wandered around Delhi, slowly making my way south, discovering how the metro works and what you have to do to get the rickshaw drivers to go where you want to go at a reasonable price (convincing them that I am not simply a foreign tourist who doesn’t know where I want to go and what that should cost). I stopped over at a new friends’ house where I was asked to stay for dinner. They had [real] beef hamburgers. I had forgotten how much better beef tastes than buffalo; they were so good. And before and after dinner I played with their three kids. One of my sister’s friend’s parents and I went to the airport and unintentionally hung around there for several hours (Kelli’s flight was late by more than two hours). It was good to talk with her about India and south India and politics and the States and my sister’s visit and her family … we had lots of time together.

The next morning we headed back north and up the mountain so that we could hang around Mussoorie and so that she could see where I live and work. Sadly, the Himalayas was partially covered up by haze so the crisp snow-covered tops were not visible – its okay though, I showed her pictures of the glory of God’s creation. I was utterly mean to her by not allowing her to go to sleep until late afternoon (well, you have to get through jet lag some how). The next afternoon, we headed back down the mountain (taxi) and south (train) back to Delhi to catch an early morning flight the next day to Chennai. By mid-morning we landed in Chennai and was received (and retrieved) by one of my sister’s seminary friends, Prayer (his name translates to prayer from Tamil to English). He, the driver, and two of his friends gave us a tour of Chennai. We had fun together and they made fun of how my sister eats Indian. It was partially my fault, I admit, because I took away her eating utensils. Also south Indian food is more spicy than north Indian, which she could handle neither.

no time to breathe

2008-05-17T13:24:00.000+02:00

This has been an intense couple of weeks. In short summary: at the end of April I went to LCH (the hospital close by) after being sick for several weeks with what turned out to be intestinal bacteria, and after two rounds of antibiotic am feeling better; had been preparing for my sister’s visit to India and our travels around (trains, planes, automobiles – literally); first Tuesday in May the fun began with me traveling down alone to Delhi to retrieve my sister; our travel back up to Mussoorie; our travel back down to Delhi; our flight to Chennai; meeting up with my sister’s seminary friend and his friends and touring Chennai; our flight back up to Delhi; us wandering around Delhi; our train to Agra; our train back to Delhi; my sister’s flight back to the states and my train and taxi back up to Mussoorie; and then finally, yesterday we had a bar-b-que hosted and prepared by us four interns. So today is finally Saturday and a day of rest. Thank God! What a great time it was, though.

Yesterday was also the first anniversary of my dad’s death. I had absolutely no idea how it would impact me. I don’t know, maybe like birthdays, anniversaries just do not mean much to me. Matt Pinkstaff (eMi2 staff) and I headed down for the last 9th grade girls’ Bible study at 6am. We talked about Luke 15 (the parable of the loving Father, lost son, prodigal son). The main point was that life only comes when we are in the Father’s presence and He is our treasure, what makes life worth anything. Then we came back up and had our daily office morning devotional and prayer time. And then a pretty standard day – until was began our food preparations for dinner. It started storming with crazy wind and nearly horizontal rain by the time we wanted to make our fire in the grill. So we would run outside to turn our chicken and potatoes and peppers and such, get very wet, and run back inside. Anyway, so no meltdowns, no hysterics, no weeping, no somber attitude.

I have been thinking about it often though for several months (and will most likely continue). I oscillate between convictions: my life is forever changed and I am not at all different. I guess both can be partially true. I feel that I am doing things that that I was in preparation to do (international missions, architecture, graduate school, involved in church), but I also know that I look at life differently. I admittedly am a planner (to the extent of going back in my calendar to fill in what has already happened), but now I have a difficult time understanding people who are not. If you want to do something, get it scheduled and do it … don’t leave it in “someday” land. I do not want to die with regrets about how I lived. There are many things that are now empty promises that can never be fulfilled between my dad and I. His ambiguous plans of “one day we will do that” hurt more than starting with no hope of doing them at all.

Prayer and Fasting

2008-04-26T08:01:00.002+02:00

Wow. These last two days were intense. The entire India office of eMi put aside work and such to come together as one body devoted to time of prayer and worship. We fasted those two days also. We started and ended this fast with communion (beginning and end). I think I am still processing, but how amazing it is to be led in an hour and a half of worship and scripture reading and prayer by our director. We all took off our shoes/sandals and stood in a pretty tight ring all standing on a rug in the center of the room. We ended that time in a unique way that I think is spectacular. We all held up our left neighbor's right arm as we worshipped - signifying the fact that we are unified in purpose of bringing glory to God and we will be responsible to enable and support each other in this as well (think Exodus 17 when Moses' arms had to be held up so that the Israelites could be victorious). Amazing two days. It was a good experience for me in a couple of respects, one being that one of the staff and I facilitated the entire time, organizing the theme, schedules, people's responsibilities, and the opening and closing times.

This level of community I think I am going to miss when I go back to the States. If we could only introduce this kind of intentionality in the work place, in the home ... or even in the church. What amazing things God could do through us!

picture posting

2008-04-17T16:00:00.004+02:00

We arrived in Rishikesh and began searching for a hotel. This is what we came across. There is a huge Shiva temple right off the Ganga (Ganges River) and they were doing an evening prayer/puja (worship). The people seated at the back of the image were taking turns doing a mantra and throwing small bits of stuff into the fire.

That night, we decided to hang out by the bank of the Ganga. We ended up laying on one of the ghats (landing or steps) and star gazing. This is a shot of the business side of Rishikesh across the river from the main tourist/yoga side.

This bridge is absolutely beautiful. Meet Laxman Jhula. Jhula means bridge in Hindi, and Laxman is a god. And naturally there is a story to explain the bridge and its significance. (If you want to know it, ask me later.) Am I in India? Gorgeous suspension bridge!

This is one reason why Rishikesh is a pretty cool hang out place. White water rafting in the Ganges (especially up river enough not to be utterly disgusting). The crowd of people on the rock ledge or cliff jumping into the river before getting back into their rafts. I really wish our insurance policy did not expressly restrict us from white water rafting. Shame to miss this opportunity.

On our way out of town, all these people in this temple kept circling and going up and circling and going up. Every time they passed a bell and it corresponding idol, they rang it. All of them ringing non-simultaneously and sporadically. The purpose of the bell is to wake up the idol so that it will be able to receive you. Wake up an inanimate little stone statue ...hmmm...

Meet a sadhu. There are many of these guys at all major Hindu religious places. He is a holy man. I am not sure why. To be a higher ranking sadhu: have a larger following than the next guy.

Thus marks the end of this sessions cultural education. Enjoy.

2008-04-17T15:40:00.005+02:00

So ... this is the Ganga (Ganges River). These guys are doing a ritual washing.

Of course, any destination is not complete without vendors. You can buy anything you need to do a sufficient sacrifice to any god/goddess of your choosing. It is actually pretty sad because many people offer food offerings of chapati (like a tortilla or pita) and rice, and then put it in the river ... will many families have difficulty feeding themselves that same meal.

This is Haridwar (the first city on our excursion). We climbed to the top of that hill to the temple at the very top. And it was not cool/cold like it is in Mussoorie; it was hot! And that was a lot of steps. But I am glad we did it.

This is the view from partially up that hill on our unintentional climb. You can see the Ganga canal and the Ganga proper. They actually re-routed the river to go around the city and made the canal at a specified depth with flood gates so that they can control the current and water depth - keeping the pilgrims safer. Beautiful view.

cultural wandering

2008-04-13T19:35:00.001+02:00

This weekend has been such an experience. Us four interns were sent of the mountain by ourselves for a cultural scavenger hunt. My friend and roommate put it this way: letting the chicks learn to fly. So flew we did.

We went down to Dehradun to catch a bus for Haridwar for the day and then to catch a bus from there to get to Rishikesh by evening. There we spent the night (after discovering where to stay and eat and such) and hung around the whole day exploring the city and people and heading back to Dehradun to get back to Mussoorie by night on Saturday. Crazy packed days.

Both Haridwar and Rishikesh are major Hindu pilgrimage spots because this is where the Ganga (Ganges River) leaves the mountains and enters the plains - and the Ganga is supposed to be sacred, life giving, cleansing, and where to die to get out of the reincarnation cycle. Needless to say, many people come to Haridwar for this: to purify their souls and give prasad (offerings of food or flowers and such) to a god (and do laundry if you live here). After sitting by the Ganga, observing people and praying over the city, we went looking for the way up to this temple on top of the hill directly behind the civic center. There was a chair lift (think ski slopes, kind of), but we could not find where to get on ... so we ended up walking up the entire distance. I am glad we didn't know where to go because it enabled us to walk the path that so many devoted Hindus walk and walk with them. The point of working to get to the temple and for traveling distances to even get to the city, is because they think this will make the gods/goddesses hear them and grant their prayers. There are so many who are caught in this thinking - that they have to work for freedom and eternal life of peace (also including Christians in this). We were determined to find the chair lift to get down, and so after multiple hand gestures and broken Hindi, we boarded the lift. To get back to the bus stand, we rode a tonga (horse pulled cart). Then off to Rishikesh.

Some may know the name Rishikesh, but where? The Beatles came here for meditation and to get away. This is hippie central. It is crazy to feel out of place not for being white - there are many Europeans here - but for not being hippied-out. I can see why it is the place to go for yoga and meditation though; it is beautiful, right at the juncture of the plains and the hills of the Himalayas. It has been difficult for me to see yoga through the Indian Christian's eyes. Here it is a spiritual stronghold even up here in Mussoorie. Meditating on inner centeredness or whatever (along with increasing your flexibility) does not seem so bad or dangerous to me, but what do I know. As far as I have gathered, there is something about making yourself god or at least the lack of need of god in your life because you can do it yourself and give yourself peace and life and goodness.

Anyway, we hung around Rishikesh, played in the Ganga, went in search of an elusive waterfall, wandered about a lot, shopped a bit, made new friends with locals, Indian tourists, and foreigners, and caught the bus back to Dehradun.

Church today was wonderful. We were all anxious to worship the one true God in fellowship with others. There are so many people who are so lost and are seeking truth, and people who are steering them in the wrong direction. I think I will be praying for these people for a long time.

I am still processing what I saw and experienced. And please correct me if the little I know about Hinduism and others is off; I am still learning. I will try to do a picture post tomorrow of these places ... and us in the Ganga (Ganges River).

heater expiration

2008-04-01T18:42:00.004+02:00

This morning I received terrible news. We are no longer allowed to use our little space heaters anymore. Because it is now April, the office will not be paying for our heat. We were told by our wonderful India office director that if he allowed heater usage year 'round ... we would use it year 'round. Sad, sad day. I guess I will need to add a fifth blanket on my bed.

what's so 'good' about good friday

2008-03-21T18:43:00.001+01:00

While on our return trip from Mumbai heading for Delhi, we were sharing our berth (the name of the area in a train car with the sleeping beds) with this family - Husband, wife, daughter, and wife's brother. They were Jains and the husband was an astrologer, but both he and the brother-in-law (who was obviously the head of this family) were well educated - even in Christian things. While talking, the conversation began with what we were doing in Mumbai and made its way to what we believe, religiously speaking. The wife, mostly talking to Gretchen and I (and really only Gretchen because she was much more comfortable speaking Hindi than English ... though she did spend about an hour helping me with my Hindi alphabet and vocabulary), asked, "You are Christians, right?" Our affirmative gave her the opportunity to share what she thought were the basic aspects. And she was relatively correct. She knew about God, creator, and Jesus, died and risen; she knew that that day was called Palm Sunday; she knew Easter was coming; she even knew Good Friday was right before Easter. Gretchen (in Hindi ... amazing how God provides the words when you are willing to open your mouth) began to share the gospel with her. Her husband and daughter also listened intently. As Gretchen was explaining about Good Friday, her husband jumped in with "but he rose". So then the wife asked a very important question, "What's so good about Good Friday? Because Jesus died, didn't he?"
We spent Palm Sunday in Mumbai before getting on this train in the evening (which we almost missed - at the wrong train station; 15 minutes to get across town at 5:20pm; ran to the train platform and jumped onto the moving train that had started to depart ... but that is for another story). During our devotional time, we discovered that the palms in Palm Sunday really have very little to do with the story. So what should we call this day then? How about "Return of the King" Sunday (any Lord of the Ring fans?) I like it.
So back to Good Friday. Unlike "Return of the King" Sunday, I do not believe that we should or need to rename this pivotal day. It was indeed a "good" Friday when Christ was crucified, and it is a "good" Friday when we remember this sacrifice. The good is most definitely shrouded with the sorrow of death and of perceived failure. The good can be masked by broken hopes and dreams of the coming king that should have saved and redeemed Israel. The good can seem so dark when the light of Life went out. Good does not have to be pretty or happy or peaceful.
But how good is our Lord who was able to say, "I will do this, not because I want to, but because it is your will, Father." And all of this for us. How good is this sacrifice that salvation and redemption and freedom is bought for us all. Thank you Jesus, the sacrificial Lamb of God, for doing that which we are unable to do. Thank you Sovereign God that Christianity says, "it is done" and "there is nothing that we can do to save ourselves; it is already taken care of." Amen?

confused response

2008-03-20T00:12:00.000+01:00

Am I becoming hardened to compassion? I saw in Delhi and Mumbai and most places in between on the trains, what my heart knows is injustice: poverty. This is not the case everywhere you look. In both of these major cities, they are having to deal with the strain of an over-burdened infrastructure. There is visible wealth, visible middle class, and visible poverty. Homes that are single rooms (mostly) defined by singular strips of corrugated iron sheets, fastened, tied or even simply leaning on each other with various pieces of shingles or plastic tarp held down by stones as a roof. The better-off houses are stone or simply dry stacked, sun-baked bricks. Both of these cases are considered descent homes because at least they have shelter. Many of these exist in tight, dense communities where if you can share a wall with your neighbor (or two or three) then that is one less wall that you have to build (which is, by the way, a more energy efficient design strategy - cooler in summer and warmer in winter - than existing solo). Hills of trash right outside the mini-compound continue to build up because where else are you going to put your waste if the city does not come to collect it and put it in one gigantic mountain of trash (this is also a critic of America's system). The city does not come because these people are mostly squatters, which is another reason why their building techniques are temporary in nature: tomorrow everything you have could be destroyed, torn down, and/or taken away. Why are they squatters? Because land cost is so expensive and the people are so many. In economic terms, when there is personal ownership, where your asset has the ability to appreciate in value, people will tend to take better care of what they have so that they can add value to what they own. If you do not own it, why waste your hard earned and scarce resource of money to add value to something that you cannot claim the appreciated value? This seems to be true for the world over. Where there is government housing with "shared" spaces (i.e. community baths), no one claims ownership of the area, so it tends not to be well kept. Any in case, here it is. It is presented right in front of you ... especially when traveling by train (the land close to railroad tracks, even in the states, is where some squatter communities are forced to live). So there is that.

Another truth when traveling by train, especially in sleeper class (second to lowest class), is you will come into contact with beggars of all shapes and sizes. There are cripples - the legless, the armless, or just simply the physically disabled in whatever form. There are transvestites (males dressed as females) that sing a song. Thankfully, they only go up to men, tussle their hair and demand money. In this case, I am very glad to be a female - sorry guys, I have not seen many, but they are pretty scary. There are children - some play drums or sing and then want money from you because you "listened" (forced to hear and listened is equal apparently); some pick up the trash around you on the train (there are no trash bins on most trains) and then ask for compensation; and some just beg, standing/ crawling/ kneeling for several minutes waiting. They give a tug on your pants leg or shirttail or sleeve. We were "prepared" for this during orientation. We were told what we would come into contact with. Not all beggars are legitimate - I mean, they are legitimately begging, that is for sure, but some motives are not pure. We were told that if you give money or food to a kid, an adult could be right around the corner waiting to collect from the kid, while the child is left without.

I have learned (good or bad) that if I give them eye contact, they will come up to me. If I do not give them eye contact and pretend not to perceive their presence at all (really, this is saying that I do not think that they exist ... my heart aches that this is reality), then they might not come up to me ... but then again, they probably will because I am noticeably a foreigner and so of course I am rich and compassionate. Which I am in both respects, relatively speaking.

In Mumbai, while walking around the first day that we arrived (which was an adventure on its own to experience the domestic train during morning rush-hour, discovering which hotel we were going to stay at, finding breakfast, and generally discovering/ meandering of Mumbai), we were walking past this small, narrow squatter settlement built between a main road and a very high compound wall enclosing shipping docks. These two young kids (not older than eight) ran up next to us and started walking with us, begging. As I began to open up my bag, a couple more came running out. Before leaving Mussoorie, I bought like twenty little chocolate eclairs and some random hard fruit candies, for the express purpose of handing them out to kids that I meet. I had already given half of my stash away by this point in the journey. When that first candy came out, I suddenly had a small crowd of children around me. So I gave them each one candy. Many of them ran home excited, while a few hung around, continued walking with us, wanting more.

That was fun. That is something that makes me smile. I believe that God smiles too. But many times, I say no. And most times there is not even a spoken “no”; it is a glance of the eyes, a turn of the head, or just plain ignoring their existence.

I do not know what the appropriate response is, if one exists. I know that I have been cheated and lied to, but still gave. I have not given anything and known that they truly needed it. What I do know is that the only resource, my only true reliance, needs to be the Spirit's prompting, despite what I am thinking. I also know that if you give to everyone, you will give everything ... but maybe sometimes that is what is asked of us.

Mukti Mission

2008-03-18T11:24:00.017+01:00

My second project trip is now over. We are back up in Mussoorie now (arrived late last night). So now the office work for these two project trips begins.

The second project trip was in Pune at/for the Pandita Ramabai Mukti Mission. What a ministry! It began over a century ago. There main mission is to provide home for women and children left behind by society for whatever reasons. During a few times of famine in India, the population of the mission rose into the thousands. They have a special needs school and home, home for the blind, home for widows and elderly women, and many many once orphaned girls. There are over four hundred residents on campus not including staff right now. So really, it is these that is our client.

It is difficult to grasp the scale of this ministry. It is huge. The first couple of days were devoted almost entirely to visiting all of their sites. They have so many different aspects of their ministry, and part of our job was to create an updated master plan for the next twenty years. What a task! I am so glad that we had a volunteer master planner on our team. So it was up to Lewis (architect from San Antonio, who I met when first discovering eMi) and I to design the new English Medium school. (English medium = taught in English). So we designed a 1000 student campus for children from 2.5 years old to 10th grade. Along with this school is designs for Marati Medium primary and secondary schools (Marati is the official language in the state of Maharastra), a computer academy for the community, a special needs school (for 1000 students) for the community, a women's vocational training school (i.e. arts & crafts training so that women can have a trade to get work) for the community ... are you sensing a trend? They have so many community development projects. Did I mention that they also have their own diary farm so that all of their children can have milk (which is very expensive here)? So our work is not complete in the slightest. We will look into beginning a continuing relationship with Mukti Mission for many years to come. They have a vision that reaches far into the future, and what a joy it was to grasp hold to that vision of theirs to serve them and serve God to our fullest. So may the work forever continue - this work of serving God's kingdom on earth. (By the way, Mukti in Hindi is salvation.)

Mumbai

2008-03-18T10:55:00.009+01:00

Though we spent just about three days there, we managed to do much (and walk around much). Mumbai reminds me of Chicago, Indian-style. It is facinating how poverty and rich business coexist; it is a strange confluence of people.

Traffic in Mumbai. We took the public bus system from a public garden to the Gateway of India.

Picture on left: CST train station. Beautiful building.

Picture on right: Crawford Market on a Saturday. Crazy busy.

parasailing in Goa

2008-03-04T10:50:00.005+01:00

I went parasailing this morning! It feels so great to be in warmth and under the sun (in shorts and a tanktop, no less). It was a short ride, but inexpensive. Good times. Wave hi.

2008-03-04T10:36:00.005+01:00

Here is church on the beach. Need I say more. (The people are watching/applauding/praising while six people were baptised.) Beautiful.

More church on the beach. We were in this grove of coconut trees where it is shaded, then walked all of a couple of steps to the ocean.

Another reason to sabbath here. I just stood on the beach watching the sun set and listening to the waves and playing in the sand.

pics - Goa project trip

2008-03-04T10:07:00.008+01:00

Welcome to Colva Beach in Goa, India. This is the team (plus family of the project leader that stayed on the beach for vacation) as we head to our project location.

Here we are at the existing YWAM facility (their main building where students sleep, classes held, and food prepared and eaten). The neighborhood is beautiful - still with Portuguese influence in architecture.

This is our pre-presentation rush to get drawings ready and colored. We had to keep moving out of the way since this was also their dining room table.

Sabbath on the beach

2008-03-02T15:25:00.003+01:00

This morning we went to church with the director of YWAM Goa ... and so we went to the beach. I now think that God designed the system to have church in His building -His creation, instead of ours. He is the master architect. It was their yearly baptism service, so we had good timing. Church under the palm trees, on the sand, the chorus of waves, and professions of faith, followed by baptism in the ocean. Beautiful.

I just got back from my first project trip in Goa, India. What a wonderful experience it was to see this YWAM ministry and the family like atmosphere. It is difficult to keep God in our little boxes when we see/experience Him working mightily on the other side of the world. Praise God!

We all worked very hard this last week to produce a design for a new facility for 60 people for the YWAM Bridge Institute in Goa. The intensity was like design studio in school before a presentation. I was up until at least midnight most days just working with the team. Good food, good people, good neighborhood, good week, and now time for good rest on the beach (Colva Beach) for two days before jumping on the train again to head to Mumbai, then quickly onto Pune for project trip number two. And the adventure continues.

I want to post some pictures. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. I have not been able to go through my pictures yet, but soon. All is well. All are healthy. May God be glorified in all that you do.

on the road again ...

2008-02-22T06:33:00.003+01:00

So we leave today. And after several days traveling ... we will arrive in Goa by Sunday afternoon. We will rest up, maybe play on the beach a bit. Then Monday, work begins. The YWAM (Youth With A Mission) people will show us around their current facility, bring us to the new site, and talk about their past, their present needs, and their vision. I will most likely send a shout-out while there and before heading off to Pune. So see you down south!

playing catch-up

2008-02-20T09:03:00.009+01:00

So stories have been going around the past several days as to why the landline phones (and consequently, dial-up internet as well) are non-functioning. The best story that I have heard thus far is that someone cut a 50-foot section of cable out of the telephone lines to melt the copper and sell it. Another popular one is monkeys must have broken the lines while jumping or swinging or whatever. The real story tends to be not so dramatic, though. In any case, we have been without telephone and internet for nearly a week now, and still counting. So this is all done from the internet cafe.

Saturday, a week ago, I was making some Wai-Wai (Ramon noodle equivalent) in the kitchen, when I heard a loud thud and then continuous thumping on the roof. I went outside and what did I spy but several monkeys playing. They stopped to stare at me - two on one of the water tanks, one in the tree directly above my head, and two others on the peak of the roof. They apparently know when Saturdays are because that is there play date, I guess.

The next picture I just thought was really neat. The sun was setting on the plains down below, through the smog of Dehradun. Beautiful.

Later on last week, the clouds left, the sun shone bright, and everything was gorgeous and crystal clear. I was told that this is the typical late winter in Mussoorie, not the crazy cold that I had experienced. We ate lunch outside in the sun and enjoyed playing on the swing set with the girls, Sophia and Hannah, after eating. I even went outside on Thursday and Friday without my coat or a sweater on! (I still had three layers of shirts though). It felt so good to sit in the sun and work in the afternoon. This is what the Himalayas look like on a clear day from the office/house. Then it was cloudy again and snowed again this last Monday. Strange mountain weather.

So that pretty much catches up on the past tense. The first team (of our three Ryan's in the office) is returning from a project trip tomorrow. They should be in Delhi today doing their post-trip meeting with the volunteers before they fly off tonight. The Pinkstaffs (whole family), Gretchen, David, and I are leaving tomorrow afternoon to head done to Madgaon, to arrive Sunday afternoon. We have the last half of Sunday and the first part of Monday to recoup from the 30ish hour train ride before we go to the site. Directly after that project trip, Gretchen, David, and I will head up the coast to Mumbai where we will meet our two volunteers coming from the States and head inland to Pune for another project trip. I will update periodically.
One amazing thing though, one of the volunteers for the Pune trip I know. I met him one I was first learning about eMi. Through a mutual friend, we got into contact and had lunch - two to three years ago, I think. Crazy! He was an intern in the Uganda office and works in San Antonio. And who says that God is not in the details?!

the tale of the 'pink frosting'

2008-02-13T17:23:00.000+01:00

This is the story of one can (plastic tub) of a particular strawberry frosting. I left home with one can of Duncan Hines Strawberry and Crème frosting headed for Colorado Springs eMi orientation. During my testimony to the group, I pulled out some props - one of which being my most favorite frosting, nay, snack food. After orientation and awaiting the flight out to Delhi, I had the privilege of staying with the Powell's, a couple on staff at eMi. When I arrived, what did I find on the bed in the guest bedroom, except one special can of frosting. Though it was Pillsbury, I accepted it graciously into my luggage. So from CO Springs, Pillsbury traveled with its friend Duncan Hines from San Antonio, to Newark airport, and then onto Delhi, the train to Dehradun (just passed through), and up to Mussoorie. Sadly, it survived unopened for just a couple of weeks before I could resist no longer. After finishing the can, I simply put it in the recycle bin for it to be reincarnated as some other plastic form. But that was not the ending for Pillsbury. When walking down to the bazaars with Laura to help me buy fabric (and go to a tailor to be fitted) for some cortas (traditional Indian shirts), she told me of the simple can's redeemed life, and how much it impressed upon her. One of the ladies that takes care of Oaklands (e.g. cooking, cleaning) was taking out the trash to be burned, compost to be composted, and the recycle to be recycled, when she happened to discover one lonely Pillsbury can. She cleaned it out and took it home with her to be used in some other capacity.

The reason I tell this story (despite just having a bit of fun), is to express partially how deep it affected Laura. These simple things that we as privileged Americans (and "Westerners") take for granted, used items, objects that are devoid of value to us once we use it once - these are the things that light most sheds on in a third world country. Though there are many problems you can find where you are (especially when it is not at home), there are also many good things. I guess the point is this: do these revelations change you, or it is shrugged off as an o.i.i. as you re-enter Western culture?

Can you ever really go back once you have left? Maybe going back is not an option because the world has not changed, and you have. Despite what you have seen, touched, felt, lived, thought - despite all of that, the world does not change. And you so want it to. hmm.

Oh, and the Duncan Hines from S.A. - still unopened, thank you. What temptation though. After Easter.

pictures! take 4

2008-02-09T05:37:00.001+01:00

Mussoorie in snow. It snowed several inches last Sunday. Wow.

Say 'Hi' to the monkey - one of many. This is not the one that charged me, so all is well.