looking for giraffes

Thing Number 7 That Used to Be Normal and Now is Not

2010-10-02T18:25:00.004+03:00

Hanging clothes on the line to dry.

Not because it was ecologically conscious thing to do or a money saver, but because I did not own a dryer. In fact, for a few years doing my wash consisted of hooking up a portable washer to an outside sink via a garden hose, and the placement of a rock just so to keep the whole thing from tipping during the spin cycle. I think there was a wrench involved too, but can’t remember exactly how.

Thankfully, since most people in the DR don’t own a dryer there are no social qualms about hanging even the most intimate of apparel on the line and, in general, the sun shines in the Caribbean thus most days are great laundry days (until Thing Number 5 that Used to be Normal and Now is Not occurs). Unfortunately, there is also the risk of your clothes getting stolen if there is no one home to watch them, as well as the risk of your laundry day coinciding with trash burning day. There is a reason they don’t market smoky-scented laundry detergent or dryer sheets.

Overall, however, there were only two major annoyances:

1. After a while your clothes get so stretched out they don’t fit (remedy: learn to buy clothes that include lycra)
2. Rainy season (remedy, learn to creatively drape clothes all over your apartment…or find that rare friend who does a have a dryer)

My current neighbor has given me the okay to use her clothesline whenever I want.

Yet, I rarely do.

Even though I believe in saving energy and even though for five years of my life this is what I did. Just goes to show you how easily we get sucked into convenience.

Wonder Woman has a cooler costume, but I guess I'll settle for Batwoman.

2010-09-26T20:57:00.006+03:00

I am happy to report that I am now 100% vaccinated for rabies. And, four weeks after my last shot, my left arm finally does not hurt any more.

What state of affairs must occur to require a need for the rabies vaccine, you ask. Let me tell you a story (you might want to use the restroom and freshen up your coffee before proceeding, it’s a long one):

About a month and a half ago I was in my bedroom, minding my own business, sleeping peacefully when I awoke to a rapid ‘phshphshpshphsh’ sound and something fluttering around my room. Honest to goodness, my first thought was “there is a huge bug flying around in my room…perhaps a flying cockroach?” I turned on the bedside lamp and discovered nope, not a huge bug, but a good-sized bat.

My sister is forever on my case about my inability to listen to my Right Brain over my Left Brain. She would have been proud of me in that moment, because my Right Brain definitely dominated the situation. I turned on more lights and started swinging at the disoriented bat (which was now dive-bombing me) with my pillow despite a small voice in the back of my head saying, “this is not helpful.” My ever trusty Left Brain finally fully awoke and the “this is not helpful” became louder and I ducked out of the bedroom and shut the French doors.

I stood there watching it flying around and debated leaving it alone and dealing with it in the morning. But after a few minutes of standing there remembered that it was one of those super hot nights and I would be damned if that bat kicked me out of the coolest room in the house.

Resolved to go after the bat I realized I needed two things: a tennis racket and some clothes. Like I said, it was one of those super hot nights so I wasn’t sleeping in much (anything) and I was not about to go after this bat naked. Left Brain was definitely fully awake at this point, and bat hunting while naked simply did not seem like a good idea.

Exiled from my room (and clothes) I wasn’t sure how I was going to solve the whole “not wanting to kill a bat naked” thing and then I remembered: I keep my dresses in the closet in the spare room. So armed with a tennis racket and looking good (despite a serious case of bedhead) in a cute summer dress, I was ready for action.

I waited for the bat to land on the windowsill and went in for the kill.

It wasn’t pretty (did you know that bats can flatten out to avoid getting squashed-to-death, all the while hissing and squealing and flashing their claws?). I deftly flipped the pinned bat into a bag, put the bag down and beat the thing with the tennis racket. I am not the fiercest of animal rights advocates, but I had just read Time magazine's article about animals ability to think and feel emotion and this made me feel quite guilty as I was pounding away.

Now that I was wide awake, I did what most people do at this point: stole some of my neighbors’ wireless internet and Googled “are bats in your bedroom a bad thing.”

This was a mistake. Because I found pictures like this:

And read statements like this:

In many of the human rabies cases caused by a bat-stain of the virus, there was no known history of a bite from a bat. For that reason, bats represent a special concern. Bats have very small teeth, and a bite from a bat may not be felt. Any direct contact with a bat represents a potential exposure to rabies. Other situations that might qualify as exposures include finding a bat in the same room as a person who may not be aware that contact has occurred, such as finding a bat in the room with a sleeping person, a child, or someone who is mentally disabled or intoxicated. If you think you may have been exposed to rabies from a bat, please DO NOT LET THE BAT GO.

I also realized at this point that in my pillow fight with the bat, I ended up with a scratch on my wrist and thus was certain that any moment I was going to start foaming at the mouth.

Needless to say, I did not sleep particularly well.

In hindsight, this was perhaps okay because when at 4:30 in the morning I once again heard a rapid ‘phshphshpshphsh’ sound and saw something fluttering in my room, my Left Brain was ready for action and I quickly exited the room.

That’s right people: two bats in one night.

I was pretty sure it was Mama Bat looking for her kid, or the recently deceased bat’s Best Bat Friend wondering where he went. Not wanting to suffer from the wrath of mama-bat or friend-bat, I was content to wait it out on the couch and deal with it in the daylight.

After a couple hours of vivid dreams of being eaten alive by bats, I got up and cautiously went into the bedroom. No bat in sight. My plan was to call my friend Phil who, no joke, loves to capture and release bats and have him take care of bat number two. This plan was thwarted, however, as I was gathering my things for the day and moved a plastic bag that was on the floor only to discover the bat sleeping soundly.

I kid you not: it was all curled up on the carpet, snoring and acting like we shared a room (okay, there wasn’t snoring….but the little sucker did look pretty content).

Not able to bring myself to kill two mammals in one day, and armed with new knowledge from my Google search the night before, I was determined to capture and release this one. So I traded the tennis racket for a Tupperware and piece of cardboard. As soon as I put the Tupperware over the bat, Semi-Cute-Content-Sleeping-Bat turned into Scary-Pissed-Off-I-Will-Kill-You-Bat and I started to breathe deeply and recite things like, “I’m bigger than you,” “you’re more afraid of me than I am of you,” and “vampires only exist in the movies.”

I’m not sure it helped.

But here is the abridged version (I know, finally) of what happened next:

I called my neighbor for moral support.
The doctor’s office called back (being the responsible citizen and slightly neurotic person that I am, I had called to report my scratch) and said the doctor wanted to see me.
Capture/release mode was quickly replaced with “you will die” mode.
I armed my neighbor with the tennis racket, came up with a plan to flip the trapped bat into a bag for the kill.
My trash bin now contained two bats, both in Trader Joe paper bags and, for extra insurance, a plastic Target bag.
The doctor’s visit resulted in me feeling stupid, overanxious, defensive (“I never said it was a bite!”) and at the same time responsible (I was simply following the instructions of the CDC that I found on the internet).
Later that day the doctor, who had all but assured me there was nothing to worry about, calls and says, “we need to talk about this further.” Lovely.
I end up having to dig the bats out of the trash, put them in my freezer for the night, and bring them in to get tested for rabies.
Which, resulted in the following phone call the next night:

“Kate, this is the Ottawa County Health Department. We’ve got a good news/bad news situation here. Good news: one of the bats tested negative for rabies. Bad news: the other bat’s spinal chord was so damaged that we were unable to test it for rabies. Meaning, we have to label it “inconclusive” and we need you to go ahead and get the rabies vaccination.”

What followed was at least six cumulative hours spent in health care facilities over the next two weeks (including an Urgent Care in North Carolina), an upper respiratory infection (from time spent in said Urgent Care), a reaction to the vaccine (from weakened immune system from said infection), eight shots each containing enough vaccine to fill a shot glass, one very sore arm and greater sympathy for people suffering from PTSD (my cat-like reflexes were even more reflexive if even a mosquito buzzed by my head).

All this to say, I think the moral of the story is two-fold:

One, know where to find the nearest tennis racket.
Two, it is not necessary to bludgeon a bat to death. But if you do by mistake, make sure you have good insurance.

Thing Number 6 That Used to be Normal and Now is Not

2010-08-09T18:15:00.001+03:00

Expecting that the first thing you order from a menu will not be available.

One time my friends and I went to Pizza Hut and were told they did not have any pizza that day.

Need I say more?

Thing Number 5 that Used to be Normal and Now is Not

2010-08-04T20:17:00.003+03:00

As a my brilliantly gifted friend Anne recently stated on her blog “the return to blogging is so embarrassing.” Enough said. On to number 5...

Not having lights** at some point during the day.

This past year I have been appointed to be on the City of Holland’s Sustainability Committee. We talk about many things, including a lot of talk about how to develop an energy plan for the city. At one point someone (jokingly) made a comment about mandatory black outs during the day. Not picking up on their sarcasm at first, I was nodding my head in agreement and thought, “naturally, a great idea.” I even had it worked out in my head how we could have efficient black outs because we would be systematic about it (for instance, you know that every other day from 3pm to 5pm you aren’t going to have electricity). I was about to vocally contribute to the meeting with a, “seriously people, we can do this!” But by then the committee had moved on to the next thing and my mind had stopped daydreaming about how convenient mandatory black outs would be.

The most maddening things about the lights leaving in the DR is this…they have a knack of doing so just when you really need them—like when you needed to print something off for a meeting you have in 10 minutes, or just as you are about to show a video clip to illustrate in important point in a Young Life Club talk. Or when you have invited a bunch of people over for a movie, or right at a crucial point in a movie (sidenote: the lights leaving is the reason I have only seen one and a half of both The Matrix and The Lord of the Rings movies) or when you realize a movie is due and it is still in the DVD player (true story: my good friends took their DVD player to the movie rental place to return a movie to avoid late fees). The worst, however, is in the middle of the night when hum of the fan is cut suddenly and before the blades have even come to a full stop their hum is replaced with the hum of the thirsty mosquitoes whose quest to feed had been thwarted by the breeze of the fan.

You honestly get used to it. And though it doesn’t get less annoying, in an odd way it created a common bond and means for celebration—when the lights would come back there would be cheers, claps and cries of “llego la luz!” (the lights have arrived) throughout the neighborhood. And in some way you felt like you won something and a reason to celebrate.

All this to say: in terms of sustainability, I think the Dominicans are on to something. And we could work it out—if you knew you wouldn’t have lights from 3-5pm you simply could avoid watching movies during that time.

**Thing #5.5 that Used to be Normal and Now is Not—referring to electricity as “lights” as in the ever popular and oft stated phrase: se fue la luz (the lights left).

Thing Number 4 that Used to be Normal and Now is Not

2009-11-05T21:33:00.008+03:00

Waking up and assuming it was going to be a sunny day.

For those of you who live in West Michigan, need I say more?

I actually remember first thinking about this when I lived in the DR and one random day when it was cool and rainy I was awash with a sense of excitement and joy. Yes, the clouds and rain actually put me in a good mood. Why? Because it reminded me of home.

I gave up checking the weather a few weeks ago when a clear pattern emerged: clouds and rain. And in breaking news, one of our Local Weather Experts just confirmed what we all sensed last month: we had a sunshine shortage.

But today is sunny, so that's nice.

Spoiler Alert

2009-09-22T04:50:00.002+03:00

Yes, there are actually more than 3 Things that Used to be Normal but Now is (are?) Not. I'm not for listing long excuses for not blogging (okay...not true, I've been known to do it in the past), so here is a short list:

1. The school year started and I somehow neglected to remember how insane that makes life. Never again will I feel guilty about relaxing in the summer.

2. I am in the process of buying a house...in Holland. Never again will I say never. Er, wait...

So, I'll might start up the series again mañana because, as they say, siempre hay mañana.

Thing Number 3 that Used to be Normal and Now is Not

2009-08-26T01:14:00.003+03:00

Having to clean up the dishes on the spot for fear of an ant (or larger Outside Thing) infestation.

I really am a fairly clean person and I have always enjoyed doing the dishes as it makes me feel like I have accomplished something. I have even been known to end up with some roommate issues because of my particularity of not leaving dirty dishes in the sink (some might call this particularity being a tad too Type A). However, this all came into handy when I moved to the DR and realized that even the Type B's were forced into Type A-ness when it came to dishes unless they wanted to serve as a film site for the Discovery Channel (seriously, I watched in amazement at the persistence, force and strength of an ant colony). Those buggers would find even the smallest crumb and invite others in for a party. I often kept flour (who knew ants like flour?) and cereal boxes in the freezer to kill the ants. And never, ever would I leave my counter looking like this after dinner:

Which is exactly what I did the other night as my friends and I moved to the front porch for drinks after dinner.

Interestingly enough, I think I am less Type A about the dishes than I was before I moved to the DR--simply for the sheer novelty of leaving something on the counter (even overnight!) and not find yourself under attack. Tracy, my first roommate in the DR, visited me last winter and also commented at one point, "isn't it great that you can leave food out without worrying about animals?" Freedom.

Sidenote: speaking of animals, we have one living in the house. Not a pet mind you, more of a squirrel or raccoon type (definitely qualifying as an Outside Thing) that woke me up at 6 am as it was scratching the sheet metal covering the living room vent. Critter Control comes tomorrow, no worries. I'm sure I'll sleep great tonight.

Thing Number 2 that Used to be Normal and Now is Not

2009-08-20T18:13:00.004+03:00

Having to take your car into the shop if your horn is broken.

A few days ago I was riding in the car with some friends through one of many construction zones that currently exist in Holland. In the midst of a bit of mayhem, we found ourselves behind a car attempting to turn left, with a sign directly to the right of the car that clearly indicated that this was a no-no. Joel sat patiently and after a few seconds I couldn't help it and said, "Honk. Honk! This is your chance to use your horn!" He didn't honk. The car eventually turned and we went on our way.

When I first learned to drive in the DR people would jokingly say,"yeah, here you take your car in if your horn is broken." The thing is, it's not a joke. Driving without a horn in the DR is dangerous for everyone involved (including anyone in your car, anyone in another car, the 5 people on the moto next to you, and the cow wandering aimlessly down the street). At first, I found it annoying and, being the good Dutch West Michigander that I am, even rude. It didn't take long to realize: honk or die. Granted, there are times when the honk is perhaps overused--it was almost like it was a contest to see who could honk first when the light turned green to urge the cars to get on with it already (which always struck me as extremely ironic for a culture that doesn't seem to hurried about most things). As with other things, I adapted and realized that the horn really is a lovely (and practical) part of the car.

That is why I love looking for opportunities to honk here in the States (another reason I may need to move to bigger city). It's tricky since someone can basically almost kill you as they cut you off on a highway, or sit at a light for 10 seconds after it turns green and you look like the idiot (or jerk) if you honk (again, extremely ironic for a culture that seems hurried about most things). I remember my sister even telling me about a friend of hers who got a ticket for "obsessive use of the horn" upon honking hello to some friends on the street.

Cars come with horns for a reason...I think it's time we bring back the honk.

Image from free.foto.com

Introducing: Things that Used to be Normal and Now are Not

2009-08-18T16:58:00.004+03:00

A few months ago when I was Spring Cleaning I discovered this:

A hole about the size of a dime in one of my screens. At first, I was quite consumed by this hole and had visions of all sorts of Outside Things making their merry way inside. And since another one of my screens was not quite in properly, there was at least two entry point for these Outside Things. I remember contemplating calling my neighbors down to help me pop the one screen back in and trying to find some duct tape to temporarily fix the hole. I was quite obsessed about it for a few of days.

And then, it dawned on me: I had lived five years of my life without screens in the Dominican Republic and didn’t think twice about it.

Granted, Outside Things in the DR didn’t include squirrels; but it did include lizards, flying ants, regular ants, cockroaches, rats, mosquitoes and little boys who took advantage of the wide slats of the window and managed to steal the car keys from my kitchen table which was a good five feet from the window. Having screens wouldn’t have stopped some of the Outside Things from getting in anyway, and since hardly anyone had screens it actually didn’t cross my mind to get them.

I often think of myself as having to figure out “how to live like an adult” twice in my life. Phase One happened in another country (I moved to the DR three weeks after graduating from college) and the second time is still underway (Phase Two started about four years ago upon moving back from living in the DR for five years). At first some of the differences were glaringly obvious, but now I don’t think too much about the differences. That is, until something like a dime sized hole in a screen causes me to stop and think about what my life was like in Phase One of becoming an adult.

Thus I have decided to start a mini-series of sorts: Things that Used to be Normal and Now are Not.

Some caveats about said series:

1. This is not an attempt to claim that one way is better than the other or even more “normal” than the other. For at some point in both Phases I have had things shift from “normal” to “abnormal” and vice versa (i.e. my first few weeks in the DR I probably did get the heebies that there weren’t any screens on the windows).
2. This is also not an attempt to pull the “back when I was a missionary we had to walk five miles for water—uphill both ways in the snow” (this obviously is not true because I lived in the Caribbean, and (most days) had running water).

Things that Used to be Normal and Now are Not is more for my own benefit as I have seen that thinking through the differences between my Phases of Adulthood explain a bit why I am the way I am about certain things. Moreover, thinking through these differences gives you one big fat perspective check. So, here’s to a new series…and I welcome anyone who has had a similar experience to share their own Thing that Used to be Normal but Now is Not.

I Heart My Honda

2009-08-10T03:41:00.004+03:00

Lest you think after my last post that I play favorites in regards to my means of transportation, I thought I would dedicate a post to another love of my life: my Honda Accord. She may not be a beauty, but she’s gem.

Nope, that’s not dirt on the front bumper, nor is it dead bugs. Apparently some Hondas made in ’98 received a bum paint job. Just last week someone commented on it because they know someone else with the same problem and they suggested we start a group to file a class action suit. That sounds like a lot of work and, quite frankly, the peeling paint makes it easy for me to find my car in a parking lot.

I love my Honda because she drives like a champ despite her age, has some funky electrical quirks (I’ve always found quirky people endearing, so why not cars?) and she came with an old school car phone system, including the actual old phone that you can still charge up and play Snake on when you are stuck in traffic. What I may love most about my Honda, however, is how she is a tangible reminder of how God really does indeed provide exactly what we need (and even want).

The story goes like this:

I was living in the Dominican Republic and was on my 2nd vehicle, a little Toyota Tercel. The Tercel was also quite endearing after driving a ’74 Nissan Patrol that drove like a tractor (you turned it off by pulling a kill cord) and left you smelling like diesel anytime you rode in it because fumes would seep up through the floorboards. I loved the Tercel even after I had to have the engine rebuilt (a story of love, loss and enduring friendship despite a cracked oil pan resulting from said friend driving my car) and I loved it up until it was totaled on a mountain road as a drunk driver swerved into my lane. Which resulted in again not only dealing with police stations and Pokemon notebooks, but also insurance companies, car dealers and pervasive thoughts of “get me out of this country….now.”

Right about this time I remember talking with Jen and Scott who had left the DR and moved back to North Carolina. I remember Jen telling me about their transition back and all the details that went with moving a family back to the States after 10 years overseas. And I remember being a bit covetous when she told me that they were driving a Honda Accord that her brother had sold to them dirt-cheap after driving it for business (I don’t know much about cars but know enough to know that “highway miles” is supposed to elicit an “ahh” along with a nod of approval). In fact, I vividly remember thinking to myself, “Oh, that sounds nice. Maybe someday I’ll live in the States again and if I do I hope that I get to drive a Honda Accord” (said in a dreamy, longing voice, most likely punctuated with a sigh).

Fast forward three years: I’ve just moved back to the States after 5 years in the DR. Scott and Jen drove up to Michigan from North Carolina to attend the wedding of mutual friends. Scott and Jen were asking me what the transition had been like so far and I mention this, that and the other thing including the fact that I was anxious to have my own transport again. Scott looks at me and says, “Would you want to buy this car?”

“This car” was the very Honda Accord that I had pined for three years earlier. I mean literally it was the same car. True story. Why yes, yes I did want to buy that car. So, I also got a steal of a deal and it has been the smoothest car relationship I’ve ever had: four years and going strong.

I remember reading Richard Foster’s book Freedom of Simplicity the very first summer I spent in the DR. Great book….challenging book. One of the things he encourages is to pray about things before you buy them to see if God will provide what you need before you buy it. Now, I am pretty sure he was referring especially to major purchases and I remember thinking, “that seems like a good idea….buuuut, so like, how long do you have to wait? How much advance notice do you need to give God? Should I pray before I buy my groceries? Does it “work” best if you give God specifics or just a general idea of what you are looking for?”

I think about this every time I think of my car. I almost felt like I needed to pull an OT move and rename the Honda “el-something-or-another-cool-sounding-in-Hebrew” (roughly translated: God Provides) because I really do believe that God desires to provide for us. And I really do believe that we muck it up not only for ourselves, but also for others, when we get anxious, greedy and impatient when it comes to our needs/wants. And while I don’t believe that there is some magic formula to how it works, I do believe it has a whole lot to do with perspective and patience as well as some intentional sorting through needs versus wants.

I Heart My Honda.

And, as cheesy as the next sentence I am about to write is, I Heart My Honda because it reminds me that God Hearts Me (and yes, if I could figure out how to embed the chorus of Our God is an Awesome God or Shine, Jesus Shine into this post I would).

Bicycle Girl

2009-07-19T01:26:00.004+03:00

This is one of the loves of my life: my red bike.

I love it because it is red. I love its practical and savvy milk crate (that makes me feel a bit rebellious as a misuse it). I love it because it saves me money on gas. And I love that it was found at a garage sale.

Living a half mile from my office I truly have zero excuse not to walk or bike to work. This has been great for me because I can be quick to buy into excuses, and there is something about not driving every day that makes me feel healthier. While some of this is perhaps due to the fact that not driving means that I am more active, I know there is more to it than that. After days of not driving anywhwere I feel more connected…to myself, to the earth, to my neighborhood and community…it just feels right, like it’s the way it is supposed to be.

A few weeks ago I was introduced to a neighbor who lives around the corner and down the block. Upon being introduced she gave me the “I’m-trying-to-place-you-and-will-work-it-out-in-my-head-before-resorting-to-ask-you” look. After a few seconds she exclaimed, “Oh! Are you Bicycle Girl?”

Little did she know that she had just issued me the best compliment I had received all summer.

View From My Desk

2009-07-14T19:16:00.008+03:00

This is what I look at when I sit down at the desk in my office:
A bulletin board full of faces and places I love...quotes to challenge and inspire...and little bits of love and encouragement from the faces and places I love.

No real complaints about this bulletin board. It was a bit of a labor of love to get it covered with a fabric remnant I found (and though it was a steal of a deal, I still wish I had splurged the extra 50 cents for another piece) and it gives me a place to stare when I am procrastinating this, that and the other thing.

What I have been wondering lately, however, is when do you take things down from the bulletin board and replace them with other things? As I have stared a lot at this sucker this summer (summer has a knack for allowing me to perfect my procrastinating skills) I have simply been wondering what I might want to replace. But then, what do you do with the things you take down? Throw them away?

I some of the same thoughts when it comes to framed pictures. I love, love the pictures I have in my apartment but some of them are o.l.d. and I have some new pictures that I would love to put up but don't want boatloads of frames around my house and can't bear to take down some of the old ones.

One thing I wonder is if the resistance to changing these things is part of wanting things to stay the same. And since I have been in a bit of a mindset of "I Liked Things Better the Way They Were Before" for oh about...an entire year now...maybe it makes sense that I don't want to change some things. But let's get real: I don't really like snow and it is summer. The cut-out snowflake could easily go.

Lest you think I search for a deeper meaning behind everything I do/think, I also readily acknowledge that part of the "resistance" to changing these things might be better known by another term: laziness. And, I realize that if this is the extent of my problems (knowing when to put up new pictures), it means I'm having a pretty good day. Meanwhile, if you see something you would like (note: I refuse to part with the large, naked Barbie on the chaise lounge) let me know...it might help solve my dilemma.

Fitting In

2009-06-29T17:44:00.010+03:00

This summer I have spent Monday mornings hanging out with this little lady:

Harper Lain Schoon Tanis…soon to become one of the World’s Greatest Women.

Last week I was heading to the park to meet my friend Elizabeth for a “play date.” In the six short blocks to the park I managed to have a bit of an identity crisis. It started as I pushed the stroller across the street in front a cute guy in a car and realized, “he thinks I’m a mom.” Which then turned into, “I’m meeting a friend my age (who really is a mom) for a play date. This could be my life….a mom.” As I neared the park and saw a Mom Pack (similar to a Wolf Pack, but slightly less vicious) standing watch over their children playing I developed sudden anxiety because I hadn’t yet put sunscreen on Harper. I imagined the Mom Pack watching me and thinking, “what kind of mother is she?!?” Wait. I’m not a mother. I’m a baby-sitter. A 31-year-old baby-sitter. It wasn’t quite noon but I was definitely ready for a drink.

I’ve been re-reading some of my favorite books lately and just finished Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I first read it when I went to Africa. As I read it again I became even more convinced that we could (should) be great friends. She eloquently explains part of the reasoning for the quick onset of my identity crisis (which, to be quite frank, happens more often than I’d like to admit as a single woman in her thirties in this lovely Midwestern town).

“To create a family with a spouse is one of the most fundamental ways a person can find continuity and meaning in America (or any) society. I rediscover this truth every time I go to a big reunion of my mother’s family in Minnesota and I see how everyone is held so reassuringly in their positions over the years. First you are a child, then you are a teenager, then you are a young married person, then you are a parent, then you are retired, then you are a grandparent—at every stage you know who you are, you know that your duty is and you know where to sit at the reunion. Until at last you are sitting with the ninety-year-olds in the shade, watching over your progeny with satisfaction. Who are you? No problem—you’re the person who created all this. The satisfaction of this knowledge is immediate, and moreover, it’s universally recognized. How many people have I heard claim their children as their greatest accomplishment and comfort of their lives? It’s the thing they can always lean on during a metaphysical crisis, or a moment of doubt about their relevancy—If I have done nothing else in this life, then at least I have raised my children well.

But what if, either by chose or by reluctant necessity, you end up not participating in this comforting cycle of family and continuity? What if you step out? Where do you sit at the reunion? How do you mark time’s passage without the fear that you’ve just frittered away your time on earth without being relevant? You’ll need to find another purpose, another measure by which to judge whether or not you have been a successful human being. I love children, but what if I don’t have any? What kind of person does that make me?” (Eat, Pray, Love, 95).

Before you get too concerned: I am not really having a crisis over whether I want to have children right now or not (I don't); nor am I about to take any drastic measures to fit more comfortably in this culture as a 31-year-old woman. But I have been giving a lot of thought lately to where I “fit” here as most of my contemporaries are in the Mom Pack or at least not having to give thought to whether they should or should not take a date with them to a wedding. Granted, I have been trying to find where I "fit" ever since I moved back from the Dominican Republic 4 years ago…and though there have been moments where I’ve thought that I had found my niche, life keeps on keeping on and I am forced to find new niche.

Thankfully, I have good people in my life to encourage me and remind me that I am indeed a normal person and that I am not (despite my mind’s best attempts to convince myself at times) going to end up a crazy woman with lots of cats and almost-completed-cross-word-puzzles lying around my apartment.

Though...at least then people (myself included) would know then where I fit: in the Crazy Aunt category. Again, as my should-be-friend puts it:

"Last summer, my five-year-old niece had a little friend over to my sister’s house to play. I asked the child when her birthday was. She told me it was January 25.

"Uh-oh!" I said. “You’re an Aquarius! I’ve dated enough Aquarians to know that they are trouble.”

Both the five-year-olds looked at me with bewilderment and a bit of fearful uncertainty. I had a sudden horrifying image of the woman I might become if I’m not careful: Crazy Aunt Liz. The divorceé in the muumuu with dyed orange hair who doesn’t eat dairy but smokes menthols, who’s always just coming back form her astrology cruise or breaking up with her aroma-therapist boyfriend, who reads the Tarot cards of kindergarteners and says things like, “Bring Aunty Liz another wine cooler, baby, and I’ll let you wear my mood ring…” (Eat, Pray, Love,96).

Ahhh...that's funny to me. And, I have always wanted a mood ring...

Spring Cleaning Season is Finally Over

2009-06-22T17:34:00.006+03:00

For some reason this year Spring Cleaning seemed like a good idea. Not exactly sure why (as my mother pointed out, "I have no idea where you learned that"). And, after spending 4 hours on the first (and smallest) room turns out that Spring Cleaning was more fun to think about doing than to actually do. It sounded like a really good idea in my head the last few weeks of the school year when all I wanted to do was something that made me feel like I actually accomplished something. I would sit at my desk and dream up a plan for cleaning...would it be smarter to take it room by room? Or should I wipe/dust all the baseboards at once?

In the end I went with the room by room strategy. There was a moment of Spring Cleaning Truth early on in the venture when I looked down into a vent. You should understand that I live in an older home so the vent is really a large hole in the floor with a wooden slatted cover. While it isn't an endless abyss, it easily could be a hiding place for a small child. As I looked down and saw a cat toy (there hasn't been a cat in the apartment for 2 years) and some other random objects I realized I had a choice: to really Spring Clean or not. I seriously paused for a good bit staring at the vent and then, somewhat proud and annoyed with myself at the same time, took the time to take off the slats and clean out the vent.

I won't bore you with the rest of my Spring Cleaning adventure that spanned about a month and at one point caused a friend to ask me, "Kate, do I need to do an intervention?" Throughout the month, however, I kept thinking about staring down into that vent (especially when I was at similar breaking points: do I clean behind the stove too??) and wondering what it was that compelled me in that moment with the vent to truly Spring Clean. Because, truth be told, there were other moments along the way that I chose the alternative (i.e., while I did move the stove, I didn't even bother with the top of the kitchen cabinets and I am well over thinking it would be a good idea to clean my screens).

In one of my new Favorite Books of All Time it says: "true religion is radical; it cuts to the root (radix is Latin for root). It moves us beyond our "private I" and into reality. Jesus seems to be saying in the Sermon on the Mount that our inner attitudes and states are the real sources of our problems. We need to root out the problems at that level. He says not only that you must not kill but that you must not even harbor hateful anger. He begins with the necessity of a pure heart (Matthew 5:8) and knows that the outer will follow. Too often we force the outer and the inner remains like a cancer" (Richard Rohr,Everything Belongs).

I want to be radical. And I want to want to do the work it takes do so. I think that one of the things that can be so discouraging about it is that there is always something to be rooted out. I am someone who wants to get things done (quickly if possible) and cross it off the list (for good). What I am learning, however, is to be patient with myself...patient with others...to remember that while my screens may still be filthy, I did clean the dang vents and perhaps next spring (please tell me there isn't such a thing as Fall Cleaning??) I will do the opposite.

Welcome to My Brain

2009-06-14T03:17:00.002+03:00

I truly did have intentions on starting to blog more regularly…apparently, however, I haven’t been able to muster up the discipline to do so. I think I also got a bit discouraged when I read in some article somewhere that some woman somewhere makes more money than me annually simply from blogging. Normally I am one who is up for any type of friendly competition, but for some reason rather than light a fire under my butt it just made me think, “really???” And that “really???” thought turned into “damn, she must have some super insightful/witty/intelligent things to say in order to make that much money,” which turned into, “damn, I wish I had more insightful/witty/intelligent things to say in order to make that much money from blogging,” which probably led me to drink a beer or eat ~~a cookie~~ cookies to try to muster up some more insightful/witty/intelligent things to say.

I think I thought of some. But the work of trying get those thoughts into printed form seemed like a bit too much work. Like I said, what I really need to muster up is some discipline.

Besides the lack of discipline is the fact that I have a fast brain. Now I’m not trying to toot my own horn (though I did kick butt in 3rd grade ‘speed math’ competitions, which made up for being picked last for most PE events…well, almost made up for), it simply is a fact: the only thing my body manages to do quickly is think. Again, these thoughts aren’t necessarily all insightful/witty/intelligent. For example, the other night I was sitting at an outdoor concert under this h-u-g-e white tent and at one point my thoughts drifted from wondering why the tent was so huge, to wondering what on earth I would ever want embroidered, to wondering why I always think of that Rick Moran movie Honey I Shrunk the Kids! when I stare at the grass, to wondering if I ever really want kids, to wondering if my now divorced parents ended up buying burial plots next each other and if so what happens with that now, to wondering what kind of chemicals were in the treats that Joel bought at the party store, to thinking that the concert was much more enjoyable now because of said treats. And this was probably all within 15 seconds.

See, I don’t necessarily stay on one thought too long. Wellll, that’s not entirely true. There do seem to be some thoughts in my life that—despite all my best efforts—have outstayed there welcome. The point is, however, that I have had many thoughts of relatively insightful/witty/intelligent things to write since my last post but before I get a chance to write them I am on to something else.

But I am determined to become more disciplined. And to realize that not every blog needs to be super insightful/witty/intelligent (I once simply posted a picture from a menu for crying out loud!) because the reality is that I am never going to become a self-employed blogger.

So here’s to yet another attempt to become more disciplined…which I’ll get to it as soon as I bake some more cookies.

A New Reason to Invest in a Thigh Master

2009-05-13T17:47:00.002+03:00

If you have been wondering where you stuff all that fear and anger that you think you have gotten rid of, you might want to check your thighs. I was at my first “neuro-skeletal-muscular-structuring” appointment yesterday (think slightly-less-than-relaxing massage with the intent of straightening your body) and after having my body assessed (always fun) she was beginning to work on my ‘structure.’ I won’t bore you with all the nuances of what is off with my body but as she was working on my quadriceps she inserted this tidbit: our thigh muscles are where we store the emotions of fear and anger. Interesting. She went on to say that I shouldn’t be surprised if I felt “off” later in the day, perhaps like I was PMSing. She then told me of someone who had had this done and came back the next day and said, “I don’t know what it was, but for some reason last night all I wanted to do find you and kill you.” Interesting. Thus, she likes to give the disclaimer before one might feel that way.

I must say, the rest of the day I did feel somewhat irritable. I wondered if it was just a matter of self-fulfilling prophecy. But then again, I have felt somewhat irritable the past few days so it wasn’t anything too particularly out of the ordinary. And I have been trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that has been off, so to be able to blame it on tbe fear and anger that had been hiding in my thighs was somewhat of a relief. Like when you get your period and think, “ohhhh, that’s why I’ve been so funky.” I realize to those who don’t have this monthly luxury this may seem odd—I mean you should see it coming, right? Doesn’t this happen every four (or so) weeks?? Yet, and I don’t know why, for some reason it can be like a monthly memory lapse. What I do know is that it is usually such a relief to be able to pinpoint what the heck was the culprit of the ability to shift from inconsolable sadness to inconceivable rage in a split second (note: lest you think it a good idea to suggest to someone they might be suffering from a monthly memory lapse, think again. This is only appropriate if you too are capable of PMS).

The point is this: sometimes it is nice to have a concrete reason as to why you feel the way you do. And while my current reason is perhaps counterproductive in some ways, today I am perfectly content to place the blame on my thighs. And yeah, yeah, yeah, I have taken enough counseling courses over the years and been in enough counseling to know that the real work is trying to figure out why my thighs had some fear and anger to begin with. At this point, however it has been more fun to ponder why it is your thighs that store these particular emotions. Really, of all the emotions to be stored in your thighs, how funny is it that it’s these two? I’m guessing (unfortunately) for most women, it wouldn’t be quite fitting to have your thighs store contentment and happiness.

So the next time you are feeling extra anxious or angry and are looking for a reason why, you might want to consider dusting off your old ThighMaster or doing some squats followed by some stretches, and then you will and least have the option of blaming it on your thighs.

And We're Back

2009-05-07T03:44:00.001+03:00

I’ve decided to stop simply giving lip service to the fact that I want to work on my writing and actually do something about it. The reasons I stopped blogging a while back are vast, but that was then and this is now. To ease back into it I thought I would give a synopsis of what has been happening in my life via a compilation of my Facebook statuses. Warning: it is by no means grammatically correct and chronologically works its way backwards to my very first status. So if you are more Team Smart than Team Fun this might bother you, as it is somewhat counterintuitive to a proper update to start with the latest news and I am all over the map with capitalization.

That being said…here is a window the past year and a half of my life in Facebook Status Form.

Kate Davelaar…

... love really does win.... loves that KST loves spam.... 100.... moves to click her ruby shoes.... flinging spring.... no meal is complete without dessert.... loves her friends.... is excited to sleep in my sleeping bag tonight...in the Pine Grove.... is pretty proud to be the first one at the committee meeting this morning. that never happens.... loves that I just heard a piece on NPR about Kelly Clarkson.... wishes Winter would just give up already... has never been too particularly fond of jelly beans... is thinking of her friends in CO... thinks the multiplication factor in the scoring is ridiculous.... who knew a milk frother would really make the mornings that much better?... mac attack!... is back on top.... the 'year of the concert' keeps getting better and better... loves the madness.... is still in love with the DR.... is going to pico escondido for a week...you should come visit.... is drinking hot beverages all day long... so many things to love about march!... woke up this morning and smiled at the rising sun... isn't sure if she was just rained on or snowed on... thinks the kates' hour is the happiest.... would like a donut in honor of fat tuesday.... can't stop thinking about slumdog millionaire.... has a vague recollection of being tan.... troubleshoots.... somehow manages to over/underestimate people at the same time... is only happy in the sun... keeps losing her favorite winter hats.... 70s and sunny, here I come... was just given a kitchen aid...reinforcing: best week ever.... best week ever... found her sense of humor.... welcomes 09gonnabefine... heading to dublin to welcome the new year by kicking butt in nertz.... is getting a lesson in banket making.... for some reason has really been into listening to 104.5 lately.... is going to spend most of the day in the kitchen and couldn't be happier about that.... is thankful for the Schoon-Tanis internet cafe.... is about to get reinspired by Sydney Bristow... needs a beach—one that comes with palm trees.... hopes.... had her computer stolen from her kitchen table. No joke.... misses many things: summer included.... wait wait don't tell me... it's a sunshine day.... about this time every week remembers how long Tuesdays are... may have just shoveled more leaves than snow.... fruit basket upset.... highly doubts her car battery is going to make it through the winter... going to head back north where it is ironically a touch warmer... will someday own a cello again.... just remembered that she is not very good at maneuvering in the snow... is watching her nephew take out his sugar-high on the basketball hoop... is required to be judgmental tonight... can't believe how nice it is outside right now.... has assembled her own transition team.... is going to stop being a canary in the kitchen—as soon as someone can explain what that even means.... is thankful that the noro-days are accumulating faster than the snow... norovirus is a close second to a national holiday... viva la vida.... www.givestudio.com.... dreams really do come true.... appreciates really right answers.... should not have looked at the 10 day forecast.... could use some change she can believe in.... is not going to miss you like a child misses their blanket because that would be ridiculous.... is tired.... is trying to read too many books at once... rocky mountain high... finds it slightly ironic that she is trading a weekend of 70s and sunny for 50s and rainy... thanks the Cubs for reminding her that some things in life do stay the same... go cubs go... finally figured out what to get elizabeth for her birthday... can't decide who she is more thankful for: Jon Stewart or Tina Fey.... loves her bike, even though it just ruined her new jeans... fue a la playa y ahora está feliz... is trying her best to be an adult... tulipanes.org... is finally reading the Sunday paper.... is in need of a deck of cards. First person to bring one to the Keppel House wins…something.... flew over to tanzania a year ago today... might end up drinking too much coffee today... loves her job, even on Labor Day.... thinks Barack might have a crush on her since he sends her so many emails... is way more productive when it is cloudy... wants everyone to go eat at the new taqueria on 16th st.... being quite excited to paint, may have eaten lunch way too quickly... august? how did that happen...... wishes someone could explain the logic behind the new setup at Meijer... act your age not your shoe size... is getting things done.... thought she was pretty handy, until almost electrocuting herself... has finally been stimulated by George W.... wishes her windows at home were shut.... for the record, has never lived in New York.... is sitting in her new office... is thrilled to be as old as Ben & Jerry's... is baffled by our postal system... accidently bought 100 stamps and now that she actually needs one has no clue where they are... is considering a career in customer service... is going to the zoo... saw a woman walking her two parrots. don't worry, they were on leashes... is thrilled to be sitting in her new apartment... is a Reverend (with a capital R)... go Cubs go...... graduated.... is graduating.... does anyone out there know anything about redaction criticism?... go cubs go.... is jealous of Kathy S-T... is writing a paper. or, at least trying to... 3 years later is still failing to adjust to cooking with an electric stove...go Cubs go.... is slightly excited about presidente, flipflops and palm trees... is going to the Dominican Republic manana.... is so sick of shoveling... you know it's bad when you are looking forward to it being 30 degrees later in the week.... learned today that my ability to procrastinate has reached a whole new level... was actually considering living in Michigan after graduation...until stepping outside an hour ago... slept better before becoming convinced that yes, yes we can... loves that today is both super and fat... YES WE CAN... thinks if you make less than $6000 in a year you shouldn't have to file tax returns... is a nicer person when the sun is shining... is completely comfortable with the fact that she drives like an old lady in the snow....hopes everyone is aware of what has been going down in Kenya this past week.... is trying to solve the deadly combination of fleece jackets and dog hair.... just discovered the difference a high-speed internet connection can make uploading photos... realized it can be just as hard to run errands in the States...especially during the yuletide.... is thinking there might be something living in her stomach... is not looking forward to having to wear boots instead of flip-flops in about 24 hours from now... is still trying to figure out what makes running errands in developing countries so difficult... is wondering why turkey eggs don't receive a lot of hype... is trying to avoid going up and down stairs after hiking for 16 hours yesterday... is hoping that she doesn't get blisters from her new hiking boots... is thinking she has reached her limit on how many cups of chai and pieces of meat she can eat in one day... is wondering if anyone was going to tell her that she spelled 'signing' wrong or if people really thought she was somewhere in Africa "singing" up for Facebook... is still wondering if singing up for Facebook was a good idea.

An Ode to Facebook

2008-09-05T19:34:00.008+03:00

This isn't really going to be in ode form, but I have been thinking about Facebook a lot lately. Could be because I work at a college and it is the best way to communicate with students (that is, if you don't count actual real-live-face-to-face conversations). But I really think it is because this fall is coming up on my One Year Anniversary with Facebook. This weekend it will be exactly a year ago that I headed to East Africa for a bit, and it was while there that I finally folded to the pressure to join. Honestly, it was part peer pressure and part loneliness as the actual moment I joined came as I sat at my friend's kitchen table one morning and remembered that I did have friends somewhere on the other side of the world. I mean, nothing like a cyber-counter of how many friends you actually have to make you feel loved, right?

So thus began my love/hate relationship with the social networking phenomenon of the century. One of my favorite (and least favorite) aspects of the thing is the "Status Updates." Usually my pattern when I check my account is to look at the Status Updates to keep up with the going-ons of all my "friends." And then I usually think, "hmm, maybe I should update my status." And if I am feeling particularly clever or particularly fired up about something I might change it. And I'll admit: I have been one of those people who has changed their status more than once in a day. But I also have times where I'll go through a phase where I won't update it because one, I am not feeling particularly clever or two, I'm not sure that people really desire to know that I am about to grocery shopping.

More so, perhaps, is that I don't really feel comfortable posting what "Kate Davelaar is" really thinking/feeling/doing. Clearly some people are very comfortable--one might argue too comfortable--with sharing with fellow social networkers what their true status is. And I get it, if the point is to really help others feel connected there should be some level of honesty. But if I was always honest my status would be updated constantly with statements like Kate is emotionally eating (again), totally confused, wonders if a pair of jeans exists that would magically make her butt look firmer, checking her email for the bazillionth time today, has a heart that aches, feels like a fraud, perhaps put too many flax seeds in her cereal, amazed at some of the cars that these students drive, exhausted, trying her damnedest to keep her fern alive, inspired, so nervous she might vomit, contemplating putting tequila in her morning OJ, actually happy to be in Holland, in love with the new basket on her bike, thinks she could perhaps get a gig as a speech writer...anyway, you get the point.

The tension that exists in my life right now is that I do desire to be real, to be known, to trust that regardless of whatever thought/feeling I have, I will be accepted, liked and loved. And at the same time, recognize that my life is quite an enmeshed web of relationships both personally and professionally, and so sometimes complete and utter honesty is truly not an option. So I suppose the trick is to learn to live in the tension and be grateful for the spaces and places that exist where I know I am accepted, liked and loved.

That being said, Happy Anniversary Facebook. And though I can't decide if I feel less or more connected to others because of you, I do thank you for giving me an outlet for my innate ability to procrastinate. Can't wait to see you on the big screen.

Reality Check

2008-08-16T17:26:00.001+03:00

A friend of mine recently commented on her Facebook page “it’s all becoming a bit too real.” She, her husband and their 3 month old recently moved back from living in the Dominican Republic for 6 years, 13 years and 1 month, respectively. I remember that feeling very distinctively. When you first move back it’s hard. You are drained from saying many goodbyes, you are living out of suitcases until you settle into your new “home” and simply thinking about grocery shopping in a land where there are just way too many choices is down right paralyzing. And then after a couple months it becomes even harder as you realize: wait, I’m not going back…this is where I live now.

Ironically, the first time I experienced this phenomenon was when I first moved to the Dominican Republic after graduating from college. I had moved down in June and it was about mid-August when my mind naturally kicked into “I’m kind of excited to buy new pens for school” (yes, I was one of those kids who always loved to go back to school) and “I can’t wait to be with all my friends again.” And then I realized: wait, this is where I live now.

I recently discovered a list I drafted back in January entitled, “Options After I Graduate.”

Here the list:

1. Work for Young Life International
2. Work for Borderlinks
3. Start a union at Wal-Mart
4. Become a “Madre” (sidenote: we were at a conference in Tijuana and had just met the coolest nuns)
5. Work for World Council of Churches in Switzerland on the Decade to Overcome Violence initiative
6. Hope College Chaplain Department
7. Be a pastor—ACC in Tanzania?
8. Convert to Catholicism
9. Get more involved with social justice in the RCA
10. Move to Colorado
11. Move to San Diego
12. Move anywhere

I don’t think the list was in any particular order of preference but I do think that number 12 was the over-arching thought behind all of them. Except for, obviously, numero 6…which is what I am doing with my life. I remember hesitating as I wrote this option on the list because it conflicted with number 12. Life….so funny sometimes.

It’s mid-August. And while my new job affords me the luxury of buying new pens and being able to expense them (!) the reality that my friends are not coming back to Holland and we won’t be heading down to Lemonjello’s to do a group crossword anytime soon is setting in. The reality that I no longer can claim Student as my occupation but somehow became a Reverend is setting in. And the reality that when I wake up in the morning I am in my very own apartment, not merely house-sitting is setting in. This is where I live now.

This is a good place to be…and if you ever want to visit you are more than welcome.

Fight or Flight

2008-07-12T17:39:00.005+03:00

2007 was the Year of Running in my life and after a solid year of really running, I have since retired. I was thinking about 2008 being the Year of Swimming but it is July and I have yet to step into a pool. I blame this partly on attempting to find a suit suitable for athletic swimming sometime back in February, which for some of us in Michigan is also known as the season of pasty white skin. I rediscovered that there might not be anything that makes me feel as aesexual as a Speedo in the middle of winter, and decided that the Year of Swimming might need to be put on hold.

I have been thinking about the Year of Running for a few reasons lately. One, it was about exactly a year ago that I participated in my first major race (for all my friends who run, you may either choose to suspend your concept of a "major" race or stop reading this post). My friends Will and Lauren and I decided to run in a Bastille Day run in Chicago. And so we, along with our chauffeur/cheerleader/tour guide/booking agent (my father...who earned the nickname Cubby Bear that weekend), headed to Chicago for a fun weekend. The race was just my style: a 5k where the finish line takes you right into a block party complete with live music, beer, and people handing out free Dove chocolate. It was great.

At the block party...

Cubby Bear with the Dove chocolate women...

Another reason I have been thinking about running lately is because there have been multiple times in the past couple of weeks where I have wanted to run. Not in the sense of putting on shoes and heading out the door (unlike many athletes these days, when I say I retired, I meant it) but more in the sense of not wanting to deal with my life. In the course of the week I found myself looking for flights to Colorado, Minneapolis, Virginia, Georgia, San Francisco and even South Dakota. Anywhere--I was ready to go and be anywhere--but here. And I started thinking about that Psych 101 phenomenon of "fight or flight." And I knew that hopping on a plane wasn't really a solution but more of an escape and so I didn't buy a ticket.

Sometimes I think it is okay to opt for the escape. I have done so in some respects in the past couple of weeks, mostly in the form of hopping in the car and heading out to the beach as we are now in the season in Michigan that is known as "ahhh yes, there are some reasons I am thankful I live here." But there are other times where you just have to deal with it even thought it isn't always pleasant or comfortable. But as a wise person once told me: at times, the only way out is through. So just as I retired my running shoes, for the time being I am going to retire my thoughts of running away. And, who knows, maybe one of these days I'll actually get that Speedo.

Ch-ch-ch-ch Changes

2008-06-21T18:42:00.007+03:00

My life has changed a bit in the past few weeks. I finished school and now can no longer claim "student" as my occupation. I helped my friends pack up their houses and gleaned a stocked pantry/freezer/cleaning supplies/furniture for my new apartment. I moved into my new apartment, which is the first time I have lived in my own space since moving back from the Dominican Republic...three years ago. I became a Reverend and officiated my first wedding ceremony two days later. I made my first major purchase in my life as an adult with a salary: a mattress; and found the bicycle of my dreams at a garage sale. And now have about a week before I start my new job as a chaplain at Hope College.

I was told after my mandatory psychological testing upon entering seminary (yes, despite what it may appear like at times, they actually do try to keep as many complete whack jobs out of ministry as possible) that I "don't do well with change." That times of transition are "especially difficult for me." I don't think I needed to spend 3 hours of my life filling in countless dots with a number 2 pencil to figure that one out, but in some respects it was helpful to hear this from a "professional." It helps me to feel like a bit less of a nut job during times of transition when in a matter of seconds my thoughts can waiver from "It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. Life is great!" to "the only reason I am getting out of bed right now is because the cookies I baked are all the way in the kitchen." It is then I can reassure myself, "that's right, times of transition are hard for me. I am not going crazy."

Since I graduated from seminary, I decided that it might be a good idea to again start taking some time for devotions/reflecting/meditating/whatever you prefer to call it (sidenote: could someone tell me where the phrase "Quiet Time" came from? This is not a contest...I genuinely have been trying to figure it out). I mainly embarked on this because I knew I was going to need something to ground me. Something that kept me a bit sane(er) and something to (hopefully) look forward to. And for the most part, it has been this.

One of the days I felt most affirmed in this endeavor was the morning some of my friends left to move back to Colorado. I opened up my book and the reading for the day was all about 'weeping.' The very first sentence was "weeping may, in fact, be the best indicator we have of what life is really all about for us." And continued on to say that tears are more than sadness, but that tears expose us to ourselves and to others...what we cry about is what we care about.

I have wept more in the past year than I ever have before, and that previous night as we said goodbye was no exception. I have mentioned these friends before and as much as I talk about them or try to explain what they have been for me, I find that words just don't quite do it justice. These were the people who helped me transition into living back into the States by affirming that Holland (MI) can induce quite a bit of culture shock. They taught me about love as I watched them in their marriages, in their relationships with others and in their relationships with their dogs. They were the ones who sheltered me and kept me from becoming completely undone as I tried to navigate the shifting family dynamics that come from divorce. They encouraged me to go to Africa, while at the same time let me know that I would be missed and graciously allowed me to slip back into our circle of friendship effortlessly when I returned. They grounded me. So that morning that they left, when the reading in my devotions was all about weeping, I was affirmed that just because they were leaving didn't mean that I was going to come completely undone.

I meant to write about this three weeks ago when it actually happened...but remember, "transitions are hard for me" and every time I sat down to do so, I just couldn't work it out. But lest you be super concerned about me...don't worry. There are many great and exciting things in my life right now too (really, you should see this bike I found). And I do know that I will continue to learn and relearn the things that keep me grounded. And, perhaps most importantly, I just baked cookies yesterday. So despite having one of the most comfortable beds in the world, I am managing to make my way out of it in the morning...

The One Where My Sister Offers Me as a Guilt Offering at an African Wedding (Photo Edition)

2008-06-17T19:48:00.007+03:00

My sister is in town. She is quite fun to have around and her presence usually becomes the genesis of new stories to tell. Which is quite fitting, because she loves hearing stories/telling stories/remembering details of stories that most of us refute. Having her here reminded me that I never posted pictures from the time where she offered me as a guilt offering at a wedding in Kenya. I posted a blog about this a while back if you need a refresher of the exact story (this is one where I think my details are less fuzzy than hers) but I think the pictures tell the story quite well...

Sarah, after receiving a minor guilt trip: Oh...I'm sorry that we didn't invite you to our wedding...

...but to make it up to you, I brought you my sister! (I am not even lying, that is a direct quote).

And thus began a looong evening...

This One's for you Tracy

2008-05-27T01:45:00.007+03:00

About a month ago my friend Tracy "tagged" me in one of her posts. I had no idea what that even meant. Apparently I was supposed to follow the lead of her post and respond to the following questions. At the time I balked (remember, I don't like peer pressure) but currently I am "studying" for my classis exams tomorrow and am obviously desperate for distractions. So here we go:

4 Things I Did 10 Years Ago (1998)
...lived in a house with 16 other women with barely any drama.
...got caught streaking by Hope College's Public Safety (I completely blame Elizabeth, Libby and Jenny B. Amy, you, as our fearless get-away driver did your best).
...had a crazy Young Life summer which involved a month at Windy Gap, followed directly by a week hiking in Colorado, followed directly by a week at Castaway.
...was asked to lead a spring break trip to a country I had never heard of before: the Dominican Republic.

4 Things I Did 5 Years Ago (2003)...
...was in my third year of working for Young Life in Santiago, Dominican Republic.
...survived the first mass exodus of my close friends in the DR.
...navigated the insurance system in the DR after getting in a car wreck.
...spent a month eliminating as much English from my life as possible in hopes to learn more Spanish. This included watching the dubbed version of Blue Crush many, many times.

4 Things I Did Yesterday...
...went to church.
...tried to figure out if I had food poisoning or just my normal odd digestion (yes, that seems like an oxymoron...welcome to my life).
...walked on the beach with three good friends and three crazy dogs.
...went to a concert at a coffee shop.

4 Shows I Love To Watch (in no particular order)
...So You Think You Can Dance
...The Amazing Race
...The Office
...LOST

4 Things That Make Me Really Happy
...sunshine (especially when sitting in it).
...my friends (especially all those with crazy dogs).
...cookies (especially oatmeal chocolate chip).
...sitting on the beach (especially during that time of day when the light makes everything look extra beautiful).

Fired Up

2008-05-23T19:26:00.005+03:00

It's been a while, and I had pretty much resigned myself to being done with the blog. The main reason being that I couldn't figure out what the purpose of blogging was. When I first started this sucker it was to keep people in the loop about Africa (and save me from writing email updates). And then I kept it up due to peer pressure (which is never a good reason to do anything). And then I stopped to prove that I don't always fold to peer pressure. Plus I started getting squeamish about posting my thoughts (I mean what I really think) on the internet. Especially thinking through being a chaplain at Hope College (yes, I have now mastered the divine and have a job). I have been thinking through what public life versus private life looks like as a person in a smallish community with a fairly public profile (these thoughts, by the way, may someday become a post in and of themselves...it will be entitled: "Longing for Days When People Didn't Try to Sneakily Look Into My Cart to See What I am Buying at the Grocery Store").

So why this post, this morning? Because I read this on the internet this morning and I got pretty internally fired up. I mean, you have got.to.be.kidding.me.

This is the point in the post where I am supposed to explain more fully and eloquently why this has fired me up and why I think it should fire you up too. Or question again why the heck it is that I live in this country? But I'll let you do your own thinking. Plus, I have been waiting for an incentive to get a new car and so I need to get on the road to go and take advantage of this offer given that it expires at the end of the month...

Thank God for Soap Operas

2008-03-13T02:56:00.003+03:00

My sister is right, I really don't want my last blog post to be about cold showers. I haven't written because first I didn't have anything to say, and then I found myself with too much to say.

Yesterday was again one of those days that didn't start how I thought it would. I was on my way out the door of the 4th house I have "sat" in 2008 when my friend Lauren called. Lauren, Will, Ben and Katie had all gone out to Colorado for Winter Break to visit family and explore future job stuff. I decided to let it go to voice mail so I could get out the door and start the day, figuring she was just calling to say hi and see how all the dogs were doing (sidenote: THE dogs are basically like their kids...and while I did not have the pleasure of being their official dogsitter--being occupied with sitting another house at the time--I did arrange the current dog sitters so I felt a bit responsible). But, I was wrong. She was calling to let me know that our friend Ben's father had passed away that morning. I drove around the block back to the house because suddenly going to the coffee shop to study didn't seem like the right thing to do. I wasn't sure what the right thing to do was. I cried. I called Lauren back. Sent Ben a text. Swore. Cried. Swore some more and then called Kate.

An hour later Kate and I were sitting at the cafe in Alpen Rose. She came into town because we needed to be together. I am not sure how to explain the depth of all of our friendships, but it is deep. The kind of deep that comes from shared grief, seeing each other at our worst and gently reminding each other that it is bound to get better at some point. Don't get me wrong, we are fun and we laugh a lot too...but we have seen each other through some serious shit. Kate and I mostly sat. Talked. Ate the cookies that Kate had brought because times like these always call for cookies. We pretended to do some school work. Brainstormed the best way to get out to Colorado. Talked about how life just flips on you so fast sometimes and how quickly all of our lives have shifted at one point or another. Ate another cookie and then decided to go walk the dogs because we felt it would somehow make us feel closer to our friends in Colorado.

In the midst of our sitting and talking I looked up at the TV screen on the wall and there he was--the guy with the patch on his eye from Days of Our Lives. I have never been a huge soap opera buff but I have flipped through TV enough in my life to know that this guy has been around for a long time. And I am pretty sure has been dead or missing in the storyline at least once or twice. I kind of laughed and said, "good to see that guy is still around." Kate replied, "Yeah, at least some things in life are constant." Thank God for Soap Operas.

Cold Showers

2008-02-12T02:48:00.000+03:00

Today was one of those days that just didn't start how I thought it would. After hunkering down in the Arctic Blast yesterday I knew I would have some shoveling to do before I was able to head to class this morning. My plan was to get up early, shovel and make it to the library at 8:00 so I could do my Greek translation before class. It was a stupid plan from the start: what on earth is motivating about getting up early in the morning to shovel in almost sub-zero temps only to go study Greek? I realized the plan was flawed and slept in until 8:00, still hoping to make it to the seminary by 9:00. I, however, severely underestimated the time I needed to shovel...forgetting that since we had the Arctic Blast not only would there be crud at the end of the driveway from the snowplows, but it would frozen. After battling the frozen crud,I head in for a quick shower (a necessity because I hadn't showered in two days and the class I was going to has a strict "no hats in class" rule). So I turn on the water for the shower, thinking it would take some time to heat up...but it was taking a lot of time to heat up and I began to fret about global warming, water resources and wasting water and, I was reminded of Mother Antonia.

I was in Tijuana a few weeks ago for a Developing Hearts that Yearn for Justice conference on immigration (I know, I know...I am wasting my time writing about life in Holland when I could be writing about this?!). We spent one morning visiting with the Servants of the 11th Hour, an order of nuns started by Mother Antonia. The nutshell version is that she was a socialite in Beverly Hills who after raising 7 kids and having 2 failed marriages decided she wanted to do something more with her life. So she moved into one of the most notorious prisons in Tijuana to minister to the inmates and their families. You should really get to know her. She has taken cold showers for the past 29 years.

So, I bit the bullet and took a cold shower. I figured, if an 81 year-old second-career nun in Tijuana can do it, so can I.

si, se puede

2008-02-05T18:35:00.000+03:00

There are certain things in life that always get to me...get to me in the eyes tear up/goosebumps kind of way and you feel overwhelmed, excited, fearful, hopeful and nostalgic for something...something that you aren't even sure what it is because you aren't sure that you have ever fully had it but for a split second you are given a glimpse of what it might be.

THIS has become one of those things.

Watch it. Read the commentary about it. Watch it again. And regardless of where your political views lie, try to tell me that it doesn't get to something in you too.

The Yellow Dress

2008-02-05T03:48:00.000+03:00

I spoke at Hope College today and pulled out a show stopper...The Story of the Yellow Dress. Ahh yes...one of my more embarrassing moments from junior high helped me connect with some college folks today. When you start communicating about "the awkward years" everyone can relate. I relayed the story of my 6th grade all-city orchestra concert in which I donned The Yellow Dress. I was so proud of this dress, not even minding that it came from the Roger's Women's Big & Tall Shop (who was the one who thought that was a good name for a store?). I was simply pumped that it fit and (I thought) accentuated my thin(ner) waist line. In case you need more of a visual:

So there I was...in The Yellow Dress, making my way into the Holland Civic Center for the Springtime All-City Orchestra concert. Thinking I was looking festive (nothing says "spring" like a yellow dress!) when I looked around and realized there was a protocol to orchestra concerts: you wear black. Oops. Somehow I was the only one who missed the memo on that one. And when we were reviewing the VHS tape of the concert later it became even more evident to me how much I stood out--I was a bright yellow blob of a person in a see of black blobs. Some called me "Buttercup" for weeks.

You know, I remember at the time being quite deflated. And quite self-conscious. And, even a few years ago probably wouldn't have been gutsy enough to post this picture on the internet or in front of a bunch of college students. I am not sure where this new found freedom in flaunting my awkward years has come from. Perhaps it's because it always reminds me that things change. I've changed. And it reminds me that even when life is awkward, you will eventually grow out of it.

Back by demand.

2008-01-31T21:34:00.000+03:00

I am not sure it is popular demand, but I am back on the blog by demand from at least one person. What can I say? I am a sucker for peer pressure. Truth be told…I do not mind writing on the blog (blogging , if you will) it is just that I had always thought it was kind of lame. I had a hard enough time swallowing my pride to start a blog in the first place (see blog entry numero uno) but I justified it by telling myself that people would want to know about my adventures in Africa.

But my adventures in Holland, Michigan?

Today the day started out with a bang when I heard via 1450 AM that the seminary was closed (okay, okay so maybe there is one perk to living in a land where there is winter). The day continued. I made coffee. Blew my nose about 57 times. Watered some plants. Overdosed on Vitamin C and fell asleep while watching Planet Earth. And now I am procrastinating schoolwork by writing this blog about how I think it is a bit odd to write about daily life on a blog and thus probably offending the 5 people who still read this and also have blogs about their daily lives (this, by the way, is directly against the advice you receive while navigating the internet dating world: “never make jokes about the fact that you are on a website because it shows your insecurity and indirectly offends others”).

And on top of it all, I now feel this pressure to say something deep, funny and/or reflective about my daily life in Holland.

But, like I said, I am a sucker for peer pressure…so I guess I’ll give this a whirl…

So I went to Africa...

2007-12-31T03:52:00.000+03:00

I have always found it hard to express exactly what I want to about an experience like this...and this one has been particularly tough because it wasn't so much about Africa but more about me...me in Africa and being where I needed to be for three months. But I try. And I have some pictures to help and these blog posts that have helped. In case you haven't been able to keep up on it all, here are some numbers to give you an overview:

3 # of countries visited (Tanzania, Kenya and Ethiopia), 4 # of visas I had to purchase, 8 # of friends I was able to visit, 1 # of times I rode a daladala, 4 # of friends with connections to the Dominican Republic, 40 (or so) # of times I washed out Elizabeth's small pan, 3 (or 4?) # of times I almost killed Paul, Elizabeth, the unborn child and myself because I left the oven on, 3 # of months I was gone, 0 # of times I called home, 3 # of times I shot a gun, 1 # number of mountains I climbed, 5 # of Israelis I climbed with, 7 # of days it took me to walk normal after climbing the mountain, about a million # of times I heard "JAMBO" when I was with the Texans, about a million and one # of times I heard "mzungu!" (white person), 2 # of African weddings I attended, 1 # of times I was offered as a guilt offering (by my sister), 9 # of books I read, 5 # of dance clubs visited...all in one night, 1 # of times I got sick, 3 # of hours I spent in the bathroom the one time I was sick, 7 # of months Elizabeth was pregnant when she was still running farther than me, 3 # of times I drove, 0 # of pedestrians/goats/bicyclists/chickens/other cars I hit, 5 # of new types of beer I tried, at least 5 # of times Paul, Elizabeth and I managed to find ourselves in a friendly/heated debate, 1 # of I (Heart) Hope Basketball stickers I saw, 90 # of minutes we were late to a wedding, 12 # hours of layover Sarah and Jaxon had in London on way to said wedding, 3 # of exams Sarah took early to get to wedding, 0 # of reasons we had for missing the wedding, 12 $ of US dollars it takes to get a fabulous pedicure, 3 # of rugby games I watched, a good 50 # of questions I had about the game, 4 # of times I had to go to Ethiopian Air to get my ticket, 20 # of times I was told "no worries" when inquiring as to whether there would be a shuttle to the airport, 0 # of shuttles that showed up, 17 # of cans of cooking spray I packed up while helping someone move, 500 # of library books I logged into a computer, 6 # of dogs I lived with at one time (okay, 4 were merely puppies), 200 # of cows I could fetch as a bride price (don't be fooled, that's actually a large compliment), 1 # of cows I milked, about 3 # of minutes I was allowed to milk the cow before I was told I was going too slow, at least 15 # of traffic jams I found myself in in Nairobi which is more times than I actually found myself in a car in Nairobi, and finally, even more than I had hoped # of giraffes I saw.

The One Where My Sister Offers Me as a Guilt Offering at an African Wedding

2007-12-21T21:20:00.001+03:00

So there I was, minding my own business, in line for food at the reception of the wedding that my sister and Jaxon flew over to Africa for. We actually managed to miss the ENTIRE ceremony (that is another story...but not really a story, it was just a big 'welcome to Africa things are different here' moment). So we are in line and one of Jaxon's friends is talking with my sister. He is giving her a hard time about not being invited to Sarah's wedding (in a fun, joking manner) and Sarah's reply (direct quote), "I'm sorry...but hey, to make up for it I brought you my sister. Here she is!"

Come again?

Not sure how you respond to that one. I smile and shake his hand and then proceed to spend the rest of the wedding festivities trying to avoid awkward conversation with the guy. It was mostly awkward because it was super loud and I said, "huh?" or "sorry?" about every other sentence because I couldn't understand him. At one point it took me a good five minutes to realize that he was talking about "hawkers" in the city streets (guys selling used goods) not "hookers."

Oh well. I did politely ask my sister that the next time she decides to offer me to a guy that she runs it by me first. Or, at least asks what we could get in return. I was told once that I could easy fetch 200 cows as a bride price. I thought that seemed like a nice compliment.

In my sister's defense, she had just taken her exams early, flown to the other side of the world in the span of two days and missed the wedding she had flown over for. In case you words don't quite do justice to that disappointment, here is a picture. In the background is the wedding tent where an announcement is being made about how we are going to process over to the reception:

Communicating from the bush of Africa

2007-12-14T12:03:00.000+03:00

Sorry for the lack of blogs and communication but here is a snapshot of what is necessary to make a phone call from where I have been of late.

I once (was on) a farm in Africa

2007-12-14T11:59:00.000+03:00

I have been spending this past week a couple hours north of Nairobi with the Hovingh family. And let me tell you, Karen Blixen doesn’t have too much on these folks. What a joy it was to be welcomed into their home and see and hear of their adventures of developing their test farm, learning to home school and just figuring out how to live life in the bush of Africa. I had come out for a day in October with Paul & Elizabeth and just knew I needed to come back (refresher: Lisa’s younger sister, Lindsey, is one of my great friends from growing up (along with Heidi from Ethiopia) and Paul knows Jason from RVA…so we are all connected).

It has been a great week…great conversations with Lisa and Jason about life, life in Africa, life amidst transition…the chance to meet three young volunteers who are out here because they want to help and are taking some time off from school to learn more about life…watching kids explore nature and tap into their creativity that isn’t stifled by hours upon hours of sitting in front of a television…sorting through (not exaggerating) over 200 stuffed animals (VALUABLE LESSON: don’t send stuffed animals to Africa for orphans—everyone else is already doing that. Also, no need to send underwear that you no longer use) and mounds of clothes…learning even more about hospitality and the values and challenges of living in community…and, I even got to milk a cow.

Lessons from Ethiopia

2007-12-14T11:53:00.000+03:00

I just spent a few days in Ethiopia with my friend Heidi, her husband and her one-year old. Heidi and I have been friends since Kindergarten and I was so thrilled to be able to see her life in Ethiopia. I was only able to be there for 3 full days, I learned (at least) 3 valuable lessons.

Lesson #1: if having people help you move, it is helpful to have packed before they arrive OR at least have boxes on hand.
The first day we went out of Addis to help some of their friends move. I have helped people move in developing countries before and realize that things don’t have to be super neatly packed as it all gets piled on the back of a truck. But, boxes are helpful. Upon arrival, Heidi and I were asked to pack up the kitchen and given one box, some plastic bags and a duffle bag. After a bit, I quickly learned lesson #1b: no need to have 17 cans of cooking spray and IF someone keeps send it to you, politely tell them you have plenty.

Lesson #2: don’t always believe guide books.
Heidi and I decided to venture down to “Africa’s largest open air market” and read (and were told) it was not advisable to go without a guide to navigate it all and to help translate. Heidi hadn’t ever been down there, so we thought about it but then decided to go on our own. A few mini-bus rides later and we were there. I haven’t gotten over my “not wanting to look like a tourist complex” so I didn’t take any pictures but there were many I wish I had taken. Like the one of alley lined with the mamas sitting behind their barrels of spices and, in the middle of the alley, two boys washing each others’ hair. Or of the moment when, minding my own business at the minibus stop, I was about knocked over by a pack of donkeys. Or in the tailor section of the market where the alley was lined with sewing machines and the young men sewing were showing off their skills to the young women who crowded around the machines. It was a great morning. And, we found everything we wanted to find and got a great price (I have always been a fan of bargaining) all without a guide.

Lesson #3: The Ark of the Covenant is in Addis Ababa.

Okay, maybe not. But, that is what we were told we were looking at when toured the oldest (120 years) church in Addis. It was a cool church, but I am not so convinced about the Ark.

As I am writing this, I realize that there are many other things I learned…and the ones that stand out the most are that cute kids always win the favor of others and it is C.H.E.A.P. to eat in Addis. So get on over there because I know some people who you can stay with who happen to have a cute kid and know of a lot of great restaurants.

Things that make you go hmm....

2007-12-14T11:50:00.000+03:00

December 3, 2007
Things that make you go hmmm….

A week ago I was making plans to visit my friend Heidi in Ethiopia. Making plans in Africa (especially travel plans) somehow manages to be both challenging and easy at the same time. I had gone in to check on flights a few weeks prior and was assured that I didn’t need to purchase the ticket at that moment because “the prices never change.” Perfect. But last week when I went to purchase the ticket, wouldn’t you know it, the price had jumped big time. No worries, however, it just meant I had to fly a different route and all was fine. Since I was planning on flying in less than a week,
thought it would be wise to buy the ticket then. But was told that nope, it was better to just get my reservation and come back to buy the ticket another time. Why? Because “it is better that way.” Fine. So I went back the next day but the power was out and couldn’t print up the tickets. Okay. So I went back two days before I was to fly to get my ticket. She confirms my reservation and asks, “would you like to buy the ticket today?” (as if buying the ticket at a later date was even an option since the office was going to be closed the next day). No worries, I walked out with my ticket and then just had to get a ticket on a shuttle to the airport.

So, the day before I need a shuttle to the airport, I go to a hotel shuttle office. Unfortunately they don’t have shuttles at the time I need to go. But, no worries, I can just show up the next day because there is another airline that sends a shuttle at that time. They pass through the hotel and if I just slip the driver $10 I can hop on, no worries. I asked if there for sure was going to be a shuttle, “Yes, there is always a shuttle. Come to the office and we can help you get on.”

Monday, the day I am flying to Ethiopia. I arrive at the shuttle office to wait for the shuttle. Good news, I am told, there are actually two shuttles so if the first one doesn’t show up (“but they always come”) I can get on the next one ½ hour later. Well, wouldn’t you know it, the first one doesn’t show. “No worries,” I am told…again, “you can just get on the next one. And see those people in that car out there? They are trying to do the same thing and if the shuttle doesn’t come maybe you can ask them for a ride.” Okay. Half-hour later, still no shuttle. After a phone call, it is discovered that there are no shuttles today. Before I leave, however, I try to solidify whether I will be able to catch a shuttle back from the airport on Friday. Here is the conversation as my bag is being loaded into the back of a SUV that belongs to two Kenyan UN workers that I am now hitching a ride from because there was no shuttle that day:

Me: so…I will be able to get a shuttle back on Friday?

Woman: yes, my rafiki, there will be no problem.

Me: is there anything I can do to confirm this?

Woman: no, no need to confirm.

Me: and there will be a shuttle on Friday?

Woman: well, yes of course! There are shuttles everyday.

Hmmm…..

Proofs

2007-11-26T10:47:00.000+03:00

Last week I got to give a test on dental hygiene to a girl in Elizabeth’s second grade class who was absent the day the text was given in class. She aced it. And I (even after correcting the other kids tests the night before) still second guessed the correct answers and had to again check the answer key. I have found myself with this thought a lot the past couple of months…”geez, if I only remembered half of what I learned in elementary school…” I thought it as I corrected tests on bones or heard the kids describe the water cycle. I have thought about it as I have heard kids name the capitals of countries that I didn’t even know existed. And I wonder, is all that information there deep in the recesses of my mind and if there were a way to tap into it would I do better at Trivial Pursuit or beat my friends at Scrabble?

Then today I was reminded that I actually once was a whiz in math—especially geometry. I remembered this as I was journaling about what the heck I am going to do with my life when I graduate. As my time in Africa is coming closer to an end, I have been giving more and more thought to what is next. Different ideas have popped into my head…pastoring a church overseas, going back on Young Life staff, figuring out what I would have to do to live on the beach in the Dominican Republic…and while many of the options seem viable and even desirable, they usually come attached with the conditional statement I mastered in geometry:

“If (fill-in-the-blank), THEN…(fill-in-the-blank).”

The difference is that now they tend to be more directed to God than to a math teacher. As in, “If you want me to live here, then all of my friends need to live there too.” Or, “if I am to live overseas, then I want it to be a place where people can easily come visit.” Or, “if you want me to be a pastor of a church, then I want the church to have such and such qualities.”

The thing is, I'm not so sure God is in the bartering business. Not that I don’t think God wants us to make it known what we desire. I definitely think he wants us to voice our desires. Yesterday I had the opportunity to be with some amazing Young Life International folks and in one conversation was reminded that God, while maybe not in the bartering business, does have some clear promises for us. One of them being “If you delight in me, I will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4). I think this thought is often misunderstood. We may try to make it a converse conditional ("if God gives me my desires, then I will delight in him) or we may not understand that God's desires will actually become our desires. I am not sure there is geometrical way of explaining how this happens. But I guess sometimes you just need to lean into the promises before they are fully proven.

I've seen some cute monkeys...

2007-11-24T12:42:00.000+03:00

...but none as cute as this one. Adam Paul Davelaar turns the big 1 today. Happy Birthday little buddy!

Climb Every Mountain

2007-11-20T17:39:00.000+03:00

If you ever find yourself wondering if you ever accomplish anything, I recommend either doing the dishes by hand or climbing a mountain. There’s just something about both of those things that make you feel like a more productive person. Doing the dishes offers the quick fix of accomplishment whereas climbing a mountain leaves a more lasting impact (as in, two days later and I am still wondering if I will ever again be able to walk up and down stairs normally).

This past weekend I climbed Socialist Peak, which weighs in at 4562 meters (or about 15,000 feet for you Americans who stubbornly have resisted the metric system). Not going to lie, it was kind of hard and at a few points the thought crossed my mind that I was glad I had checked ‘yes’ to the extra “extreme activities” clause in my international health insurance. The tricky thing about Meru is that the first two days are really quite easy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you are definitely not just going on a stroll, but your bags are being carried up by porters and you are bunking in huts that have giraffe near by! (look closely)

Then, the third day comes…or, perhaps the second day never ends. You get woken up at midnight, have some tea and biscuits and start off on your final ascent. Usually I am not too keen on hiking in the dark, but there were many a times in those 6 hours that I was grateful that I could only see one step ahead of me. Because one, there are about 5 false peaks (always a bit discouraging) and two, I was pretty sure there was nothing but a sheer cliff straight down just to the right as we scampered over the rock face on the left (which was, in fact, confirmed in the daylight). We stopped for a few moments to watch the sunrise over Kilimanjaro and then after another hour or so finally made it to the top. And it is then that you feel like you have just done something great.

Then you realize that you have yet to go all the way back down.

And go all the way back down we did. First we stopped at the second hut where we had “slept” the night before. We had a quick meal, packed up and were told we had to get going because of “the rains.” The descent was quite steep at this point and there is a stretch where there are about 1000 stairs (I am not even exaggerating…they put Mt. Baldy to shame). We made it to the first hut, sat for a few moments and then had to haul ass down to the gate before it got dark. Mt. Meru is in Arusha National Park and you have to be out by dark and is also why your guide is an armed ranger because you can encounter wild game like the herd of buffalo that was in our path just before we got back to the base.

When I sat down at the base, then I truly felt like I accomplished something. And my body is still reminding me what I have done every time I have sat down since.

And then the rains came...

2007-11-15T09:50:00.001+03:00

Since I have been here I have heard this phrase a lot:"when the rains come..." As in, "when the rains come these dusty roads are going to be a mess" or "when the rains come the rats have a tendency to come into houses more." I have been waiting to see these rains for a while and a few days ago they showed up. Convenient timing since I am going to climb this mountain this weekend. I head out Friday morning with 5 Israelis and our guides. It is bound to be interesting. And, it is bound to be very, very wet.

African Chacos

2007-11-14T11:33:00.000+03:00

"Mma Ramotswe nodded. She was familiar with people who liked to test out all sorts of theories about how people might live. There was something about the country that attracted them, as if in that vast dry country there was enough air for new ideas to breathe. Such people had been excited when the Brigade movement had been set up. They had thought it a very good idea that young people should be asked to spend time working for others and helping to build their country; but what was so exceptional about that? Did young people not work in rich countries? Perhaps they did not, and that is why these people, who came from such countries, should have found the whole idea so exciting. There was nothing wrong with these people--they were kind people usually, and treated the Batswana with respect. Yet somehow it could be tiring to be given advice. There was always some eager foreign organisation ready to say to Africans: this is what you do, this is how you should do things. The advice may be good, and it might work elsewhere, but Africa needed its own solutions." Tears of the Giraffe, Alexander McCall Smith

Which do you think lasts longer...a Vibram sole or a tire sole (usually guarenteed for at least 35,000 miles)?

The stars at night are big and bright....

2007-11-14T10:29:00.000+03:00

This past week I had a chance to do something that I had done many a times in the Dominican Republic, host a workteam. I headed out to Malambo (seriously, a town in Maasai land in the middle of nowhere) with 10 Texans. We stayed in the "Help for the Maasai" compound that is run by Angelica, a German woman who has been here for about 25 years. And at one point in the week, two Dutch couples (real Dutch, not fake Dutch like me) showed up for a few days. Needless to say, there were many cross-cultural experiences throughout the week!

The group spent most of the week putting on eye clinics, working in the school and doing maintenance around the compound. And as with most workteams, one of the greatest concerns at the end of the week was "did we do enough?" Great things did happen during the week (though at one point I really questioned why we were giving out reading glasses to a predominately illiterate society...and I had a heck of a time trying to explain what "begotten" meant when I helped with arts & crafts at the school).
Some of the guys put up a wind generator which will surely benefit the compound and many of the teachers are desiring more teacher training after a few team members taught their classes. But if you ask me, the real work happened through the relationships between the Maasai and the Texans. By the end of the week, we had been invited to more bomas (homes) to drink chai than we had time for and the group was gifted 2 goats and countless amounts of beaded jewelry. And I was again reminded that not all communication comes through spoken language because let me tell you what, I had to think hard about what some of the Texans where saying at times, and I speak English!

While it was great to see people excited about getting new sunglasses and the hear the hum of the new wind generator, it was even more amazing to watch Angelica and hear some of her stories from the past 25 years of ministry. God does not call us to success, but to be faithful. And Angelica has been very, very faithful and through this faithfulness God has blessed the ministry. Yes I am sure she came with some new ideas and I am sure she has given some advice, but more than that she came with a heart to know people and to live amongst the people.

I do think short term missions do have value. But their value lies more in how the team is changed than what the team "does." I think the greatest thing that can be accomplished through a workteam is people coming to the realization that we often benefit each other most when we first listen. When we take time simply to observe and to be with people.

I love Young Life.

2007-10-31T21:45:00.000+03:00

As I sat and watched a YL Club here in Arusha last week many thoughts went through my head. I couldn't help but be reminded of the first Club I saw in the DR while on a workteam. I remembered being overwhelmed because I couldn't understand a lick of what was being said. Yet, at the same time, feeling a sense of comfort because in many respects it was the same YL that I familiar with. You have the same games...

Same YL Skit where a leader has to look like an idiot...

And the same songs...the crowd favorites were Tracy Chapman's "Sorry" and a Swahili rendition of "Blind Man."
And, I was reminded that my absolute favorite YL Clubs are ones where all I have to do is sit and watch.

I have always thought one of, if not the, best things about Young Life is its ability to cross cultural divides. I have had the privilege to see YL in a few different countries and know that it can transcend international differences. But I have also witnessed it cross the cultural differences that come from age, economic status, or even simply living in a different part of town. I am not saying there aren't any differences. At this Club we all took our shoes off at the door, while in the DR it took one failed shoe-swap game to make it clear Dominicans were not about to take their shoes off for anything.

So what is it? Is it the fact that there are the same songs, the same pressure to come up with the coolest YL area t-shirts or the fact that every good skit closet includes at least one set of false teeth? Sure, this may be a part of it. But I think that ultimately it goes to show that everyone longs to for a bit (or a lot) of Jesus. Anyone remotely familiar with YL knows that the key is the relationships that are formed. And anyone remotely familiar with Jesus knows that this is what he spent a majority of his time doing, simply being with others and taking the time to get to know them.

I love being in a place where it is culturally appropriate to value people above time.

Biting Bullets

2007-10-31T11:01:00.000+03:00

Today I bit a bullet and joined Facebook. I have withstood years of being harassed to become so-and-so's 'friend' but for some reason it was this morning that I finally caved in. Maybe it was article I read in Newsweek on the way to Africa assuring me that Facebook wasn't just for high school kids anymore or the BBC story I read this morning that moved me to finally create an account. I'd like to point out number 14 on BBC's list as to why Facebook may be worth $15bn:

"14. Facebook is the acceptable face of blogging - you can reflect your life and personality online without being seen as a "blogger", which often carries a geeky stigma."

Ouch.

Giraffes Galore

2007-10-25T13:26:00.000+03:00

Since I am technically a tourist, Paul and Elizabeth entertain me at times by going to do 'touristy' things. While in Nairobi we visited a giraffe sanctuary where you can get up close and personal with the beauties. While we were there we saw a few school groups pass through and I thought, "nothing against DeGraaf Nature Center or Tuesink's Pony Farm, but Giraffe Sanctuary wins hands down in the 'cool field trip' category."

Here are a few pics...I am still working out how to create a link to see all my pictures. There is something not quite computing with my browser. Quite ironic, considering the name of my browser is Safari.

While we were in Naivasha we passed a Zebra that pretends its a horse. Jason told us that it hangs out in the horse pasture with the horses and seriously thinks its a horse. So we stopped the car and Jason told me to go try to pet it. He made it seem like it was a normal thing to do and that it should be easy. I trusted him completely since he is a bona fide bushman. This is about as close as I got. I felt like a failure. But then Jason told me when I got back to the car he has never touched it either, he just wanted to see if I could.

Six Degrees of Separation...

2007-10-25T12:48:00.000+03:00

Last week Paul, Elizabeth and I safaried up to Nairobi. The main purpose of the trip was for Elizabeth's prenatal check-up, but we also took advantage of being in "the big city" and visited some fun restaurants and fun friends. On our way to Nairobi Elizabeth commented, "I love going to Nairobi. It's just like going to America." After a few days there she was reminded that it wasn't quite like America and on our trip home she commented, "The great thing about going to Nairobi is that it makes me so happy to go home to Arusha."

So anyone who doesn't believe in Six Degrees of Separation clearly hasn't been involved with Young Life (YL) or know about Rift Valley Academy (RVA). Our first night in Nairobi we went out for sushi with some of Paul's friends from RVA (to clarify, RVA is a boarding school in Kenya). I ended up sitting next to Allison and it didn't take us long to put together the fact that we had a mutual friend through Young Life in the Dominican Republic. Go figure.

While in Kenya we also ventured to Naivasha to visit the Hovingh family. See if you can follow all of this...Paul knows Jason from RVA. Paul and Elizabeth spent some time with Jason & Lisa at RVA on one of their R & Rs from Afghanistan. Lisa used to baby-sit me. Lisa's sister, Lindsey, is one of my best friends from growing up in Holland and was my housemate my first year back in the States. On the Hoving's refrigerator I saw a picture of Jeff, who I used to lead youth group with and who now is Lisa's brother-in-law and works at RVA. I also saw a picture of Katie, who is the sister of one of my classmates/peer-group members from seminary and also now works at RVA. So when you throw in the fact that I once met Bruce Willis, you can see how we really are all connected.

All in all it was a great week...nice to have a change of scenery and always fun to get another stamp in the passport. More than that, however, it was wonderful to connect with friends from Michigan and see how it all connects with the friends I have now. I am a big believer in not saying "goodbye" to people but rather, "see you later." And not in the sense of "see you later in the big sky when we are all living happily together on streets of gold" but in the sense that I am convinced that God continually weaves people in and out of our lives with a purpose. And it is often more likely than not that you will see them again...especially if you have some sort of YL or RVA connection.

Ziplocs = Luxury

2007-10-13T15:22:00.000+03:00

This past year in our ethics class we talked a lot about habits. We thought a lot about why we do the things we do and the importance of being purposeful in the habits that we form. I don't remember if it was in this particular class, but at one point my friend Kate wrote a paper about how she washed out her Ziploc bags. She talked about how she learned this by watching her grandma, how she made a homemade 'drying line' for her Ziplocs and had some poetic line about how each time she washed out a bag she thought of caring for God's creation. While this may be true (the fact that she thought about it every time, not the fact that it is indeed better for creation), we did manage to find a way to tease her about it every now and again.

But I tell you what, I don't throw away Ziplocs too much anymore and I think about Kate (and God, creation, and all that other Save the Earth stuff, of course) every time I do.

Elizabeth and I were talking about washing Ziplocs this morning as she washed her Ziplocs. She can't believe that people throw out Ziplocs, but at the same time recognizes that she didn't think this way before moving to Africa where Ziplocs are scarce and dang expensive. They are somewhat of a luxury item. I wouldn't say the typical North American would think this way (Ziploc = Luxury). And I think that's okay. What I don't think is okay, however, is that we often don't care to make an extra effort to do something (i.e. walk or ride our bike instead of drive, recycle, eat only locally produced foods or wash our Ziplocs) until it is too pricey to do otherwise, convenient for us, or trendy to do so.

So, if you need tips on how to make your own drying line for Ziplocs, I am sure my friend Kate would be happy to help you.

Just another typical Saturday AM in Africa

2007-10-13T15:07:00.001+03:00

I am not a big Morning Talker. I have learned that sometimes it is important to voice this to people who are Morning Talkers, so that they understand that one, I might not respond to their attempts at communication (but it doesn't mean that I am upset or mad) and two, I might just flat out avoid them in the morning.

Last night there was another couple staying at Paul & Elizabeth's, so this morning I purposefully stayed in my room. At one point I had a text conversation with Elizabeth as to the status of the other people in the house. She too was lying low in bed...but make no mistake about it, it was not because she too is not a Morning Talker. I made it clear that I was planning on reading in my room until the other guests left and so she jokingly (or so I thought) asked if I would like Paul to bring me breakfast in bed. I texted an order (complete with a request for a fresh flower on my plate) to her and told her to just let me know when the coast was clear.

A bit later, however, there was a knock on my door.

Bottom line, sometimes it pays to be anti-social in the morning.

A Busy Week

2007-10-10T15:03:00.000+03:00

I've been here about a month now and am quite frequently, "are you finding enough things to do to keep you busy?" I try to politely explain that the whole reason I came to Africa was to not be busy.

And I find it somewhat ironic that I am in a land where this seems to be the way of life: and people here are quite concerned that I have enough to do.

Though I am not here to do anything specific, I am finding myself slipping into some semblance of a routine. Mondays I meet with the new YL staff person who is trying to start a YL Club in a town about an hour away. Tuesdays I spend the day at school with Elizabeth reading with her kids and then head over to the other international school to tutor George. Wednesdays I spend time at Step By Step Learning Center and Thursdays I am up for another round of "are you smarter than a fourth grader?" with George. After not having much of a set routine this past month, having one thing to do each day suddenly makes me feel like I am busy (and I didn't think this mindset kicked in until retirement).

So there you have it, my routine. Of course, it gets thrown off by half-term break so schools are off and George is jetting to Italy for a week and a half. And then there will be the week where I help host a work team, climb a mountain or head off to visit Peace Corp volunteers at their sites. I have heard that you have to do something 30 times or so for it to become a habit, but I am not sure how many weeks in a row you have to do something for it to become a routine...

Found One!

2007-10-05T11:31:00.000+03:00

"Yeah, I'm a pretty good shot..."

2007-10-03T12:16:00.000+03:00

I have learned after camping with friends and family throughout the years that “camping” means different things to different people. So, when I was told that we were going “camping in the bush” this past weekend, I really had no idea what to expect. But let me tell you, if that was what is considered “camping” in Africa, anyone could be a camper.

The purpose of the weekend was to celebrate Paul & Elizabeth’s birthdays. So a group of about 15 of us went off into the bush of Africa to spend the weekend on a hunting block (chunk of land ‘owned’ by people who then run a hunting/safari company) eating good food, drinking good beer and shooting things. This particular hunting block is managed stateside by Paul’s brother, which means that I spent a weekend doing what people pay 1000s of bucks to do, and I didn’t have to pay one shilling. And since I am Dutch, this thought was almost as thrilling as seeing giraffes, zebra and elephants fairly up close and personal.

Anyway, one of the funniest moments (for me) was learning how to shoot a rifle. I have a vague memory of guns being banned as toys growing up (maybe this was just at my grandparents house) and hunting definitely is not a pastime in my family, so handling a gun was a new thing for me. I was mostly worried about bruising my shoulder or poking my eye out, and not too worried about hitting the target (no, not a live animal but a harmless cardboard box).

So after finally positioning myself correctly, I just let ‘er rip. I was just thankful to not have been thrown off the bench by the kickback, but wouldn’t you know it, I actually hit the target and somehow it ended up being the second best shot of the morning.

I should have had the sense to retire because then the shotgun came out. These are pictures of the target (water bottle propped up on a bush) before and after my shots.

Yep, they’re the same. It kind of reminded me of how I play golf: about once a year. Each time I do pretty decent so I decide not to test the waters by golfing again. This way I can claim, “yeah, I’m a pretty good golfer.” So when Shoshi said, “you were shooting really high” I responded, “Of course! It’s just like my golf swing. I thought I had my eye on the target, but then it just doesn’t work out the way I think it will…”

No worries, as they say. I didn’t want to show up the other men too much in one morning.

Fotos

2007-10-01T15:55:00.001+03:00

I have always been drawn to the art of photography. Perhaps it is because I don't really draw much (besides the occasional palm tree in the margain of my notes) but I would like to have some sort of art skill and since I do have a camera, I figure that I can at least practice. I also think it is because I have some very creative friends who have taught me to look at the world through different lenses. I once spent many, many hours (days...weeeeeks) roaming around the Dominican Republic with my Swedish friend, Patrik. He was in the DR making videos for Young Life about ministry and life in the DR. I don't think he once looked around without looking for the "perfect" shot. While it was frustrating some days (like the day where I just wanted to be home and didn't want to pull over to the side of the mountain road (again) so he could take yet another shot of brightly hanging laundry) spending time with him helped me to examine my surroundings differently.

I have taken some pictures while I have been here, but there are about a thousand and one more that I wish I had taken. Like the one of the 3 year-old boy wearing one rollerblade and one plastic rollerskate (the kind you put over your shoe) trying to make his way down the streets of Zanzibar; or the group of Massai having having a 'tribal council' meeting on the side of the mountain at sunset. Most of the time I either don't have my camera or it just seems too intrusive to take a picture. Many of the pictures I wish I had are pictures of people just doing their everyday life sort of things and I am just not bold enough to take a picture.

Sometimes I wonder if I would feel bolder if I had a more "professional" looking (a.k.a. bulkier) camera. You know, so I could try to fool people into thinking that I was taking pictures for some sort of "official" purchase and not have them think that I was just another tourist trying to get a good shot. And while I think some of it stems from cultural sensitivity, I think another part stems from pride: not wanting to appear like just another tourist. I have watched enough Alias in my life to hold on to the hope that someday a real-life Marshal is going to create something that will enable us to somehow store pictures in our eyes. Like a microchip that fits like a contact lens and when you want to capture a picture all you have to do is wink. You might run into the problem that others think you are hitting on them, but you'd definitely be able to sneakily get some great pictures.

Since that probably isn't going to happen anytime soon, perhaps I should just work on getting over my pride.

Anyway, I have been trying to upload some pictures from Zanzibar and our recent "camping" trip to online galleries, but it isn't working. In the mean time...here are a few pictures of what I have seen and done lately...

Dhows at Sunset in Zanzibar

Storefront in Stone Town (Zanzibar)

Where I spent about 5 hours on Saturday

Sundowners with Paul & Elizabeth on Sunset Hill

You shouldn't love your spouse more than cheese...

2007-09-28T12:53:00.000+03:00

This past week I was down in Dar es Salaam visiting some friends from the Dominican Republic (Charlie and Nancy Crane). It’s crazy that I have multiple DR connections here in Tanzania but then again, the world is a pretty crazy place.

It’s hard to fully describe Charlie & Nancy as they are unlike any people I have ever met. Perhaps this comes from the fact that they have lived in at least 7 different countries (he works for USAID), they have a steady stream of Peace Corp Volunteers and other vagabonds staying at their house in whichever country they live, they have raised three remarkable children, and they seem to fit in effortlessly in whichever country and community they find themselves in (though I know from conversations with them that it does indeed take a lot of effort!).

Nancy has really found her niche here in Tanzania. She is truly passionate about educating people on sex, specifically what the Bible has to say (or not say) about sex. In the past couple of years she has been able to give her talks to a few different groups of young people (young = anyone who is not yet married) here in Dar. I had the chance to go with her while she spoke to a university group for the first time, as well as sit in on a conversation the following evening with a group of young church leaders who had heard this talk a few months ago. While many of the lessons she taught may seem basic (i.e. God has designed sex for marriage, sex is to be enjoyed, rape is wrong, multiple sex partners at one time is not a good idea) it truly was radical information for many.

Sex is not talked about here. But it doesn’t mean that there isn’t an abundance of sex being had. While this may seem like a sexually conservative culture on the outside, if you dig a bit deeper you discover that sex and sexual relationships are perhaps even more complex and convoluted than they are in the States. I learned this weekend that it is not uncommon for people to have various partners depending on what ‘needs’ they might have, that most women are raped at some point (though they wouldn’t call it that) and that many university students are involved in transactional sex (i.e. a young woman will find herself offered rides to and from her village and in return ‘asked’ for sex).

While I didn’t agree with every single point that Nancy made, I completely agree that sex ought to be talked about more in the church. Kudos to her for talking about sex and encouraging others to talk about it as well.

The most comical point in the evening at the university came after 2 ½ hours of sex talk. Dunford, the leader of the group, decided it would be a good time for an altar call (side note: this solidified the thought I have had for a while that if I ever write a book it will be entitled “Altar Calls”). Why on earth he thought that, I have no idea. But he got out his best preacher voice and was backed by a synthesizer playing quietly in the background some of the cheesiest (in my personal opinion) worship songs. Anyway, he was on a roll and I was really getting tired and just wanted to sit down but we were adamantly encouraged to “stand before the Lord,” when I swear I heard him say, “You shouldn’t love your spouse more than cheese!” What?!? After daring to open my eyes and take a quick glance around, It didn’t take me too long to figure out that it was more likely that he said “more than Jesus” but at that point I had already lost it. So there I was, the only mzungu woman in the crowd with the giggles during the altar call.

And all I really kept thinking was,”hmm…I really like cheese. If I ever have a spouse that might be a hard one for me…”

YL

2007-09-20T15:57:00.001+03:00

I spent this afternoon with Jackie and Alex. Alex is the area director of Young LIfe here in Arusha and so we got together to talk about, of course, Young Life. And they also answered my many questions about Swahili, how to get around on the Daladalas, explained the dowry system (they are getting married in a month), told me that American TV is setting the standard for dating relationships (Lord help us all), explained the political climate of various African countries and tried to settle the question of what, exactly, is the proper way to pronounce Tanzania. It was a great afternoon.

Young Life with the nationals in Arusha has taken off great guns. But the Young Life staff in Arusha has taken some hits over the past year. Both the North American females hired to run the International Schools YL Club have resigned. Alex was eager for me to jump in and get Club going again but after talking this afternoon realized that was not the best option. So, while I am here I am going to meet weekly with the newest YL staff member (another young woman from the States) who has been hired to do YL in a town an hour away from here. Here would be another opporune time to pull out a soapbox (this one being titled: "A Million and One Reasons Not to Send Young, Single Females to Start Young Life in Another Country All By Themselves") but I won't. Aside from spending time with Alisa, I am just going to try to support Alex in whatever way I can.

On another YL note, tomorrow I head to Dar es Salaam. It is about a 9 hour bus ride and I am not sure on the leg room situation. I am not even fully sure on the seat room situation! I am going to visit Nancy and Charlie Crane who became great friends while I worked for YL in the Dominican Republic. They housed YL Club every other week in the capital as well as housed me because I would commute down from Santiago to help run the Club. They now live in Dar and I am thrilled that I will get to be with them for a week. I am planning on spending a couple of days in Zanzibar (get out your maps) as well. Should be a good week.

One thing I like about Elizabeth is...

2007-09-19T21:29:00.000+03:00

Somehow I found myself in a group of friends in the past couple of years who have this tradition of sharing "one thing" they like about the birthday person on their birthday. It can be kind of awkward ( especially if there are people in the group who don't really know the birthday person) but usually it works out just fine. And usually there is one person (Lauren or Katie) who tries to name more than one thing they like about the person. Anyway, today is Elizabeth's birthday. So I thought I would share one thing I like about Elizabeth in the form of one very long run-on sentence...

I like Elizabeth because she can think of a song for every situation and she is more than happy to share it with others while she serves them delicious food (that she has made from scratch even in a country where you can't always find what you need or you have to use soured cream cheese for a cheesecake that you auctioned it off at a church fundraiser) and I like that when in large groups and something strikes me as funny (but no one else seems to think so) I can count on catching her eye across the room knowing that she thought it was funny too and later we can talk about it and laugh...a lot and not only do we laugh a lot but sometimes we cry and that's okay too and she is an incredible teacher (whether it be her 3rd grade class or trying to teach me the correct form of a TaeBo kick) and she is the best beverage maker of anyone I know (insert whatever kind of beverage you would like) and she has graciously allowed me to live with her, her husband and their two dogs for the next few months. Bottom line, I like Elizabeth. Okay one more thing, she still runs even though her pregnant belly sometimes bumps the front of the treadmill (and, for those of you who I told I was excited to run with her because now she would probably run my speed...I was wrong. She still kicks my ass.)

So Happy Birthday Elizabeth, you are the best around and nothing's ever gonna keep you down (even if you don't get all my song references).

Step by Step

2007-09-19T09:37:00.000+03:00

No, the title is not referencing one of the many hits from everyone's favorite teenage band: NKOTB (I suppose when I say everyone, I specifically mean everyone who was a teenage girl about 15ish years ago). Step by Step is the name of a learning center here in Arusha. It is one of Omega's ongoing projects (Omega being Paul's NGO) and it is where I spent some time yesterday morning. The story of this school, and more specifically the mother who started this school, is remarkable. If you want a brief overview of the school you can click here. The website doesn't fully express the perseverance, intelligence, compassion, sense of humor and love for her daughter that Margaret possesses. I am in awe of this woman. She brings the idea of advocacy and passion to a whole new level.

Most of my time was spent yesterday morning reading with Umesalma. She is probably in her upper teens but has the mental capacity and social skills of a lower elementary student. Umesalma is quite intelligient, but lacks a great deal of social awareness. She, like all the students at Step by Step, is so full of love and wishes to share it with anyone who walks in the door. On one level, her ability to love and trust others is inspiring; but on another level it can to dangerous situations. Anyway, we spent most of our time reading to each other and doing written excercises on gerunds (quick: anyone remember what a gerund is?). She clearly knew how to make a gerund, but didn't always understand the content of the sentences. After gerund-ing the word "take" in this sentence, "Sheena does not like taking drugs," Umesalma turned to me and said, "what are drugs." I had about a 5 second string of panicky thoughts that ranged from, "Just Say No!" to "what if her parents need her to take medicine (and call them drugs) and I tell Umesalma that drugs are bad for you." What to do?!?! So I simply said something like, "Drugs are something that people take sometimes and they aren't always good for you." Nice and ambiguous. I was ready for further questions but Umesalma simply said, "Okay" and moved on to the next sentence, "Orango dislikes drinkig alcohol." Thankfully this one passed without any questions.

I am hoping to get to Step by Step regularly...I mean, I am Umesalma's "favorite teacher" right now. Flattering. But I quickly realized that her true favorite is Paul. When she realized I was leaving with teacher Margaret at lunch she looked disappointed. I thought, "that's so sweet." But then she said, "so that means Paul isn't coming to pick you up?" That was the source of her true disappointment. Oh well.

Currently I am sitting in Paul and Elizabeth's living room watching some "professionals" cut down trees in their back yard. It is going to be a miracle if they don't end up with an unwanted skylight in their house.

And finally, for everyone who was hoping this post was indeed a NKOTB reference...

Step by step
Gonna get to you girl
Step by step ooh baby
Gonna get to you girl
Step by step ooh baby
Really want you in my world

Hey girl in your eyes
I see a picture of me all the time
And girl when you smile
You got to know that you drive me wild

Step by step Ooh baby
Youre always on my mind
Step by step Ooh girl
I really think its just a matter of time

On a lighter note...

2007-09-17T13:45:00.000+03:00

I sailed through jet-lag like a champ. Unfortunately, I think I may have discovered I have an allergy to dust. This is unfortunate since it looks like this anytime we drive anywhere...

You can only read this post if you promise not to panic.

2007-09-15T21:36:00.000+03:00

This past week I have been adjusting to life here in Arusha. Am I fully adjusted? No way. Will I be before I leave? Probably not. But I am hoping this won’t bother me given that I am not expecting to feel fully adjusted. Holding loosely to your expectations...that has never been easy for me. We can try to anticipate and guess what might await us, but (in my experience anyway) life continues to throw us a good zinger every once in a while.

In an email a few days before I left the States my friend Elizabeth sent a heads up on some happenings here in Arusha. In the past few weeks there have been a few security incidences, specifically targeting white people. This has been very concerning for the community in Arusha because it is a rather small community and this kind of behavior was very atypical. She wanted to warn me and let me know that she understood if I didn't want to come anymore. Well hello, of course I was still going to go! Not just because I am Dutch and couldn't stand to lose an $1800 plane ticket, but also because this was a chance to spend some time in Africa and I wasn't planning on giving that up. But for a moment, my expectations as to how safe I might feel here did change for a bit. Then I got here and I found that I didn't really feel any less safe and things had really seemed to calm down (according to those who live here).

The other night, however, there was another incident that has again raised some concerns. A group of men robbed the restaurant and bar at a local club and killed one of the bartenders. This isn't just any club. It is a club that caters to the ex-pat community and is where many go to work out, play rugby or just socialize. I went there my first day (and we go there a few times a week to work out and hang out) and was extremely blown away with the contrast of this place with the rest of Arusha that I had seen (side note: I had meant to write a blog on the differences between these two worlds that I had seen in one day. To pull out the 'ol social justice soapbox and talk about the tensions that exist within our world between the "haves" and "have nots." But, I never got around to it. It seemed like too daunting of a task to put into words...and I was still jet lagged. I wish I had, however, because I think it would have made this post a: shorter, b: more impacting and c: easier to fully understand). As people have been talking about the robbery, it doesn't seem that surprising that the club was a target. It is poorly secured and well known as a hub for ex-pats.

But that doesn't make it any easier to understand.

So what will happen now? Security will probably be tightened around the club. Perhaps some walls will be built. People who were there will replay the scene in their head and many "what if..." scenarios will inhabit the minds of even those who weren't there to witness it. The minds of all will become a breeding ground for fear, anxiety, bitterness and anger. And none of this will make it easier to understand.

Bottom line, the other night expectations again shifted. The new college graduate who envisioned the adventures of her first year teaching overseas suddenly is hit with the reality that she feels very, very far from home. The new bride of the bartender who envisioned growing old with her husband is suddenly hit with the reality that she is a very, very young widow. And many black Tanzanians (whether they realize it or not) will suddenly find themselves lumped into a stereotype that invokes fear, anger and prejudice whenever they approach a white person.

This definitely is not easy to understand. But, I do ask for you to understand that I do not wish for you to worry or be anxious for me (or others here). Yes, you can pray for us...pray for safety and that fear, anger and bitterness will have no place in our hearts or our minds. And know that we do exercise caution and common sense but for the most part we go on with life as usual. Like I've said, life can throw you a zinger. And this can happen whether you are in Arusha, Tanzania or Holland, Michigan. The best we can do, I suppose, is to continue to hold loosely to our expectations while at the same time hold even more tightly to our hope for the redemption of this broken (and often difficult to understand) world.

Japanese Pies

2007-09-13T21:31:00.000+03:00

So Paul and I had lunch today at a restaurant called "Japanese Fast Food & Beer." There were many, many funny things about this experience...like the fact that the restaurant was "in" an old container that you use to ship goods to other countries and there was karaoke (mostly Elton John and Phil Collins) on 3 screens (which would be even funnier to you if you could visualize the size of the restaurant). But, perhaps the funniest was the menu. Specifically, the "recipe" for Japanese Pie. Try reading this in front of the very attentive waitstaff while keeping a straight face (you can click the picture to enlarge)

I could not partake in the Japanese PIe because of my body's rejection of shell fish. But Paul decided it would be fun to test out the "recipe." If you are ever in Arusha and have a hankering for Japanese Fast Food, I know just the place.

Spreek je Nederlands?

2007-09-11T12:46:00.001+03:00

After a day of travel, I am in Africa. It still baffles me how you can wake up one morning in one country and then go to sleep that night (or maybe the next night...I think I lost a day in there somehow) on the other side of the world. Travel went very smoothly and the big highlight was that on the second long flight there was an empty seat next to me so I had a place to put my legs. Another highlight was that I got to live into my cultural roots a bit--the flight attendent on KLM spoke to me in Dutch for the duration of the 8 hour flight. Apparently I look Dutch (go figure) and since my end of the conversation consisted of one word responses ('water,' 'yes,' 'pasta') or a smile and a nod, I kept him going on the Dutch thing. I am glad he never asked point blank if I were Dutch. I would have felt pretty stupid saying that yes, technically I am Dutch, I live in a place called Holland, I own wooden shoes and know some Dutch dance moves, but I only know one Dutch word (gezellig).

I am moving on from Dutch, however, into Swahili. I have already had about 5 encounters where I felt like a stupid white person and I haven't even been anywhere except the airport and Paul & Elizabeth's house. No worries, Paul just handed me a Simplified Swahili book. Something tells me, however, that no one is going to mistake me for a Tanzanian anytime soon...

Good People

2007-09-09T20:30:00.000+03:00

Just a few of the people I am going to miss...thanks to everyone who showed up to eat, drink and say adios (especially that big guy in the background with the Diet Coke). And Juliana Else, your corn dish was a hit once again!

"I'm a runner...and I'm running..."

2007-09-07T17:43:00.001+03:00

So apparently this year I became a runner (which gives further evidence that one ought to follow the advice of my first blog post). I started running one day in January when I had some energy to get out and the elliptical machine wasn't going to cut it. Then some of my friends convinced me to run a 5K with them, which turned into more 5Ks and then one week I found myself doing interval training on a track paired with a "long run" on the weekend. And this past week I got these:
New running shoes. A few weeks ago I started having achy calves when I ran and after I ran I could barely walk down stairs. At first I blamed it the fact that I had worn heels to a wedding and hit the dance floor pretty hard. And then when after a couple of weeks it didn't go away, I was convinced that it was true: my body hit its physical peak at the age of 28. Someone suggested that I might need new shoes, which was quickly confirmed by the friendly people at Gazelle. I had to order them online (a common problem for those with larger feet) and thus had my pick of colors. I went with "Lightening Ice" because they sounded speedy and I was hopeful they would help me run faster.

Nope.

In fact, my first run while sporting the Lightening Ice was perhaps the crappiest run I have had in months. The good news was that my calves didn't hurt, but the bad news was that I was ready to quit running by the time I got home. I had heard that running was mental but didn't really understand this until I became a "runner." I still don't quite get why one day I feel like I could run forever and the next I feel like I'll be lucky to make it to the next street corner. I think some of it has to do with simply believing that you can run. Believing that you did it before, so you can do it again. Trusting that even though you had a crappy run today, tomorrow's run might be the best of your life. And you just tell yourself, "I'm a runner, I'm running...because that's what runners do."

I leave for Africa in two days. I like to think that that I am not running away from things...but I also know that there are many things here that I would like to run away from. I guess the best I can do is pack the Lightening Ice and hope that I come back from Africa still running.

Never say Never

2007-08-06T00:34:00.000+03:00

A few years ago I remember declaring that I thought blogs were "stupid." I understood them to be online journals and my line of reasoning was this: why would anyone post their journal online for others to read and who on earth would want to read the rambling thoughts of others? This blog just goes to show you...

Never say Never...it almost always comes back to bite you in the ass.

So here I am, about to post some thoughts over the next few months on the internet and here you are, reading them. I promise to post as many pictures as possible and I will do my best to keep it current starting in September.

Until then, remember to be careful with your use of "I would never..."