Thank God for Soap Operas

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

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

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

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.

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...

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

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

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

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

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.