Just another day . . . not!!!

This is not a long post, but I just had to write something because, come on, this has been one of the most amazing days EVER.

This morning I got up and went outside, only to see . . . desert to the right, and desert to the left. We were just over halfway through the Suez Canal. I've been interested in the Suez Canal and Panama Canal for a long time, and when I first was thinking about coming to the ships and inspecting a map, I again noticed the Suez Canal and thought, wouldn't it be inCREDible to actually be there and go through that canal??? and of course I never imagined it happening.

And today it happened!!!!! So amazing. We were seriously sailing through the desert. Once when I went outside, we were passing a military training ground where they were doing drills. Other than that, just sand dunes forever. WOW.

I think that was one of the highlights of my life. Maybe even more than visiting the pyramids (I make it sound like I'm a full-time tourist, don't I?)

THEN, after that, sometime this afternoon we entered the Red Sea. THE Red Sea – the one that God parted for the Israelites to pass. THE Red Sea. Incredibly (again!), my Bible reading today just so happened to be . . . in Exodus, just where that story is! I looked out the windows and thought, you know? They could have crossed right here! Or right there! You know, or not . . . but regardless, I will sail straight across those waters that God blew apart with a strong east wind. (I was thinking though – in Bible times that must have meant that the wind was blowing to the east, not from it – otherwise how would they ever have gotten across?) Somewhere underneath me, the sea bed was once dry and marked by thousands of Israelite feet, not to mention the six hundred Egyptians who were swept up and drowned!

This is so. amazing. 

On initiative

I have a good boss. He's very, very different from some of my previous bosses; actually he reminds me of my dad to some extent.

Things get slow with the media sometimes, so when our department is designated random jobs, usually I'm the one who takes them on. There are many new things I've never done before, and sometimes they freak me out because I know I'm young and clueless. I don't get a lot of trial runs; the things I produce are often used with few revisions. I wrote a brochure, and thousands have already been printed and distributed. I created a presentation for the Advance Preparation team to use in soliciting sponsorships which may yield thousands of dollars.

Seriously, half the time I don't have a clue what I am doing! But my boss goes by the “learn by doing” philosophy; he told me that if I go to another person to get all my ideas, then I may as well just let them do the project themselves. It's definitely a challenge for me to step up and take a lot of initiative, but actually its been great and I am learning so much.

I'm learning the value of that philosophy as it applies to work and to life. So much of my life these days requires me to just do my best – make a choice, and see what happens. Sometimes it's the wrong choice, and sometimes it's the right choice; either way, it is a learning opportunity. I don't always have the luxury of understanding all the details related to my choices, but that doesn't relieve me of the responsibility of making a decision.

But it's hard. It's hard when your foolishness bursts in your face. It's hard when people let you down. It's hard when your world gets shaken up, and you can't tell one direction from the other. It's hard when the good in your heart is practically indistinguishable from the bad. And I know that the Bible offers the best direction, but sometimes it's just confusing, and I just don't know.

Sometimes, all I want is just for somebody to come and tell me what to do.

Reflections on the Sea

So, today has been rough - quite literally. Our Atlantic crossing was super nice - it only got bumpy a little bit toward the end, when we were all so used to sailing that it barely bothered anyone. This is less than a 24 hour sail, so I kind of thought it would be pretty mild. (So did the book fair, because they didn't do a full packdown!) Instead, it has been our roughest sail yet! Definitely my roughest, but I talked to other people who have been on the ship since it's been sailing, and they agreed. I hardly get seasick, but this one got even me down - I spent the entire afternoon and evening lying on my bed just waiting until it calmed down or I felt better. Also I was trying to avoid Deck 5, which is supposedly the place that moves the least, so it's where sick people congregate. I told my dad that it looked like a triage center or something - so many people lying on the floor or huddled in small clumps, looking pale and miserable. It's either mildly amusing or traumatic when you walk through, depending on how you yourself feel. :-P

Oh, but THAT was earlier. It's all over now. I've finally started feeling better, so I went upstairs to eat, since, you know, I hardly have today. I sat in the empty dining room (literally the first time I've seen it like that!) watching the water, which came so close it looked like it wanted to eat me. It was somehow so scary and so appealing that of course I had to go out for a better look.

Sometimes I really wish I had a better command of language, and this is definitely one of those times. I know for a fact that there is something really beautiful to be said about the Mediterranean at midnight in the moonlight. The alliteration isn't even planned; it's natural. Doesn't that just prove my point?

The most I can say about it, though, was that it was spectacular and terrifying and huge. I couldn't see how big the swells were, but I could see whitecaps all around, glowing blue in the moonlight. Ferocious wind, clouds backlit by the moon, sea spray in the air . . . and the unpredictable motion of the ship. From the inside, it just feels dizzying, but outside I could really see how the ship was getting tossed around by the water and the wind - like a toy, really. We charted our course, we trained and prepared, but we have no control over this - this Mediterranean midnight.

On hope and depravity . . .

The ship is a very strange place. Something about it - someone, rather – has this amazing ability to take a pickax to the most vulnerable places in your heart and bring them to light. I've seen it on several different occasions, when people are forced, usually very much against their will, to face their deepest hurts and most diseased beliefs about themselves and about God. It's not like counseling, where a person asks sensitive questions and gently probes through your past; God knows your past already and he already knows exactly what your issues are.

Tonight I opened one of my journals and, for some reason, flipped to the very back, where I've tucked a few things away for safekeeping and (rare) rereading. One of the things I have hidden away back there is a sort of worksheet that we did during the first few weeks of the camp I worked at a few summers ago. Our speaker had created, on a single sheet of paper, a very detailed template for us to fill in which painted a clear picture of our perceived identies. It began with your parents and their perception of you, then went on to include your personality type, then your deepest hurts and, more importantly, the messages they communicated to you about your identity. Then it allowed space to list your attempts to change and your coping strategies when those attempts failed. The description sounds very clinical, but when I open that sheet of paper, I see straight inside my own living heart.

When I came to the ship, one of the things I was actually kind of looking forward to (in a sick way) was coming to a deeper understanding of my weaknesses. Pride is not a nice thing to deal with, especially if it is based on a lie. We have the capacity to lie to ourselves and convince ourselves of positive qualities we don't have, and then use those lies to inflate our egos. It's an amazing thing.

I have come to a deeper understanding of my weaknesses – oh, I have. It's amazing how Jesus' teachings are so simple when you're not actually living by them . . . when you start to actually do some of the things he said, you realize, maybe for the first time, that actually you can't. You're incapable of it. I've seen things in myself – dark things, terrible things – that I wasn't even aware of before. Most likely they've been glaringly obvious to those around me all along, but that's not the same as them being obvious to me.

I'm forever trying to put myself on a pedestal that I don't deserve, and inevitably, my self-idol will fall and shatter. And when that happens, let me say that it does not feel so nice. However . . . I'm also realizing that a person's understanding of their own wickedness must not surpass their understanding of God's grace.

Actually, that's more the point of this post. Maybe it's more an admission of sorts, to say that I've been having identity struggles. That handwritten paper shows a heart that has not been completely repaired yet. When I consider my present struggles and various parts of my history, all they say to me is that I am wicked and unwanted. But as our camp speaker explained about a flawed perceived-identity, “You came by it honest, but that doesn't make it true.”

There is a truth that is higher than my weariness with myself. There is a truth that really does give me hope. The truth is that there is a God who sees all my problems, who sees the depth of my depravity, and who wants me anyway. It's true that the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked. It is true. But it is more true that God created us, and even in spite of our mistakes, he still values, still wants us. Now that's amazing.

Oh The Places You'll Go . . .

Many moments from my senior year at Bryan make me smile when I remember them . . . for example, one time when I earned a room-filling laugh from Bruce, the dean of students. Unfortunately I don't remember how I phrased it that it amused him so, but I had just commented on how shocked I was to find myself in a life-stage that I didn't expect to exist for me. (Um, is that confusing? Because, I'll be honest, it was a little confusing for me to write. Anyway.)

Moment of transparency: since I was a child, the extent of my hopes and plans for my life were to go to college, get married, and raise a family. I think that was kind of my definition of adulthood, and it was the only thing I ever wanted for myself. Now, I still kind of expect that my life will eventually turn that direction, but mid-senior year, I was totally surprised when it sunk in that I wouldn't be immediately transitioning from college to marriage, and I would need to have something else to do with my life. (I feel a little ridiculous admitting this in a public place - but there's a point forthcoming.)

It was actually quite hard for me to give up those expectations and open myself up for something different - something totally different. First there was my interest in working in Germany, then the missions conference at school where the ships were suggested to me . . . and now here I am, living on a big white ship on the other side of the world.

Tonight I've been listening to Caedmon's Call, and they have this one song about the everyday sacredness of motherhood, and I realized that while I like it and agree with its message, it really doesn't resonate with me at all. Most of my friends are married and thinking about families (I've been in seven weddings! Miss 27 Dresses herself!!), but I'm just really not there at all. Sure, I still want to get married eventually, but finally I seem to have lost the mentality that suggests that marriage is what I "should" be focused on right now. It's not.

My focus is right here. My focus is on introducing the ship to the world. On learning how to be a "little Christ". On building relationships and investing in people who I will never see again (and I'll be honest, that part sucks sometimes). My focus is on being a light in some very dark places, and on having a life of service - a life worth living. And I'm very content with that. Ship life is nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds (seriously) and there are many . . . unique challenges of life on board. But it's a huge privilege, and I'm happy with it.

This is not the life I expected - or the life I wanted. But you know what? It's good.

changes . . .

Things change so quickly here on the ship; it's really hard to believe. I've recently had one or two people ask me if I wanted to switch to a different department – I even think that if I had been interested, I could have already changed to go work in the book hold. But I wasn't interested in changing.

Yesterday morning I had every intention of staying in the book fair for at least six more months. But today I had my last day working there.

At lunch yesterday, I got paged to go to the personnel offices, and I was thinking, “What in the world have I done wrong?” But instead, they had a job offer for me: the person now responsible for media relationships is leaving the ship quite suddenly, and they need someone to take her place almost immediately. They knew about my communications background and apparently had heard some good things circulating about me, and they wanted to know if I might be interested in taking over her job. After a frenzied few hours and multiple discussions with personnel, the media manager, the book fair manager, and my dad, I decided to accept the position. I'm totally scared – it's a whole lot of responsibility!! – but I know it will be for the best.

Side note: I've been really confused about recognizing God's will lately, and that's definitely relevant to this whole decision-making process. But when I started to pray about whether I should take this job, it took about ten seconds until I got a “yes.” Oh! Um . . . okay then?!?! I've been realizing that if I debate too much with myself and try to over-analyze the things I think God might want me to do, I can very easily persuade myself that it's nothing – ESPECIALLY if he's asked me to do something I don't want to do! But there's that story in 1 Kings 19 where God speaks to Elijah – not in the fire, not in the fierce wind or the earthquake, but in a gentle whisper. I really love that story. I'm starting to learn a little bit about that gentle whisper . . . like the fact that sometimes it's so easy to just ignore. But I'm realizing that I think if my relationship with God is good, and I think he might want me to do a certain thing, I'm far better off if I err on the side of willingness instead of erring on the side of skepticism (my natural inclination)! It's worked out extremely well for me in the past, so hopefully I can kind of keep it up.

Basically, my job will be sort of managing the overall public image of the ship – yeah, a pretty huge responsibility. I'll be working with local media in the ports we visit – offering interviews for t.v., radio, etc., hosting reporters, making sure they have all the information they need, etc. I have to know what needs to be emphasized and what needs to be de-emphasized, depending on what country we are in. And I'll be tracking and archiving what is said about us. I'm kind of shocked to have this type of job, and to have the chance to use my communications degree – honestly, I never really expected to use it in really a professional context, but here I go!

It promises to be interesting – and a challenge for SURE!!!!!

Cultural observations

Africa, lemme tell you, is quite a place. It's so different and there's always something new to see and learn. Then if you also take into account the many unique situations that result from putting so many cultures together on one ship, perhaps you can see how my life can be so . . . interesting sometimes! This a list of my favorite interesting/amusing culture moments I've had over the last weeks, both on and off the ship.


- Hanging out late at night in the dining room after work eating noodles. I've eaten more Korean noodles than I know what to do with, and practically set my mouth on fire in the process – but the best thing was seeing the stunned looks on the Korean's faces when I started making boxed macaroni and cheese in the microwave. Each step was more amazing than the last. :-)

- Seeing people walking out of the book fair carrying boxes of books on their heads – definitely a first for us! Talk about strong muscles there!!! I tried it once with a big basin of water and it was NOT EASY!!!!

- Also inside the book fair, one day we were visited by the chiefs from many local tribes, men regarded with great respect and treated as kings by most people in their culture. They are quite influential, but many are involved in the black magic/occultism that is prevalent in the area. For any of them to become a Christian could represent a great deal of change for their culture. We were privileged to be able to offer a special program for them, and afterward some of them came down to visit the book fair. They were a sight to behold in their traditional costumes, basically just draped in yards of stiff, brightly colored fabric. Definitely memorable!

- In my weekly fellowship group last week, each of us brought pictures of our family and were sharing a little bit about our lives back home – a topic that is usually barely discussed here on the ship, because, right or wrong, it sometimes seems irrelevant to us. I also showed a picture of our house, and then of the view in front of our house – a gorgeous shot of the valley and fields and mountains in the distance. But that picture met with loud exclamations from James, the Taiwanese in our group. “What?? WHAT?? Nothing??? It's nothing!!!” His shock was genuine – as evidenced by his eyes, which were so wide his eyeballs could almost have fallen out without anything to stop them. He explained me that the houses in Taiwan are so close and it would be unthinkable for there to be so much space – especially next to your house! :-)

Liberia

A man swipes at a wall with a paint-laden brush. The paint was white when he began, but now, a few yards past his starting point, it is quite gray – polluted by the dirt of the wall he hadn't cleaned. Next to him, lizards try to scurry up the wall. Their feet slip on the wet paint, and they fall back to the ground – a failure. A girl wearing a glittery “Obama” shirt waits to cross the street. Next to the river one boy sells large fish, fully two feet in length. Nearby, a smaller boy holds a string of frogs, hanging by their front arms. Small children stand, naked except for the soap bubbles, next to the bucket that is their bath. A woman inside a food stand presses cooked rice into a mold for the sake of convenient consumption, while a child peddles tiny bags of plantain chips. The smell of lunch alternates with the smell of feces. A boy, by appearance around 12 years old, steps fearlessly into two lanes of flowing traffic, arms spread wide to stop the cars. Amazingly, they slow and then stop, and a pastor escorts an elderly lady across the street.

We wait for a taxi, finding one after twenty minutes. They want to charge us more for our skin color, but the local people accompanying us talk them down, insisting that it's not right.

This is Liberia.

I'll tell you a secret: I didn't really expect Liberia to mean very much to me. In Sierra Leone, I was kind of swept off my feet . . . I really loved it and didn't want to leave. In Ghana, I spent the whole first port at home; the second port was pretty neutral for me. It was fine, but not great; I was expecting my time in Liberia to be basically the same. But now I'm beginning to wonder otherwise . . .

Me, Andrew Peterson, And A Really Big Coincidence

So, yesterday we hosted onboard an event for the many missionaries serving in Liberia, and after the event they came to visit the book store. I was really excited that we were offering such an event and equally excited to have a chance to meet them, but something happened that I totally did not expect. I was working at the information desk, and was approached by a young man with a strong Scottish accent who asked if I could search the computer to find a certain singer. I replied, “No, our system can't do that, but who are you looking for? Maybe I know who he is . . .” He said, "Um, his name is Andrew Peterson." I about fell over. Not everyone has the good fortune to be acquainted with his music, and out of 400-some people on the ship, he just so happened to ask me! Andrew Peterson has been my favorite singer for several years; so much of his music has been deeply meaningful to me through many different times of my life.

I was really sad to have to tell him that we didn't have any Andrew Peterson cds in the book store, but I couldn't help but think of all of the music that I had brought with me on my computer. I knew he couldn't just get it somewhere else – certainly not in a store in Liberia, and even amenities like internet are quite limited here. Ten minutes after he walked away, I was totally distracted; it was really driving me crazy that this missionary in Liberia had asked me for something very specific that I just so happened to own. And I've learned that really big coincidences usually aren't - but I couldn't figure out what that meant for me in that case. I really wanted to just give the music to him, but the problem was that God has been very strict with me recently about copyright infringement issues, so I couldn't just make a copy for him . . . finally it occurred to me that if I just paid the appropriate money a different way, I could give him the music, AP could have his fair earnings, and I wouldn't be stealing! I ran to my cabin, hurriedly put Resurrection Letters and Far Country on my USB stick, and was able to give it to him before he left – along with a prayer that he would be as blessed by them as I have been. I was super excited about it for the whole day!! :-D

Of all the far-fetched things in the world . . .

gotta love it. :-D

plie, plie, grand plie . . .

So I just have to share the highlight of my day, because, let's face it - I'm pretty excited.

About a month ago, just before I left to go home, one of the moms on the ship asked me if I would consider teaching a ballet class for her five-year-old daughter. I was totally surprised because, come on, I haven't done ballet for years and I've certainly never taught anyone - much less little girls. But I agreed to think about it, and spent the next several days considering the logistics in my mind. Where would we do it, when (my schedule changes every week!), what all would they be able to do, how would I know what to teach them, where would I get the music from, could I gather my dance stuff from home, how could I get fabric to make the little skirts the mom suggested . . . etc. etc.

While I was at home, a miracle happened. My mom had agreed to fund fabric for tiny pink sparkly skirts for the girls, but I didn't know what else they would wear. The day before my brother's wedding, the mother of the bride said to me, "I mentioned your ballet class to a friend of mine; she's cleaning out their school's old costume closet and wondered if she might have anything you could use!" She just so happened to have a stack - like, eight - of brand-new leotards, just the right sizes for the girls I planned to teach, so she gave them to me - along with several yards of pink and yellow satin and six silver tiaras. Can I say that I was excited??? (Side note: when I was a kid I had this idea that missionaries were super boring people, but in that moment I was thinking, "WOW, I love being a missionary!!!" If I had had the means to easily provide those leotards for myself, I never would have had that awesome and impossible blessing!)

Last week, the mom who had asked me about the class helped me draft and sew two little skirts for the girls (out of the satin - we're now saving the sparkles for a really special occasion) ;-) and today I had a practice class with her daughter. (Next week I'll start with all six girls, but I wanted to do a runthrough just with one.) She looked totally, totally adorable, wearing a black leotard, white tights, that little pink skirt, and a grin painted from one ear all the way to the other. We had some balancing challenges with the ship rolling (we're sailing right now), but we danced for half an hour, and when we were through she wanted to start all over again. :-D I think I'm going to enjoy this. :-) Yeah, so I'm not such a great dancer myself, but at least I have a little experience and these girls don't care if my jete looks awful. :-)

"Second Sight"

After one full day here in Sierra Leone, I am . . . amazed. Seriously - in the Caribbean there were so many breathtaking beaches/waterfalls/forests/flowers/natural phenomenons, but here the beauty is in the people. I never expected to ever go to Africa and I never understood what caused people to love it so much - I mean, dirt and poverty aren't so exciting, are they? But - I've heard people say it before and never understood - the people are so beautiful.

During the whole voyage we had training from a South African couple, and one thing I noticed that he said frequently, when he was trying to emphasize a point, was, "Do you hear me?" or "I hope you're hearing me." In other words, "I hope my words are doing more than existing - I hope they are really penetrating your heart and mind. I hope you hear me."

Similarly, people want to be seen - their existence confirmed, their humanity and worth acknowledged. That's something missing in many western cultures - certainly in my own. I know - I've waitressed for four years - how easy it can be to look at a person, to speak to them and interact with them and even serve them, without ever seeing them.

After supper tonight my ship family went for a walk to get into town a little bit - but we got no more than a quarter of a mile past the ship, because first one, then another of us would hang back talking to someone and the whole group would have to wait. :-) Always people were trying to get our attention in various ways, and the kids! My ship sister, Miriam, started talking to one of them when we left the ship, and by the time we had walked down the street and back, there were at least 25 of them walking with us. They wanted to talk to us, meet us, hear our names and tell us theirs, hold our hands - when we ran out of hands, they'd hold our arms, my skirt, whatever they could just to be close.

If I was sitting at home hearing someone else tell about a similar experience, I would nod and smile and think I understood because I had heard things like it before. And I would have been (and have been for many years) completely missing the point. Because it's not just about a nice "missionary" story, it's about real people, created by God, who look in your face and ask you to see them.

Water, water, everywhere . . .

I don't think as quickly as I used to. I used to have all kinds of ideas flowing in and out of me so quickly, but now the deluge has been reduced to a trickle. Mostly I'm more interested these days in what I am doing, rather than what I am thinking, and I'm pretty sure that's good. I'm pretty sure that for me, it is progress in a good direction. I'm studying in James, where in the first chapter he emphasizes the importance of not just hearing truth, but actually applying it practically and living accordingly. It's important, yo.

Anyway, I thought it might be interesting to provide a description of our Atlantic crossing – maybe it's interesting. :-) We left from Dominica after some major complications regarding a tax that Customs threw at us at the last minute – basically they were just trying to gouge us, but they were insistent and we couldn't leave until we had reached a conclusion and been cleared. We had planned to leave mid-afternoon, but instead there was a high-drama meeting on board that lasted all night. Finally at almost midnight, they reached some sort of a temporary consensus and I watched on the webcams from my bed as they left the ship and we were finally able to leave.

We have had wonderful weather for the most part – so many people have been praying and I am so thankful to them and to God, because bad weather in the middle of the Atlantic would really have been traumatic for me, I think. We have also been generally spared from seasickness, which is fantastic. My friend Elly, who usually gets really sick, bade us “goodbye” the day we left – not expecting to see much of us for the duration of the sail, since she usually just spends sails curled up in her room. But the next morning, and every morning since then, she's been up and around, feeling fine. Many other people are the same. Whether due to good medication, the ship's constant movement in Dominica which sort of prepped us for the sail, or sheer providence, I couldn't say, but it's definitely a blessing.

I've been working in the pantry, washing dishes. It's been great – it is overall so easy and we have fun. For me it doesn't even really feel like work because for me, work is equated with being in the book fair and dealing with lots of emotional stress – working with difficult people, etc. Hanging out in the pantry with happy people still feels kind of like vacation for me – it's such a nice break!!! Sometimes it turns into a complicated juggling act, though, thanks to the ship's rolling. I generally unload and sort the clean dishes, and it's entertaining. Today I was there by myself, so the big game was timing my steps in between the rolls. For example, do I have enough time to slide across the dish pit, put away this silverware tray, and hurry back in time to catch this tray of dishes before it goes careening backwards into the wrong side of the dishwasher??? Slippery floors + lots of wheels + constant tilting back and forth = a CHALLENGE. :-D

The stairs are another fun place to deal with the motion. In addition to walking into the walls and handrails, you also get to deal with significant changes in gravity depending on whether we are moving upward or downward. If you start when the ship is headed up, you just FLY up the stairs, no problem. But six seconds later, suddenly your feet turn into lead and the effort is just hardly worth it any more. Initially when walking around the ship I tried to act normal – walking in straight lines, not varying my speed, etc. But it's much easier actually when you just make friends with the movement and work with it. So when climbing the four flights of stairs up to the dining room (or the six to the top deck, or whatever), I usually RUN . . . and then stop. RUN . . . stop. I know I look like a weirdo, but it takes a lot less energy, which is a hot commodity when we are sailing and every normal daily function becomes more difficult.

A highlight for me was the night I had a Southern breakfast with the other U.S. Southerners on board – scrambled eggs, cheese grits, cornbread muffins, chocolate chip pancakes, hamburger steak (okay, leftover hamburgers from the night before), and sweet tea (its appropriateness for Southerners outweighed its inappropriateness for breakfast). :-D It had kind of an off-kilter feeling to it all, because of course it just wasn't the same as a big breakfast back home, but for the ship, where everything comes from the Netherlands, has to be gathered by creative means, and frequently requires substitutions for the key ingredients that we don't have, it was pretty impressive. Many people here hang out with people from their home country a lot – the Latinos have their preferred table in the dining room, as do the Asians, the Dutchies, the Russians, the Brits, etc. - but the Americans don't really hang out together. I don't know about others, but in the beginning I avoided being in a group of Americans because Americans already have their own stereotype and I didn't want to fuel it by becoming cliquish.

Other things I've done while sailing across the Atlantic Ocean:
- slept under the stars (didn't get much sleep, but it was still AWESOME)
- sewed a skirt - long enough that I can wear it in Muslim countries
- helped cook a Russian meal, and
- eaten raw fish – twice. (and NO, I didn't like it!)

On "bonding" . . .

When I came, one of the things I most wanted to learn was how to love more easily, not being so choosy about the people I let into my heart. Now I wonder what that means.

When my friend Alison left, it was really hard on me - my first "ship" goodbye – because I genuinely cared about her. It was the point at which I was forced (for the first time) to really consider what I want my relationships here to be like. I remember my ship father, Des, commenting around that time that he really doesn't have a hard time with goodbyes anymore because there have been so many – so many teams he's been on that have now moved on, so many people in his life for a short time. But I didn't entirely like that, because something inside of me shook a tiny fist and wondered, “If you genuinely love a person, shouldn't you be sad when you are separated from them??”

Here we are overwhelmed with relationships, and it's really hard sometimes. We have “bonding” opportunities with 400+ people on the ship, plus unlimited “meaningful conversation” opportunities with the people in each port (with the potential for long-term relationships – I already have a few email/facebook buddies from the countries we've been in ), PLUS we each struggle, by varying degrees, to maintain the relationships we left at home. And every new relationship we make is clouded by the knowledge that, if we really open ourselves up to that person and allow ourselves to care about them, the inevitable consequence is miserable pain when we have to say goodbye, probably never to meet again. And how are we supposed to deal with it? As one of my friends who has been here awhile commented, “I've just quit making new friends.”

Funny how he's learned the opposite of what I wanted to learn here. But even as I consider that somewhat calloused comment, it makes me reconsider my original goals. I am only capable of deeply caring about and investing in a limited number of people. In the past, I limited the number of people in my life to approximately the number of people I was able to love. Now when there are so many “opportunities” on every corner, I've found that “meaningful” conversations often mean much less. We can spend lots of time together, have lots of fun, have great, open, honest conversations without even cracking open our hearts. It's really hard sometimes.

Today was one heck of a day. On the one hand, it really sucked, but on the other hand, it was so good because it was real. One of my friends here had a truly terrible day and got hit with way more abuse than anyone should have to from a visitor. And we sat and talked about it all tonight – some really crappy things – but you know what? I really, genuinely cared (real me, not the person I wish I could become) and she shared what was really, genuinely going on in her life. I know it sounds so unremarkable, but it was real and it was good.

That's not conclusive – these days, nothing in my life is conclusive, and it drives me crazy. (It's also why I post so rarely on here – because my thoughts are so fragmented that it's hard to have anything to say except the tiniest random thought. Also it's hard because my English is falling apart here! But that's a different matter . . . ) But it's what I've got for today. And at least it's a start on figuring something out for a change.

per your requests . . . :-P

OH LOOK. It's a picture of my AWESOME hair. :-P Whew. This isn't the lady who actually did it, but she was one of the ladies who I hosted at dinner that night. They have been hair braiders for 15+ years, working in a little pavilion where all the tourists can walk right by and see them. I ended up being really glad I had gotten it done . . . I had a headache for two solid days, but it was fun getting to hang out with Margaret on her turf instead of mine, asking her questions about her family, seeing how the women interacted, and so forth. When I got there, she introduced me to several people as "her friend from the ship" . . . many of the women there had made friends on the ship - as the crewmembers' hair could attest to. :-P Let's just say that it looked better on some than on others . . . I had at least six different people look at me and then just burst into hysterical laughter. I liked that the most, because I felt like it was genuine (because it was exactly how I felt about it). Anyway. Enough jabbering about a silly hair style. :-D

And there was light . . .

So, the Bahamas were wonderful . . . the people were super friendly and I loved getting a taste of the city as it really is, not just through the eyes of a typical tourist. I had one awesome day of exploration and several awesome conversations with people who came on the boat. Often I was quite confident that I got way more out of it than they did. Which just makes me wonder again, "God, why did you really send me here?" :-)

Tonight is our second night sailing. Since we obviously don't have work in the book fair, tomorrow I will be working as an Angel (cleaning staff), which means I have to get up SUPER early and I don't have much time, but I wanted to tell this first. :-)

For some reason I went outside tonight - I don't remember making that decision, but somehow I ended up outside by myself. All the big lights were off, so the only light was what was shining on the water from the ship's windows. The stars were fabulous, and I saw this one that was so bright and twinkly that it appeared to be changing all different colors. I stood there for a while, musing about how neat it is that the only lights for miles around were us and the stars . . . when suddenly I looked down at the waves we were churning up and . . . are they sparkling? What? Is that light in the water? Am I seeing things?

I ran inside looking for someone to enjoy it with me and the first person I saw was my Korean friend Woo Young. I said, "Woo Young! Come see!!!" and he said, "What, glowing plankton?"

GLOWING PLANKTON. I think I might have heard of such a thing sometime in the past, but that's totally different from the feeling you get when you suddenly realize that the waves are producing their own light. The flying fish are fun. The huge sea turtle I saw last time was exciting (and I hope we didn't run over it and kill it). :-P But glowing plankton? Now that's just AWESOME.

Bahamas!

I think on Wednesday I am going to go get my hair braided. Braided. In those tiny cornrows that look so silly on most white people that generally only tourists get them done.

Here's why though.

Today I hosted some local people for supper . . . I was somewhat skeptical about it because it was my first time to do that, and because they kind of invited themselves (slash, very pointedly asked me for an invitation). It ended up being a really nice time and I enjoyed it very much. They told me they had been braiding hair in a booth outside the cruise line terminal for seventeen years, and they told me that I really needed to come and let me braid their hair - as a gift, as a favor, for no charge - as many ways as they could think of to say it. :-) My first reaction was to just laugh it off and not take them up on it - I think it would look ridiculous on me and make me look like a total tourist, plus it hurts!! But eventually (after they had mentioned it multiple times) I decided to go for it.

Bahamas culture is really unusual in that it is such a tourism culture. Every single day, thousands of people arrive in the morning and are gone by the evening. Thousands of others come spend their vacations at all-inclusive resorts, which they never have to leave unless they really want to. Odd as it may be, Bahamian culture is kind of "imported," and this is the way they are accustomed to interacting with people like me.

I think afterward I will feel enthusiastically amused . . . and I'll probably have one heck of a headache. :-)

One Art

One Art
Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.



Is there a word for "the opposite of a paradox"? A paradox sounds impossible but is really true; this sounds (at first) sincere and is actually false. I'm tempted to really analyze it because it has so many facets, but I think I'll keep it in my mind for now and let you do your own thinking if it interests you. And if you do your own thinking, you should share it with me.

Of mineral baths and humanity . . .

This afternoon, I finally got off the ship again. There is a mineral bath nearby - the only thing nearby to where we are - and I walked there with Tanya and Micha. We were the only Caucasians in the whole place (which was nowhere near as uncomfortable for me as it would have been two months ago). It was wonderful - the sun was so nice and the water felt fantastic - and while I was just hanging out in the pool, I had such a neat slice-of-life moment. I heard a commotion on one side of the pool and looked over to see a Jamaican woman teaching her daughter how to float on her back. She was supporting her underneath and trying to convince her to do it. "It's okay, I've got you, I've got you." Exactly how my parents did with me. Exactly how I've done with other (American) children.

It all just seemed so normal to me . . . going to a Jamaican hangout spot with a Russian couple. And there are many things I don't really "get" about Jamaicans and Jamaican culture, but I "get" what it's like to learn how to float on your back. I know exactly what that's all about. SO many things are different, but at the same time . . . we're all humans and some things are just the same. Not profound, I know. But it was a neat experience.

In other news . . . I've heard that things change ALL the time here on the ship, but it's interesting when you start to experience it. I've been working - what, three and a half weeks? - and I've already had a job change. Slash addition. Three days ago I had training to be a head cashier, and last night was my first night. When they asked me, I wasn't sure what to say, but I am SO GLAD I agreed - I really enjoyed it. I don't think I could do it by myself yet, but it'll come, right? It's actually a lot like waitressing, where it's just a matter of crazy multi-tasking and trying to keep everything working smoothly. Except it can get scary because you work with money instead of just food. :-) When they did all the paperwork at the end of the night, the guy who was helping train me tried to convince me that if there were any errors (which there always are) they were going to take it out of my pocket money . . . thats not actually the case, but it's still a little nervewracking to be responsible for money.

Anyway. I feel like this is a boring post, but it's better than nothing, eh?

A Meta-Post . . .

I kind of thought I would be more frequent about posting on here. But as I keep intending to write posts and my good intentions keep failing, I have concluded that there is a problem - and I think I have figured out what the problem is. One thing is that I am still very much in the adjustment phase - I'm still just trying to get a grip on my new life - which is certainly a privilege but which is also quite hard and quite different. What this means is that I don't really have much of anything interesting to say. Any thoughts I have regarding my new life are expressed in the form of questions. Generally you pose questions to a particular audience, with the goal of getting some sort of an answer - you don't necessarily just write them out for the heck of it. However, I suppose it is possible that someone may be interested enough to read and respond to a question, so I'm willing to take a gamble on it, even though that wasn't my original purpose for this blog.

So here goes.

The big question is this: What is the bare minimum for salvation?

The question that relates more to my life is this: Is it possible that a Rastafarian is saved? Rastafarianism is basically a modification of Christianity. Many things have been added or twisted, but at some level they follow the Bible and believe in the same God we do. They believe in Jesus and everything he taught. They have an additional leader, Haile Selassie, but they don't place him above Jesus - they actually believe that he is the reincarnation of Jesus. They sin and violate the commandments we are given. So do I. They use faulty reasoning to justify their mistakes and their flawed ways of life. So do I. Their beliefs about God are not entirely accurate. Neither are mine.

There it is. Consider this an open invitation to join the discussion. :-D

Sometimes I have mini-personality crises, where I just don't understand myself and it confuses me a little. When I watched "Sense and Sensibility" in college, I was perplexed for a while about whether I was more like Elinor or Marianne. Romantic or pragmatic? Idealistic or realistic? This post is . . . the result of my idealism getting a stiff dose of reality thrown in with it.

For this trip, I came up with a lot of great ideas about the things I hoped to experience and learn, and I thought (still think) they were great things. The caveat, however, is that many of them are lessons which are learned through pain. Which I generally tend to HATE.

One of the things I was excited about learning was how to love and let go. My preferred relationship format is like this: I take my time getting to know a person and building a relationship with them, and then we stay friends forever. Which is nice, and y'know, sometimes you just don't have that luxury.

When I worked at summer camp two years ago, I had a hard time with the girls in my cabin, because each week, I felt like I had just learned to love them when they would up and leave and I knew I'd never see them again. What was worse was that, while I was still struggling with saying goodbye to those girls, a whole new group of girls for me to love would turn up at my doorstep, and I would think, "This isn't possible. The girls I love are gone, and I don't know or care about these girls." And then by the end of the week the story would be the same - the cycle just kept going.

While this was going on, the person who had the greatest impact on me, who invested in me more than anybody else, was a missionary kid who was working as the photographer. She was fun and gracious and she was willing to share herself with people, and it meant a lot to me. In my mind, I made a connection between her behavior and her upbringing, I expect because she said something about it, although I don't remember specifically.

Missionaries have so many goodbyes. When you give up one life to create a new life, you can lose your sense of home. You are rarely coming and often leaving. You have to love people you'll probably never see again.

And here's the truth: it really stinks.

It stinks that one of the people I've spent the most time with since coming here is leaving in three weeks. It stinks how many people I've met and left already who I will never see again. It stinks that I miss people back home so much. It stinks that I'm going to have a load of hard goodbyes every six months, culminating in one huge goodbye in two years. Most of those goodbyes would not be hard for me now, but it's very clear to me that by the time they take place, they will be incredibly difficult.

So here's the crux of the matter: Is it worth it? Is the reward worth the sacrifice? Is it worth it to learn to love people, knowing the hardship that it brings? (The goodbyes are only one section of the hardship, by the way.)

I choose to believe that it is. It doesn't always feel like it - sometimes it feels like the best and safest thing to do would just be to insulate yourself and avoid the vulnerability and pain. But that's not life - that is staleness and suffocation.

It has to be worth it - it has to be worth it.

Germany

Last night I gave away my favorite pair of earrings – some tiny crystal dangles I wear with everything. Just took them out of my ears and put them in the hand of one of my new friends who is working as a nurse in a country that is unfriendly to Christians. She is very cool . . . you would like her. And I cried, giving my earrings away. I realize how vain that sounds of me, but somehow it wasn't just a pair of earrings I was giving away. After all, I've given away dozens of pairs of earrings without even a twinge – probably more than one pair exactly like those. So today I've been thinking about why it was so difficult for me to do.

And I've reached one conclusion, so far. I will probably think about this more before it gets laid to rest, but for now just one main thing, which is this. I have in my mind designated every part of my life as either “Keep” or “Share.” For example: at home when I cook, I decide ahead of time whether to make enough for several people (share) or just one (keep). When visitors come to our home, I'm glad to let them stay in my room (share), but honey, I'm not about to give up my bed (keep). When I make things, I plan before I make them whether they will be mine or someone else's . . . and from time to time I have been known to move something from the “share” section to the “keep” section, but hardly ever vice-versa.

This time, I gave away something that was very clearly and very thoroughly mine. I made them, intending them for myself. I wear them all the time. And I can't just replace them, which makes this a legitimate sacrifice (very small, I know, but bear with me – it's the principle I'm after here).

I do that as well in my relationship with God. I say, “This much I will give you – yes, and aren't I generous? – but these things over here are mine. Come this far, please, and you're welcome! – but no further.”

It is hard to do, giving up things that we consider our own.