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?
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
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.
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.
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.
Then
I think I have a favorite word. It's "then."
So far, everyone I've told has responded with facial expressions ranging from politely feigned interest to sheer bewilderment. But it makes sense to me, even though I can't explain it incredibly well. And I know this because I first thought it about two years ago, and I still agree with myself.
(p.s., studying grammar can really be a curse - after my months tutoring English, I can hardly write a thing without pondering essential and nonessential clauses, direct and indirect objects, and other such nonsense. It is highly distracting.)
Anyway.
The word then is most often used as an adverb, and it commonly means "at that time," "immediately or soon afterward," next in time or place," or "therefore."
The word then implies that there is something more that you can't see. It carries a sense of expectation, because when you see it you know there is more coming, although you don't yet know what that might be. Furthermore, the expectation of then is always satisfied: there always is more and you are never left wanting.
I think that applies to my life . . . at least, I hope so. And I like that.
So far, everyone I've told has responded with facial expressions ranging from politely feigned interest to sheer bewilderment. But it makes sense to me, even though I can't explain it incredibly well. And I know this because I first thought it about two years ago, and I still agree with myself.
(p.s., studying grammar can really be a curse - after my months tutoring English, I can hardly write a thing without pondering essential and nonessential clauses, direct and indirect objects, and other such nonsense. It is highly distracting.)
Anyway.
The word then is most often used as an adverb, and it commonly means "at that time," "immediately or soon afterward," next in time or place," or "therefore."
The word then implies that there is something more that you can't see. It carries a sense of expectation, because when you see it you know there is more coming, although you don't yet know what that might be. Furthermore, the expectation of then is always satisfied: there always is more and you are never left wanting.
I think that applies to my life . . . at least, I hope so. And I like that.
If the first train left from Ohio going 80 miles an hour . . .
None of this is sinking in, you know.
I can talk about it all day long (which at this point actually makes it seem less real, not more), but it doesn't really penetrate the mind my words apparently spring from.
It's surreal. How can I possibly understand that I am about to lose (leave, which is almost the same) every SINGLE person I love, all at the same time? The other changes are interesting to me (figuring out what I'm going to need, how I'm going to avoid offending other cultures, how I'm going to cope with weird food, etc.), but those things become minimal when contrasted with this.
And so I go through my days one at a time, methodically working through my lists in my usual hap-hazard way. Somehow my lists are getting checked off . . . Yesterday I joined the church and responded to friends who want to help support me. Today I called a pastor at OM, got two immunization shots and another prescription, finished my Christmas shopping, and went by Bryan to say a few important goodbyes (which were very hard, by the way). Tomorrow I will clean the apartment, start packing, call my OM adviser, and bake cookies for the cookie exchange at the women's Bible study at Westminster. Thursday I will move back home, and Friday I will have my wisdom teeth out so they won't cause a crisis while I'm gone.
And all the while, in the back of my mind, I am incredibly sad. I don't wallow in it, but neither can I escape it. And honestly - I don't want to escape right now. I feel so distant from it all sometimes that it makes me worry about the long-term repurcussions. I'm afraid I won't understand what is happening to me until I'm sitting on the plane. (At which point I'll probably go into a glorious fit of sobbing and wailing and they'll have to sedate me to keep me from scaring the children.) I would rather do my grieving now, privately, and thoroughly.
But most of the time . . . I just can't. I do what needs to be done . . . but I don't understand.
I can talk about it all day long (which at this point actually makes it seem less real, not more), but it doesn't really penetrate the mind my words apparently spring from.
It's surreal. How can I possibly understand that I am about to lose (leave, which is almost the same) every SINGLE person I love, all at the same time? The other changes are interesting to me (figuring out what I'm going to need, how I'm going to avoid offending other cultures, how I'm going to cope with weird food, etc.), but those things become minimal when contrasted with this.
And so I go through my days one at a time, methodically working through my lists in my usual hap-hazard way. Somehow my lists are getting checked off . . . Yesterday I joined the church and responded to friends who want to help support me. Today I called a pastor at OM, got two immunization shots and another prescription, finished my Christmas shopping, and went by Bryan to say a few important goodbyes (which were very hard, by the way). Tomorrow I will clean the apartment, start packing, call my OM adviser, and bake cookies for the cookie exchange at the women's Bible study at Westminster. Thursday I will move back home, and Friday I will have my wisdom teeth out so they won't cause a crisis while I'm gone.
And all the while, in the back of my mind, I am incredibly sad. I don't wallow in it, but neither can I escape it. And honestly - I don't want to escape right now. I feel so distant from it all sometimes that it makes me worry about the long-term repurcussions. I'm afraid I won't understand what is happening to me until I'm sitting on the plane. (At which point I'll probably go into a glorious fit of sobbing and wailing and they'll have to sedate me to keep me from scaring the children.) I would rather do my grieving now, privately, and thoroughly.
But most of the time . . . I just can't. I do what needs to be done . . . but I don't understand.