on the go

Well. Like always, it feels like a decade of living has been done in the short few months between posts. I feel like as I get older, this only intensifies. This must be how we wake up as octogenarians feeling like we were just sixteen the year before. It's hard to eke out the focus to truly appreciate every moment as they all rush by.

I'm learning to be better about that, though. There's plenty these days that I still don't enjoy (class, assignments, work when I'm still tired, cleaning), but there are a lot of things to be grateful for. I recognize more the blessings in my life and am gratified also that those blessings are not tied to 'stuff' like they used to be. My blessings these days are people, and moments, and experiences and hopes that are inspired by all of that. It's incredible to me how the things I once took for granted are now the things that I desperately need to survive.

I'm still in school. Still technically writing my thesis, still attending classes (when I don't forget to go). Still living in DC. I moved, from my wonderful big house, to my own apartment on campus- and I'm loving it. It feels like most other things are still the same. But like always, it feels that time has molded a new reality for me. Constantly in a state of transition even if I feel the same, I have given up trying to adapt to the change all around me and now I just feel like life has swept me up, rolling on its own here and there and I'm floating along on the tide.

I suppose I'm in that stage of life where people begin making big life decisions. The kind that change the social landscape so intensely you might not even recognize where you are anymore. In the past six months, five of my dearest friends have gotten married. My younger sister is planning a New Year's Eve ceremony with her fiance (weird, weird, weird). Another of my closest friends has got a date tacked down for next summer. And two more close friends have shifted the language they use to describe their relationships-- into something serious if not altogether at the same stage as the others.

In the past six months, I have been to Georgia, Illinois, New York, and Florida for weddings. I have also been making fairly regular trips all over the place-- nearly half of all the weekends in the past six months have been spent somewhere other than home. There's been the weddings, as I mentioned, there was my regular trip home to Houston, which was eventful to say the least, and then there have been regular trips to either Binghamton or Carlisle to see Mark. I've been really on the go. No wonder I've been sick so many times this semester, or that I feel like I'm always either tired or going even though I don't actually do anything anymore. Poor Mark has spent 31 days-- a full MONTH in the last 5 months up here in DC or with me in Carlisle. And with his night job and my full time day job plus class-- It's absolutely no wonder neither of us feel like we have energy for anything else. When you add in time spent on video chat or on the phone, well. That is the answer to the question I've been asking myself: Why haven't I sewn anything in the past six months?

Allyson got married first, in GA in June.Jessica and Eric got married in June, too. In IL. These two are down for the count. Theirs was the NY wedding in October.

Erica had a very private ceremony (family only, so I couldn't attend), in November.

Diana married Kory in November, too, in FL. (Busted this photo out of the archives for real, yo)

I guess that is also the explanation for where the time has flown. The more you do, the faster it feels like time passes. I look forward to getting to a place in life where I can live slowly. Where I can take time to sew and can and cook and don't have to worry about scheduling time to talk to Mark. Where I can easily spend a lazy Saturday all at home and I don't have to feel guilty about the things I'm not doing in order to do so. Where a free weekend ahead of me: with no social obligations and perhaps not even having friends in town doesn't leave me feeling baffled and mopey, but excited for the creating I can do instead. For the walks I can take. For the adventures I can have in the city. But there isn't any of that in my near future.

On Tuesday, I'm driving to Binghamton to spend Thanksgiving with Mark and his family. The weekend after that, I'll be in Carlisle again, to go thrifting with Ashlinn. I've got two weeks before my Credo paper is due for Systematics and three weeks before final exams for everything. Then, my dear friend Rachel will be flying up to hang out and visit for the first time in four years! And then we'll be driving down to Houston together. I'll be there for two weeks before driving back up to DC in time for Sunday night Doctor of Ministry check-in. And did I mention that I'm introducing Mark to my family when I'm in Houston that week and a half? Yup, it's a BIG deal. And yup, no end to the busy-ness in sight.

Haven't seen this lady for more than a few hours since Christmas 2007-- when my niece was born.

I'm a little scared for where this leaves my thesis. I absolutely have to graduate this May-- I can't spend another semester in school right now. I desperately need a break and a change of scenery: four full years of working my ass off to pay for school and then actually being IN school has left me drained and ready to move on. It will be interesting to squeeze in other big changes for me in the next six months.

Mark and I spent Halloween weekend in Carlisle with Ashlinn and Josh.

But I'm sure wherever the tide carries me, I'll be able to find things to be grateful for along the way.

the difference a year makes

One year ago today, I wrote this post. It's incredible how much has changed in year, on so many levels. I felt so collected last year when I wrote that post. I remember sitting on my porch, so satisfied with the newness of understanding the need to pause and reflect on my own connection to creation; my new love for the changing of seasons and the evidence before me that Fall had come. I remember a great sense of peace and readiness for the coming school year and the things that I would learn and the ways in which I would grow in relationship with others and with God. I had time for tea.

And this year, an entire year later, I feel greater than before. I feel more connected to creation, more in love with the seasons and more well-rounded and balanced in my need to renew that connection. I've had very few occasions when I needed a grand gesture to help me get by. For the most part, I've been able to integrate small gestures to help me cobble a new way of life; a new set of priorities. I fully participated in summer-- so much so that it is gone already and I am holding a new acorn in my hands and wondering where the time flew to.

This weekend, I spent Labor Day in Binghamton, NY. I was there to visit someone special and to attend the wedding shower of dear friends. The weather while I was there shifted from what we had been experiencing in DC: from hot and humid to mild and beautiful and then suddenly downright cool, and not just during the nights. I had checked the forecast and knew to pack a sweater, but even still I was not prepared for the shift in seasons. Leaves had already begun to fall and the ground was already covered in acorns that have only just begun to fall here. There was a smell on the breeze that made me feel ready for pumpkin carving and recall the late October-early November feeling of being wrapped in school, preparing for Halloween and then Thanksgiving. My recent experiences in DC responded with a desire for apple cider, sweaters and warm blankets, and apple picking!

It was a disconcerting experience, though I feel certain there is little that can be experienced that is more lovely than Fall in New York. I simply am not ready this year for Fall to have come. I am not at peace with another year of school, and not prepared for changes there. Although I have felt ready to leave this place and I have great big plans for what comes next (scores of them, really), I suddenly feel unready to be done with summer in this place. Unready for a final fall. Unready, despite my grievances with being a perpetual student, to start my descent to commencement. I feel unprepared, I feel behind, and I want my beautiful summer back! I demand it.

Perhaps I am influenced by a summer paper that must be written tonight, and the sure knowledge that I do not want to write it, that I am tired and would prefer to do other things. That as the paper wraps up and gets submitted I am spending the last hours of my glorious summer on a dreaded assignment. Perhaps I am influenced by the magnitude of the summer I have had and the impact the events of the summer will bear on my future. Perhaps the fast passage of my favorite time of year-- gone in the blink of an eye-- is an indication of how life will be from now on: like some sort of response to falling in love. Couldn't I fall in love and drag out every day from now until eternity in sheer happiness and utter bliss? Does my level of contentment have to affect the speed with which my happiness passes before me?

Whatever the reasons, I am craving sweet summer. Fresh corn and boxes of tomatoes, hot summer days, lazy summer weekends. Free evenings for impulsive recreational activities. A slower pace and fewer students at work. More movies and sleeping in and less classwork and punctuality. I will miss traveling and visiting with old friends, I will miss the beach trips I failed to take this year, and the fireworks and the birthday candles and the trip to Waco which I did not take. I will miss the more intimate worship at Calvary, and I miss the Camp Fraser involvement that was not available this summer. I will miss picnics by the fountain in the sun. I will miss ice cream cones and Saturday mornings for brunch and trips to the farm stand. I miss reading for pleasure. I miss feeling free. I miss not being in class.

I am not ready for long sessions of trying to focus and restraining myself from surfing the internet, late nights writing mediocre papers I fake an interest in. I am not ready for the rush at the office which is already well underway, or the quickness with which a week is gone here. I am not ready for Refectory lunches or to say goodbye to Ashlinn. I am not ready for Fall. I am simply not ready.

And yet, it seems I do not have a choice. For although it was 95 degrees here today in DC, that Fall feeling I felt in NY will come to DC soon as well. And though I will miss the traditional elements of summer, I used this season to its fullest. I wrung the last drop out of summer in all the best ways. I don't have time for tea and front-porch sittin' this year, as there is that pesky paper to write, but I do feel content with where I am in life and my relationships in it. I did learn a lot, and I have changed a lot in the last four seasons, and I am grateful for what I will learn in the next four. Like last year, and the million things I did not get accomplished, but learned to take a breath from anyway, there will always be things that do not get done. But life will surprise you in the best possible ways. Maybe you'll spend an entire summer focused on something (someone) new that you couldn't possibly have planned, who will make those million things not matter at all. Who will make you wish for endless summers repeating the same. Who, even while you dread the the exchange of seasons without your permission, will make the new season greater than the old. Even if I am not ready, that is something to look forward to.

a beginning in the end

Well. To explain my absence, I've been writing elsewhere. I know, it's kind of like cheating on myself, but that seems to be my habit: writing thoughts here and there willy-nilly, not doing a good job of keeping track of them-- where they are and what I've said. As long as I get to write it somewhere. It's always more useful when I can return and read through a growing phase, though. But lately my thoughts and need to write has been too personal to put on the internet. And not entirely related to the PE.

But it's mid August now, and my last year of graduate school will be starting pretty soon. My last year as a graduate student, my last year (hopefully) working at the seminary, my first year in this place without either the cohort I began my studies with or the fast friends I have made among them. It's going to be strange and different. It's going to be chaotically wonderful. A little bittersweet, a lot of conclusion. And in that conclusion, a great deal of new beginnings.

This is true on an academic level as I plod through writing my thesis with a full time job and part time classwork. I want my thesis to be relevant to how I live my life: practical theology-- and also personal, dealing with something I've been thinking and working on for a good long time. I don't want to end up grasping for words at the last minute, writing until the deadline, saying anything, repeating what I've already said, in an attempt to just get it done. I want to finish and be proud of what I've put together, have thought and considered all of the words I have connected and feel like I'm in a physically different place than when I began. I already feel as if the scenery's changed.

So you may recall that my thesis is going to be written on simplicity. Although I intend to do some research on simplicity movements throughout Christian history (including monasteries and cloisters up through new monasticism), this idea was ultimately borne from my own desire to live in a way that is radically different to the life I had been living. I came to seminary to learn how to live as a Christian. And while I am educated to the point that I understand there is no one way to live as a Christian, I have been able to isolate a few paths that help me to feel closer to God. I feel that practical theology is the only theology for me. In completing my thesis on a topic that is so personal and also so practically lived-- I feel a sense of completion and accomplishment in my goals for beginning my studies. I want to live more simply. I never knew how much I had, how complicated I make things-- or that simple was so attainable, than I do at this point.

I am a product of American consumerism, and more than that, the adult Amelia is the product of an impoverished childhood. Money was the number one issue in my family-- the source of the most fights, the restraint of the most living, and for me, the source of the most guilt. Yet, despite my hard work to support myself through college, a grant-year in Indonesia, and the past three years of graduate school, despite my need to use credit to pay for necessities like doctor's visits and groceries, I have also managed to live a life that is materialistically wasteful. I don't know where the balance is between watching every penny and not knowing where I spent that $50-- or when I shifted from avoiding certain social situations because I knew they would be costly-- to becoming the initiator, in some social situations, for unnecessary expenditures. But I have come to realize in the past four months or so, the error of my excess.

Back in May, I understood that somehow my wasteful habits had grown out of control. I mean primarily: spending habits (although there are others). I embarked on a month of no new things: I spent the entirety of the month of May shunning any new purchases besides food-- no new clothes or shoes, no weird kitchen appliances, no jewelry or fabric or art supplies. I didn't even allow myself to spend money on the garden until the last weekend of the month when I decided that a tomato plant would ultimately bear fruit which I would eat. That probably doesn't sound like much of a challenge, but then, that is an explanation for how bad things had gotten. May was initially a challenge, but by the end of the month, I was glad to use the excuse not to wander around suburban Maryland and I honestly didn't miss the things I might have otherwise bought. I even began exploring thrift and opportunity shops, which I have come to appreciate way more than the nearby Target-- after all, I said no new things.

But after May had passed, I realized that I had merely transferred my desire to be wasteful to more economically responsible ways of wasting. Instead of brand new anything from a chain store, I had been purchasing unnecessary second hand treasures. I ended up with a pile of stuff I couldn't even properly sort-- a pile which grew to behemoth proportions.

June passed and I contemplated on my ability not to purchase new things retail and my newfound love for the thrift while I let myself be wildly distracted by other worthy personal endeavors. But by July I knew that I was no better off than when I had begun. I knew I needed to adopt no new anything as a shopping habit-- and I knew I needed to cull.

That's right.

Cull.

I had so much STUFF that I couldn't keep track of, organize, or use everything I had collected. I have been in DC three years and I am both embarassed and ashamed to say that I moved to this city with just what would fit in my little toyota matrix-- but at the beginning of July, I had an entire apartment worth of everything-- furniture, linens, art supplies, waaay more clothes and shoes than I could ever wear, kitchen gadgets-- you name it and I had it-- stuffed into my bedroom and the communal spaces of a shared house. I had. Way. too. much of it.

So with some good help, I spent a week going through the things that I owned. I started with my clothes, shoes and jewelry, moved to miscellany in the bedroom/office and home goods. I cut out more than 1/3 of my wardrobe in its entirety-- and two weeks after the cut, I don't miss a thing I let go. I haven't worn the same thing twice, and there's still plenty left to wear in the closets and in the drawers. I filled four ikea bags--heaping bags-- and that's just what my four helpers did not take home with them.

Most of the cull was done at this point. This was working through the clothes.

The end result is a bedroom that I can maintain. Clothes that get worn, sorted in the hamper, and washed on a weekly basis- and then easily folded and put away. No monthly 8-12 load laundry marathon. No rewashed loads, no wrinkled clothes. No busted dresser drawers. Two small loads and homemade washing detergent. Shoes get put away, earrings get rehung, keys are always where I think they'll be. And while I haven't taken any trips in the past two weeks, I highly suspect packing for a weekend trip would be a breeze. I'm not done, of course. There is still one box I didn't make it through during the cull, as well as the jubilee of all my treasures to new homes-- hopefully friends who will love them well. And I've already determined a follow-up culling is called for (say that ten times fast). If I can so easily live without all that I've already gotten rid of, surely I can live without even more.

I think one of the areas where I've gained perspective is to be able to do these things as a sort of spiritual discipline. I came to seminary to learn how to do life according to the commitment of my life to Christ, and somehow I missed a major message. This is me, getting back to that message. This is me, exercising what I have learned in seminary. This is me, growing, evolving into something better than I am, and valuing what I'm meant to value according to God and not according to capitalism. At least, as I am understanding it to be.

Of course, I'm not holier than thou. I still OWN more than many people I know (hence, the follow-up cull). I still possess more than I need. I will likely take more out and give more away and get rid of more, but I think the balance is hard to find. I'll never be a minimalist. I'll always struggle with what is just enough and what is too much. But I'm happy to report I'm wrestling with the issue in an honest way. And if you've got a lot of stuff, too, I'm not judging you for it-- just talking about how I'm fighting my way out from it.

So academically and practically, I'm building new habits and working on change as I start my engine in my last lap of the seminary journey. Relationally, I've also met someone amazing and I'm enjoying every moment of my beginning with him as well. I'm so grateful that there is birth in the conclusion, something new to move onto as this period of discernment and discovery naturally wraps up. Although I don't know a lot of big things about what happens next, there's a lot of hope and hopefully good new habits to fortify me as I find the way. Amen to that.

me and someone new

my day in photos

my day in photos. what a good day it was.

just a moment on the subject of female twisty brain

If you'll indulge me (and I know you will because this is my blog), I would like to take a moment to complain about the sudden onset of female twisty brain. Feminists beware; I am going to make some gross generalizations about my gender that even I am not entirely comfortable with. However, it seems to be my experience at the moment and I am tired of letting the products of female twisty brain be the fruitless topics of my daily conversations and interaction. I hope that I will be able to complain here, let it out and then move on in life. Ah.

Recently, I have noticed that there is a part of my brain which has come alive, previously dormant for quite some time. Not at all like the first onset of female twisty brain in my early twenties, it is not affecting my ability to eat (more's the pity) so much as it is grossly affecting my ability to ponder anything else. Namely, my thesis. Other people's issues. The potential of the summer I am usually so in love with at this time of year. Little dreams and bigger ones. The LOST series finale. Basically, you name it and it has been pushed to the back burner of my mind, while the wildly obsessive over-analytical thoughts being cranked out by the female twisty brain have completely taken over.

Even though my logical brain is saying one thing, female twisty brain is insisting the opposite. And while I think I am listening to the logical half, the female twisty brain is making me feel like the I am not listening to the logical half at all. Jealousy? Possession? Wild fantastical delusion? Oh wait, the latter exist even when female twisty brain is inactive.

But really. Why second guess all things I know to be true? Why push for a reality that doesn't exist yet when the reality that does is really damn fine? Why let my legalistic side take over and demand statements made in black and white instead of being comfortable with the inferences I typically feel safe to draw? There's no explanation.

It's always an exciting time when female twisty brain takes over-- it means the potential for change is great (the potential is there even if it remains only potential). But it makes me mad that I seem to fall into this girlish stereotype- ever. I mean, I never see men behaving this way. I never see men letting little things become huge, over thinking them and talking them up from all angles until they have exhausted the subject-- and then returning back to them again. I never see men lose their patience the way I have felt my patience lost. I am sure there are equally unfortunate facets of male psychology that women may not face, but at this moment in time, I can't think of a single one. I guess that's what happens when you make gross generalizations.

More than anything, I am frustrated that my level of absorption has reached an all-time high, in a topic of conversation that really amounts not to much in the grand scheme of my near 26 years on earth. I don't like that female twisty brain not only consumes my daytime thoughts, preventing me from reaching the productivity level to which I have become accustomed, but also my subconscious: dreaming dreams that have me sleeping late or jumping out of bed in the morning. Dreaming dreams so real and vibrant, persuasive, alluring, emotional, satisfying. It's just not fair. I have work to do. And I have very little patience. I don't have time for this hott mess.

Go away, female twisty brain.

jaded

Tonight, I found myself talking about how individuals operate in friendships and how my perception of those relationships has altered in the past six months. I said, without hearing myself, that I believe that ultimately, we are all solo agents. We meet up with folks who become our friends, good friends, even great friends, and we live life together with them for a time. But eventually, we choose to make decisions that separate us from those friends-- or without realizing it, we hide decisions we have made from those friends in fear of judgment-- decisions that may seem right for each of us in our lives that does not require or welcome the opinions of our friends. We choose life partners, we place our lives on new paths that lead away from some people in our lives and we do what we feel we need to do. We aren't able to 'keep' our friends forever-- because friendship is a sometimes temporary and always fluctuating bond; it is why we will have so many friendships throughout the course of our lives. We make friends to stave off loneliness, we make friends out of convenience, because we do things for one another and because proximity allows our friendships to occur. But life rarely keeps us together with our friends and eventually those friendships have to bend around the differences that grow apparent between individuals or they break. We may convince ourselves that we keep friends for life, but it's not true. We can hold onto the memory of a time when someone's opinion mattered the most to us, but eventually that friendship will become an infrequent phone call to hear what's happening in one another's lives and a moment to marvel in how different two solo agents have become.

And then I heard myself. And I thought to myself, I've become so jaded.

But while that sucks in a way that is hardly necessary-- to be so pragmatic and harsh about a necessary part of life that usually brings more joy than pain-- I think I have really come to that realization. We have to let people go-- we can't marry our friends. We don't get to live our whole lives with them. Or at least, most people don't. We can be the best of friends for a time, but eventually someone gets married and moves away and their spouse becomes the only person who can influence the true course of that person's life. Or, someone makes a decision or behaves in a way that deviates from what is expected or accepted and we come to realize that people will do what they want and will not ask permission from their friends regardless of how much they are loved. And in extreme cases, one party will reach this point where the decision has been made to act in this fashion, but will postpone sharing that decision and therefore judgment/conflict by withholding the decision. Let me tell you all, eventually, your friend will find out.

People can't live their lives according to what others think of them. People have to do what feels right to them, they have to go where they hear the siren song, they have to make their own mistakes. And sometimes, people can't let themselves be held back by the propriety or conservatism of someone they are close to. Whatever the reason and whoever makes the decision, friends fall apart. And then they move on. They alter the friendship that remains or they retreat to lick their wounds or they passionately go down in flames, more angry than hurt (but really more hurt than angry). Sometimes they come back.

I have had many friendships end throughout the course of my life, for many different reasons, and many morph into much different entities from their superior beginnings. I have usually been the one who has made the realization that my friends have changed the rules of engagement. For several of these friendships, I spent years licking my wounds. And not until recently did I get hip to the way these things work.

See, if you know up front that this is how 'friendship' operates, you don't approach these sorts of relationships expecting to be friends forever. You won't be so hurt when someone isn't around anymore, or miss them as much when they're gone. You won't have expectations that they cannot live up to. And you can fully appreciate and enjoy them while they last, knowing full well that a time will come when this closeness, this sense of complete understanding, has been replaced and no longer exists.

I realized my fault in my friendships. Not being one to date much, my friends have always been the superior relationships in my life. And so, a great part of myself was shared with them, a huge amount of trust was placed in them, and the expectation was that a friendship was meant to last a lifetime. But the reality of my expectations is way too much for anyone to bear-- it is no wonder friends have chosen to keep things from me in fear that they will let me down; that I will be disappointed; or that I would judge them for their choices. People should be free to move on from me. It has been my fault for giving too much of myself and for expecting too much in return.

I hear myself, probably better than I wish I could, and I know how jaded I sound. Who approaches a new friendship, thinking, 'this will end.'? Pessimists! And people who don't have friends. But at this point in my life, perhaps it's time I finally learn to exercise some caution to prevent some heartbreak. After all, if I'm a solo agent, no one else is going to care for my heart. It's just me looking out for myself (and of course, God can comfort me in my loneliness).

What I worry about, however, is how this line of thinking affects my view and understanding of the importance of community. I believe that relationships are everything. They are how we experience God, how we show our love for God, and how we exercise Christian lives: together living in community. But if my view of friendship has come to what it has, what does my view of community now look like? Do I still believe in its importance? Or is community merely a loose group of people we sometimes choose to consult and sometimes step away from when we want to do what we want do and community be damned? Is there really such a thing as accountability if we are so readily able to make decisions that will not be accepted by those who know and love us best? Is that not what community is meant for-- accountability? If our community is based perhaps not in friendship but the love God calls us to have for our neighbor, then does that hold us to a higher standard as community members than what I have come to expect from my friends? If that is the truth, than is this 'revelation' based more in hurt than in understanding? And if so, how do I ever recover?

So many questions and so few answers. Unsure where to go from here and who can help me broach these questions. Pardon me while I wrestle with these thoughts and attempt to sweep away the dust.

tomorrow, i will...

tomorrow, I will:

take the trash out.
see the floor.
finish the laundry.
change the bedsheets.

I will take time to breathe.

I will create.
finish projects finally.
start new projects.
think of others and the earth.

I will rest and recover.

I will plan for the week ahead.
take a morning walk.
enjoy living in my city.

and I will have a good Saturday.

may challenge

May seems like such a fresh start in so many ways. It's finally really spring (no more waking up to 30 degree weather, hopefully). I'm done with the Spring semester-- just submitted my last assignment yesterday. There's a tide turned at work as we prepare for summer and the following fall. I'm ready to plant my summer garden. Soon I'll be planning trips to the beach and to those plentiful summer weddings, instead of structuring my time around classes and other school obligations.

And so, that is why I feel that May 1 is the best time for me to start a new challenge. It is definitely going to be a challenge to me. But I endeavor to do my best to stick to the letter of the challenge, and not even to cheat in spirit. I'm giving up buying 'new' this month. Phew.

I have a tendency, it seems, to run out on a legitimate errand to buy something I need. However once I'm surrounded by aisles and aisles of beautiful new, likely manufactured in China and definitely mass produced, I lose my head. I buy things I don't need. I buy things sometimes I later realize I don't even want-- or at least wish I hadn't bought (especially if it's a good 'deal' or the thing is on sale, or I think it matches and it doesn't...).

And so, I need to develop the fortitude to end that.

Recently I discovered the thrift store. I mean, I had always kind of been on the hunt for a good one, but I finally discovered a good thrift store. And I think I love old things better than new things, anyway. I have always loved handmade things more than new things. And so it just makes sense that if I can make it myself or recycle someone else's instead of buying new, I should.

This is going to be difficult, of course. But I am challenging myself, for the month of May: No buying new things. I can buy old things, if I want to. I can make things, using old things or what I have, if I want to. But no more trips out to Target that end up costing me $60. And no more bag full of commercial junk: I am smarter than the consumer I sometimes still want to be.

Hopefully, this challenge will help me to save money, to value what I have more, to be creative in repurposing and help me finish old projects. I'm also hoping that this challenge is the beginning of helping to build new habits regarding my commercial ways and that in the end it won't be a challenge, but a new way to do things. Huzzah!

And now, off to pick up my CSA produce and help run my church garage sale...

yearning for a former me

Recently, I have been yearning for a version of my former self. This is definitely related to thinking with my sixteen year old brain: apparently when I become dissatisfied with my current situation, I begin to 1) approach it from a younger perspective and 2) yearn for the good 'ole days [of my 'youth']. Primarily, I have been nostalgic over the time I spent in Indonesia. To the nth degree. All the things I hated then, but still had the foresight and self-knowing to realize that while I hated certain aspects of my life in Indonesia, it wouldn't take long before I was wishing for them back. Some powerful 'grass is greener' thinking going on in the story of my life. I mean, I hated the fifteen minute walk to school (Ironically, it is still a fifteen minute walk to school. And history repeats). All the stares, the altitude of the walk, feeling so alone while being surrounded by pairs of people everywhere: female students arm-in-arm, gaggles of gangly boys, teachers in their matching green baju kuring, stooped grandparents and chunky grandbabies. I seemed to be the only one without a partner. And approaching the school, climbing the steep driveway, walking through the gate not knowing what I would encounter (there seemed to be absolutely no rhyme or reason to the assemblies, surprise school holidays, unexpected exams or re-set school schedules for obscure Muslim holidays. I can't even remember the number of times I showed up to school on time, but had mysteriously missed my class!).

It was a REALLY steep drive way. I was ALWAYS breathless by the time I reached the top, much to the amusement of--well, everyone.

I remember hating the cramped angkot rides to and from the market-- an absolute necessity, since I could neither afford nor could I stomach the luxury of taking a $2 'taxi' from my home in Kampung Garegeh to the hub of the city. Public transportation stopped running around dark. So, mostly, I was home by dark. On the rare occasions that I could not drag myself from the internet cafe on time, I have strong memories of being pulled in two directions: compelled by a knot of anxiety and dread in the pit of my stomach for not knowing how I would pulang (return home), warring with a desperate desire to be connected to home in one of the only ways still possible. It's so strange that I put such a major restriction on myself, and that I remember it so well. In retrospect, it seems so silly to have been concerned, but that's easy to think from my city with a safe and reliable metro system that enables me to return home into the early morning hours.

The angkot all lined up at Pasar Bawah. Just like the feeling I used to get when I might be picked to perform (and then mess up) in PE in elementary school, I used to repeat the number of my angkot over and over so I would get on the right one.

Although I lost weight quickly once I moved to Bukittinggi, I used to feel so BIG and fat and American in the angkot. Drivers fully expect to fit 15-18 passengers on a regular trip (and will wait until that many passengers embark before departing), but at least once, there were 21 of us, including the driver. I used to feel so guilty for taking more room than everyone else-- but physics is physics and my mass couldn't be condensed.

Did I mention that all the males smoked, everywhere? Even the male teachers, at school during the school day. In the moment, I used to abhor the practice, and it used to disturb my breathing. Now when I get a whiff of clove cigarettes, I pause and inhale.

And now a dreaded daily experience is a cultural quirk I fondly remember participating in.

How about the rain? During the wet season you could count on an afternoon shower without fail, and it was such a restriction because while it was raining, you needed to be indoors-- but if I were out and about, there was no indoors to be had (I was mostly at the market and that is an open air market). So I would try to schedule my activities in pre-rain and post-rain segments (not easy to do when you live 30 minutes by public transport from the city). For laundry purposes, it was necessary to pull the clothes in off the line before the rain started, otherwise they would not dry that day, and I never left my clothes out overnight (who knew what could happen to them? If they disappeared, it's not as if I could replace them-- they don't sell my size off the rack in the land of 5' Asians). So I'd gather the damp clothes and desperately haptrap places for them to hang indoors-- usually dripping water all over the tile floor.

The view from my front door.

Conversely, I now think of those rains as imposed periods of quiet time, to sit and rest and not be bombarded with looks or expectations in a foreign place. I remember so many afternoon rains spent staring out the door, noticing the sun shining despite the downpour and thinking how persistent was the day in the face of potential darkness. Or, staring out the door and watching the day submit to gathering clouds, turning gray and quiet and still. And submitting, myself, to a peaceful nap on the covers of my humble bed, not worried at all about the open door. If only there was room for quiet time now.

And my house! And all it's quirks. While I did feel comfortable in my house, and I made it mine, I spent so much time there in isolation that there were probably equal parts comfort and resentment. The garish brightly colored walls. The crazy bugs that found their way in despite closed windows and doors. The enormous spiders that would greet me in the sink when I woke up in the morning (those things were hairy). The squatty potty! The tile floor! The unreliable electricity!

Welcome to my home.And my shower! And my toilet! (P.S. Just in case you're judging my cleanliness, I bought some crazy Indonesian acidic tile cleanser and scrubbed the heck outta the mandi-- but the grout never came clean.) The 'shower' is on the left. Sorry; my bucket's not pictured.And this is my modest kitchen (which took me nine months to gather together). That is the sink where I washed dishes, brushed my teeth, washed my face and boiled water for my morning bath. On the right is my two-burner propane stove. My only mirror, my pantry and my pots and pans. See that plaid sock thing on the left? I sewed that by hand to store plastic bags (Indonesians love them some plastic bags).
And this is what I accomplished in that modest kitchen. Fake table, fake Mexican food. Tortillas from scratch. Salsa from scratch. Fake cheese (oh, keju.) And chicken tacos-- a chicken that died for my meal. I know; I made myself watch.

Can you hear me? Don't I sound proud and nostalgic? I remember these once hardships with a mixture of fondness and pride. Look what I accomplished! Look what I endured! I made it through; I'm better for it. Forget that-- I just miss it. Forget that I didn't love it all the time while I was there, I certainly love the memories. I'd like to make some new ones. I dream that if I went back, the world wouldn't be so restricted. And I think that is possible because I, in fact, did survive the first time.

But where is all this nostalgia coming from? Notice how I didn't really say anything about anybody (not just because I was mostly alone)? I didn't mention anything about relationships (and I still maintain some). I have recently discovered this and it leads me to believe that I am not nostalgic for a place and a people; I am nostalgic for a time in my life. This is all about me, remember (because I'm mostly selfish. Or at least I've become that way). I am yearning for a simpler time, where there were fewer obligations and responsibilities, a time that was less complex for me, and a time when I was more in tune with God. I am yearning for the time that I grew into big shoes and became Amelia. I am yearning for a time when life, while simpler, also felt more difficult on a daily basis. In Indonesia, I lived each day by God. I survived because that was God's plan. Every day was only conquered because God was by my side and I recognized this early on, because there was so much I was not in control of and so much I didn't understand. When things worked out, it was not because I worked them out. It was because God did. It was impossible to forget God's hand was in everything, impossible not to feel God's presence, not to hear God's call. Hard decisions became no-brainers. Life wasn't the Amelia show, it was Amelia bowing to the direction of a director with a grander vision for the way the movie would end.

Life isn't like that here. I work, I earn money, I pay the bills, I eat. I do those things. I am responsible. I get the credit. I am in control. I make decisions about where I should go and I work out the details now. When things run smoothly, it is according to my plan, because I am detail-oriented and did not forget anything. I survive because I do not take risks, I have learned so much it is easy to forget I don't know it all. I forget about God, because I no longer live each day by God. I make all the decisions, but somehow they've been piling up lately and despite my self reliance I have been unable to see myself in a bigger picture. You know why? Because I've been playing at God's job, but I'm total shit at it because I'm not God. I can't see the bigger picture. I still need God. I became a details master and thought that just because I could master the act that I could produce the whole show.

And this shift from lovingly receiving God's prompting to pushing God out of the picture has me very dissatisfied. I don't like this Amelia I've become in DC, in adulthood. Sure, I like that I am capable. I like that I can manage more. I like that I am even self-reliant, in most things. These new skills in an Indonesia situation would be an entirely new experience. But (while I really really do want to go back to Indonesia), I don't want Indonesia again the way that I want that Amelia back. And I can't repeat Indonesia. It wouldn't be the same. I need a new adventure. But what I don't think I can continue is living here, in this place, surrounded by comfort and forgetting what hardship even feels like (although, to be fair, the things I discussed earlier were not necessarily the difficult parts of my situation in Indonesia, just the parts I remember not liking). I don't know that a daily life with God is possible in a place where it seems like I am in charge. I'm too comfortable, too insulated, and life is too full of luxury. I bow down to the god of consumerism and I buy my way to happiness. I waste. I withhold. I don't care-- I can't seem to stop, anyway.

So where do I go from here? I think this has subconsciously been the sole motivator for my thesis themes: although I've been addressing my ideas in broad terms (these are the things American Christians do that separate them from God), I have been unwittingly talking about myself. I am the consumer who has allowed my want of things to separate me from God. I am separated from God. But there is hope because we are not divorced yet-- I've recognized my fault and desire to correct it (broad speak: American Christians seek to reconcile with God by rejecting consumerism and participating in multiple counter-cultural movements that instead glorify God's commandments to love our neighbors, ourselves and the entirety of Creation). I will do these things. I will wear a mantle of good stewardship; I will reject wastefulness and greed. I will practice moderation. I will love people more than things. I will experience God's Creation instead of destroying it. I will do all the things I've been thinking and reading about, only this time I will do them with a purpose: to mend my selfish ways and remember that God is both in charge and calls me to live with more care. I have to give up being in control by buying things if I want things with me and God to work.

Like any relationship, it takes effort to be in relationship with God. But the amazing thing is that God made me, so God appreciates all the parts of me already. While I may be yearning for my former self, my merciful God is already looking to mold me into my future self. I don't know how this will be accomplished, but hopefully when this thesis is written and my tie to this place of privilege dissolves, I'll be prepared for the trials of leaner times because of it. And me and God will be co-habitating once again.

baby

I have been a baby forever.

Doesn't that sound silly? But, it's true.

I'm still not a grown up. And it doesn't have anything to do with what I am responsible for, or the decisions I make on a regular basis; who decides where I go and what I do and what I eat or who pays for whatever. It has to do with TRUE age. With real maturity.

I'm twenty five. It has sounded so old until right this moment. That's because I've been thinking with my high school brain. The sixteen year old version of myself that still measures ambition and success based on a life planned out by the year and 'how long it takes' to accomplish 'levels' of the plan. The baby version of myself that still thinks people in their twenties know it all and that I am SO far from that.

The version of myself that keeps thinking, I better stick to that plan. That plan is my salvation. That plan is the way to live life.

I've been a baby forever. Forever! Who thinks that people are less valuable because they don't 'have their shit together'-- and that this is defined based on what you DO. Where you work, what you study, and where volunteering will get you. Who thinks that I am less valuable unless I am also DOING SOMETHING that will GET ME SOMEWHERE.

News flash: Everything gets you somewhere. Even just time spent will teach you something that will automatically put you in a different place than where you started. I am dying for being in the same place after three years, and OH how that VIOLATES my ideas of progress and success. But am I the same person when I started?

Absolutely not.

Do I still think the same way that I did, even when I first got to DC?

Not a chance.

Do I even LOOK alike? Let's examine.

Amelia, Spring 2008

Amelia, Summer 2008

Amelia, Summer 2009

Amelia, Fall 2009

Amelia, Spring 2010

Pretty clear, right? Just in case you missed the major differences because the progression was too much, let's reevaluate once more:

Like, woah, right? I was such a baby. But that doesn't mean that I am old now. On the contrary. I am STILL young. I only have been feeling so old recently because I have been so young this entire time. That makes sense if you give it some thought: I felt old and aged because in actuality I was too immature to see how that I wasn't old at all-- if I could really see how much there is that I DON'T know yet, I'd realize how young I really am.

I've been feeling like time has been running out on the things that I want to do, on my time in this place, on the amount of years I allotted for a graduate program, thinking that the next 'step' of life is supposed to be creeping up on this time here. Knocking on the door. Of course, I also made assumptions about what my 'next steps' would be. But isn't my inability to change plans I made years ago, and all the assumptions that accompany those plans in actuality a rigidity that can only accompany the idealism of youth? The next steps aren't knocking. The next steps aren't even the next steps I had mentally planned for. So what if it takes me four years to finish my first master's degree? I made some wise decisions that led me to part-time study, and I spent a good three years learning a LOT. So much, in fact, that I am a changed woman to the point that I cannot ever go back to the girl I was before I moved here. In so many ways.

I credited my time in Indonesia for the period of my life when I gained my first few steps of true independence. While that time continues to be extraordinarily formative, and all of the things outside of my comfort zone I accomplished while I was there will always be badges of honor for a former social hermit, I think DC finally made me an adult. It is here where I let go of misguided expectations from my childhood about what is 'grown up' and what is acceptable; I made real sacrifices based in faith and through them, reached a new level of understanding of Jesus' sacrifice in a way that defined the gospel for me. I refined my understanding of my purpose here to include education that cannot be taught in the classroom. And oh, the relationships I have established here. I joined community. For the first time, I have been a real member, a participant, and not just an outsider wondering why I should bother to try. Those are lessons that have altered me from the inside out, and will go with me wherever I go next. Whenever that might be.

It's weird that I still find it necessary to convince myself that I'm not old. That I'm not running out of time. That it's not possible to live my life wrong, or to run late in life! If I can still find joy in daily life, if God is with me and reveals beauty to me, can it be possible that I am meant to be somewhere else? In a society that defines who we are by what we do, I have to figure out a way to resist. I cannot define my worth by that standard. God made me for so much more.

And my life will be uncovered according to God's plan. I said today to a friend that when I moved to DC, I was absolutely certain of a handful of things-- things that would happen while I was here. But now I am absolutely certain of almost entirely nothing. The one thing truth that is left is that God won't fail me, and as long as I am in relationship with God I will never be alone. That is real comfort when the pressure of 'keeping up with' my peers-- so many close friends getting married this year! And so many with children already! so many who have made much faster progress in their careers or their education than I!--starts to make me feel like I've missed something, or I'm late, or left behind, or abnormal or an aberration in anyway. I'm not. I'm just living a different life than they are. God has a different purpose for me right now. And I love that.

So, I'm not old. I'm not as young as I was. But I'm ever hopeful of the way my life will go and the calling I wait to hear next. And one thing's certain: I am constantly in process of becoming the woman God created me to be. If that ain't comfort to this baby, there ain't nothing that is.

raining on my own parade

So. I had a long, detailed, in-depth conversation with a very intelligent friend of mine yesterday evening... and I'm going to have to re-evaluate the intense, immediate desire to return to Indonesia, along with the finer points of my previously outlined proposal. I like how the teaching aspects pulls in my former experience in Indonesia, and I think it could even be a redeeming experience to be able to return and teach in Indonesian schools, in Indonesian. But if I truly had my druthers, I'd study disaster relief aid organizations-- only I don't have the experience or connections or academic background to qualify me for such a proposal at this point. I'll give it more thought. We'll see.

pre-gaming the project

warning: this post contains intellectual property. and plagiarism is a crime. go away, idea thieves.

The wheels in my head are spinning out of control. A friend mentioned to me recently that she was considering applying for a Fulbright grant. I am a dual-degree master's student. All of my friends are smart. This came as no surprise. What did surprise me, however, was the lightbulb which came on when she said that-- and the dawning idea that I am still eligible for a research grant. And I now have the academic prowess (or the gumption, at least) to consider a Fulbright research grant (versus an English Teaching Assistantship, my former grant). I could go back! I could do good! I could REALLY be the mission of Fulbright, this time, to facilitate cultural exchange and mutual understanding, by leaving good behind. Not just useless broken English in rural Sumatra. ::sigh::

I starting thinking about why Indonesia, and realized plainly that I don't feel my work there is done. It is not just about being dissatisfied with my semi-incomplete former grant (dang dengue), or about my continuing desire to connect with my cultural heritage. But that country-- woah, that country. A handful of jewels flung across the Pacific. That nation is a special place, full of diversity, culture, intelligence, determination and survival amidst a continuing onslaught of factors not in their favor. I am in love with Indonesian people. I have to go back.

But how, how can I integrate my current studies in Christian theology into a research project that will promote the mission of Fulbright, leave good behind, AND be considered acceptable graduate-level academia? Well. The wheels, I tell you. They started and are still going. Hence the frantic typing of this lengthy post (if it doesn't seem lengthy yet... it will). Also, post prolonged exposure in the host country is NOT preferred, and to merit a critical language enhancement award, I will need to provide a convincing argument to support a need for intensive, in-depth language study. Christian theology. Overwhelmingly Muslim population. Former Fulbright. Mediocre language skills... so. many. factors. to. consider.

And finally the spinning produced the following. Consider, for one moment, that I was not only post-graduate degree (MTS). Consider that I am post graduate degree (MTS), but in progress MA, IPCR? That I had the backing of a large, well-established school interested in the promotion of peace through interfaith dialogue? That I had another year to participate in and learn through such programs? That my grant would premise (though not necessarily required) my return to complete my second graduate degree? And that my research project incorporated all of the aforementioned factors: my prior teaching experience, specific to Indonesia; my more recent study in Christian theology; a future exploration into Muslim-Christian relations (like my whole life isn't a case study already); a need for a very specific set of Indonesian vocabulary (theological vocabulary); my current obsession with creation care and consumerism and how that relates to American Christianity; and the opportunity to work with and establish relationships between Indonesian seminaries and U.S. institutions--like my home-base of Wesley Theological Seminary, perhaps?

More details: I taught in an Indonesian high school (albeit a public high school that had only a handful of Christians). BUT what IF my project were to develop either a Christian curriculum regarding creation care/consumerism or some sort of interfaith curriculum-- very entry-level stuff-- to promote inter-faith dialogue at the high school (SMA) level between Muslims and Christians, specifically? The project could be related to my MTS thesis work if I incorporate into my thesis a substantial portion regarding why consumerism is a challenge to Christian faith and why creation care is important-- because of misconceptions and faith responsibility (must continue to develop this tie). The curriculum could be developed working with an Indonesian seminary--I would need intensive language training in order to be able to do this and to use bahasa Indonesia for theological discussion/training/writing/teaching. And I could collaborate with an Islamic training facility, as well. BUT THEN I could take my curriculum and I could IMPLEMENT IT at the schools participating in the English Teaching Assistantship Fulbright grants-- there will be 30 ETA grants for 2011/2012, the best contenders could be selected to make the project more feasible, based on the input of the ETAs regarding the make up of their classes-- diverse groups or Christian schools (I was surprised, there are a lot). The curriculum could be taught in INDONESIAN (which automatically means that my point will get across, and furthers the argument that intensive language training is a necessity), but would draw heavily upon my teaching experience as an English teacher. What good could be left behind! And how this work would tie into my future as an advocate for Muslim people, as a Christian woman.

This would be how I see the grant playing out: I would definitely want to apply for a Critical Language Enhancement award-- it would seriously be critical to my research and implementation. I would spend the first three months or so in intensive language study, learning the vocabulary I would need in order to teach in Indonesian. After this, I would begin working with the seminary to develop the Christian school curriculum. Then I would begin working with the Islamic training facility to develop the interfaith dialogue curriculum for mixed public schools. This would likely take several months to do.

Before the curriculum were finished, I would be in contact with the 30 or so ETAs to determine which SMAs would be the best candidates for implementation. I would select 8-10 schools (this number might change, depending on location, accessibility and time remaining post curriculum development) and schedule my visits to come and present the curriculum in 1-2 days. That would be phase three of the grant, and would likely conclude my grant (leaving, of course, with the curriculum in the hands of both the seminary and the Islamic training institute, to be used in local high schools, and with the teachers of all the high schools I have visited and with AMINEF-- to potentially be implemented by future ETAs as an enrichment day, if translated into English). The research/work would persist, in the country. And the basis of the project would be to encourage dialogue among Indonesians, but presented by an American, it would also encourage international interfaith dialogue.

Upon further consideration, let's revisit the tie-in to my thesis work. My thesis is based on the premise that I can establish that American Christianity has become entrenched by consumerism, and that this is negative for our faith because it separates us from God. As a response to this, I plan to explore the multiple countercultural movements that reject Christian consumerism and even embrace creation care (for argument's sake, the extreme opposite of consumer culture), reunited us with God. This is relevant to my previous work in Indonesia and the curriculum if I can supply a convincing argument that during my ETA grant I was a constant curiosity because I was not Muslim, yet there was no dialogue regarding our differences in faith. That I observed there was no platform to discuss the differences between Christian and Muslim, in essence, establishing that lack of dialogue is the current status quo (in thesis terms, that no dialogue is culturally approved). But since my thesis will cover countercultural movements that encourage wholeness (reunification with God), my curriculum will be based on beginning a countercultural movement: interfaith dialogue. Basically, the premise for this and all interfaith dialogue is that if our differences are safe to discuss and out in the open, they aren't scary anymore. My aim, through my curriculum in high schools, would be based in encouraging countercultural responses to ignoring our differences. Perhaps this could even be perpetuated by offering the curriculum online, and even sending it to be taught in other high schools.

I like this relation to my thesis work better, because American consumeristic culture is nothing like the majority of Indonesia. But this does leave a major gap in terms of the necessity and the uniqueness of my project: of course interfaith dialogue between Muslims and Christians is necessary, that's a given. How is my curriculum going to do much good? Why's it necessary now, in this way? And if the aim of the curriculum is very broadly: 'interfaith dialogue' what makes my proposal unique? Sure, it promotes the message of Fulbright. But without any current major event that highlights an international lack of communication between Muslims and Christians, why is this important? Dang, I thought I had it.

Alright, there's clearly much more work to be done on this idea, but I feel like I'm off to a crazy fast-paced start. I didn't just hit the ground running, I flew past the first checkpoints. There's some heavy academic thought in my future... I'll be back to update as soon as my brain has caught up to sorting it through.

Oh. And making it relevant to the title? The idea is that this new, MAJOR proposal would pre-game the perpetual hope of the greater Empowerment Project. The EP is a calling, something I know I will at the very least attempt to fulfill in my days on this earth. This idea is like an appetizer to the EP, but it's very relevant and the scale upon which this would play out-- the coordination, the planning, the multiple parties that would be involved-- is similar to but merely smaller, shorter, and more concentrated than the idea of the EP. The organization is similar, however.

Bed time. I'm wiped.