About Grief

Many times this week I have thought about my friend Terry. She died one week ago today. Grief is a peculiar thing. I have not experienced it in great degree much in my life. But I have in little ways.

Did you know that you can experience a small death? There are many things in this life that we simply do not have control over and often our desires are thwarted by them. We dream of the way our lives will go, we make our plans, and we work towards building and creating the world in which we want to live. This is a good thing. God created us with the ability to hope and dream and create. But sometimes, despite our best efforts and intentions, those plans don't quite work out and we are faced with loss.

Most people tend to think of grief as being a result of the death of a person. And while it most certainly is, that is not all there is. Grief is defined as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. How often in your life have you wanted something so badly and worked for it so hard only to have it kept or taken away from you? You probably grieved over the loss, over the small death of your dream and efforts.

Losing a job is a small death. Or even a lack of being able to attain a job in a particular career field is a small death. Growing up with the belief that you would raise your families together with your brother or best friend only to discover you aren't living in the same state is a small death. Infertility and divorce also fall into this category.

When Terry died I was made aware of how differently grief effects each person. The way I feel is not the same way my husband feels, and the ways in which we feel is most certainly nothing like the way Terry's family feels. The hole left is often something that I know many of us wish we could just cover up and pretend is not there. I think that's why we say things that really aren't helpful in an attempt to comfort each other.

In Terry's case, many people have said things like "It's good that she is not suffering now" or "She is completely healed with Jesus". Both are very true, but neither does little to ease the suffering of those who are left behind. Our hearts hurt, and rightly so. Sometimes people make the mistake of believing that Christians should not grieve, but that is severely erroneous. Of all people in the world grief is one of the most appropriate reactions for someone who follows Jesus because our hearts are keenly aware that things are not as they should be. All forms of sin, all kinds of self-destructive behavior, sickness and especially death are the tell-tale-signs that our world is broken. Scripture tells us how much this grieves God. And it should grieve us, too.

Since Terry's funeral I have read and heard the word's of the apostle Paul many times that we do not grieve as those who have no hope, and I have wrestled over what that means. There is no where in the Bible that says we should not grieve, and scripture is filled with a myriad of examples of Godly men and women who were wrought with grief. Even Christ's heart was burdened with sorrow. God never promised that we would have an easy ride. But He did promise to walk with us through the valleys, and to give us peace, comfort and hope. And I believe it is the addition of hope to grief that staves off despair, and that is what makes the difference.

When someone who follows Jesus dies, there is a very big difference in the death. Death would be a final, irreversible separation from God were it not for the sacrifice of Christ. Jesus made a way for us back to God, and it is through His way that our world can be made right. When a Christian dies, the soul that death would claim is snatched from its grasp by Christ, and so death loses it's prize. Terry did not lose the fight with cancer; the cancer lost the fight with God.

I know I will see my friend Terry again. I wish that she were still here with me, with her family, now. I wish that cancer did not exist and that it did not separate her from the people who loved her. But I do know that I will see her again, and that God will help us all to walk on.

Edge of Eternity

Twilight befalls my troubled mind

I lay unmoving at your feet

I wait for a sign so grandiose

Are your words unheard in my defeat?

I still want to hear what I want to hear

But I need to hear what I need

Will your promises carry me tonight?

Lifting me high as the world drags me down

A willing puppet on a string

The strings are in your hands

I confess I’m afraid you’ll jerk me around

I’m so tired of trying again

Will you walk with me tonight?

Through this darkness, through this valley

Lead me to the light

I fear I’ll never hear what I want to hear

But I’m more afraid of what I need

Will your promises carry me tonight?

Lifting me high as the world drags me down

Just a puppet on a string

The strings are in your hands

And I’m afraid of what you’re going to do now

As I dance on the edge of eternity

Echoes of forever are stirred with each step

And as I dance I can see you at my journey’s end

But I don’t know how to get there yet

Redeem my past

Secure my future

But just don’t leave me here

If I must stay then please dance with me

How long must I

Learn these steps?

Just help me make it through

Make it through just one more day

Of dancing

Of dancing

Of dancing

Near eternity

At Last It Feels Like Home

I received a very nice compliment from our pastor's wife a few days ago. She told me that I make wherever I live feel like home.

I will unabashedly admit to having entirely too many wall decor items for my own good. Since my husband insists on using the bookshelves for books instead of decorative items like any frequent viewer of a Pottery Barn catalog will tell you they are supposed to be used for, I am forced to hang everything on the walls.

When we were first married I went a little crazy. It became apparent that we couldn't afford for my apartment to look like something out of the pages of a Martha Stewart Living magazine so I think I overindulged in what we could afford, which was picture frames. This past move, we actually gave away a lot of items we had that weren't getting much use or that I had discovered I didn't actually like all that much. It felt good to whittle down my collection. I was left with mostly photographs of family.

It's important to me to personalize my living space, and it's also important to me to have visual reminders of the people who love me. When someone comes over to my home I love being able to show them who I'm talking about when I mention Mom or Dad or one of Alex's many siblings. And that's what makes a place feel like home. It is not matching furniture (we still don't have anything that matches, but it's comfy and I like it ^_^) or perfectly arranged books and knick-knacks, but reminders of love. Mine are hanging on the walls all around me.

I still find myself longing for a replica of a Crate & Barrel display from time to time, but when Mynda (our pastor's wife) complimented me on being able to make wherever I live feel like home I know that's not what she meant. Think about your favorite place on earth, the place you feel the most comfortable, warm and safe. It's probably not the show floor of Ikea, is it? I really used to think I needed that in order to have a "nice" home, but when I think about my favorite places to be it always involves people more than decor or furniture.

I finally managed to get all of my decor hung in the new apartment this week. The old addage is a little cliche, but I realize just how true it is. Home is indeed where your heart is. Better Homes & Gardens and Martha Stewart may try to convince you otherwise, but take it from someone who has lived four different places in the last three years and managed to always feel at home. My heart is on my sleeve, on the walls of my abode, and with each person that I love. All I need to do is look around my family room and see that I am indeed home.

Lately I've Been Feeling Low

The final grind as I press on toward the end of the semester is upon me. Quite heavily, I might add. The last few weeks I have been greatly frustrated at my poor time management skills. I intend to study a little bit each day before a test and suddenly it's the day before the test and I haven't really studied at all. Somehow I've been managing to stay afloat, but it often feels like just barely.

Amidst the struggles I've questioned what I'm doing. The harsh reality is that at bare minimum my schooling endeavor will take another 2.5 years to complete. There is just no way around it because of the program's clinicals. I simply cannot go any faster. That is daunting, because I feel as though all I've been doing the last 4 years of my life is waiting. It isn't as though Alex and I haven't been growing or making any sort of headway. We are actually very close to paying off one of our student loans and I know that we have both matured in our marriage and deepened our faith. But there is something about not having a career that you feel fulfilled in and are excited to grow in that seems to leave an overshading.

Perhaps we have become fixated? It is difficult to say. Oddly enough, whenever I start to feel blue about our career/schooling situations I start to have whimsical fantasies about working in a cute bakery. But then I remind myself about what a sweet deal I have going on with being able to attend school for free, and that working in a bakery is something I can easily do at any point in my life.

Dave Ramsey often says that children do what feels good, adults make a plan and stick to it because delayed gratification shows maturity. I believe it and I want to live it, but... darn it, I'm tired and I want a cookie.

Twenty-One Days Later

I think this has been the most stressful three weeks of my life. I said it in the last post and I will say it again: Never EVER move in the middle of the semester. I am inclined to think it would have been much better if we waited until Thanksgiving or even Christmas break before we moved. But God is good. He is so very good indeed.

We had an AMAZING turn out of people to help us move. In fact, we had so many people that there wasn't enough for everyone to do! Our church family really stepped up to give us a hand. The move went well, especially compared to the last time when we moved in February and about a foot of snow fell that day.

I have been loving walking to school everyday. I am so thankful to live in an area of town that has a high volume of pedestrian traffic. Even in the early morning when it's still dark I feel safe because of how many other people are walking to work and school. I've also been enjoying having time now to use the weight room at school (perfect timing because of the quickly turning weather) but I have yet to make use of the pool.

The apartment itself has been good, but required some adjusting on my part. I am not, for example, used to radiators. Neither is Alex. At first we thought some strange hissing, banging creature was in the walls until we opened up the bathroom door and realized the heat had turned on. Those things are amazing efficient; there are only two in the entire apartment and we have regularly been opening up the windows to rid ourselves of the sauna like conditions we often find ourselves in. I am expecting that to be wonderful come January, but for now I keep my shorts and tank tops handy. I am readjusting to the lack of the conveniences of a garbage disposal and a dishwasher, but thankfully we did not have to live without a microwave thanks to the generosity of some church friends who happened to have an extra one in their pole barn.

SO far my favorite thing is the huge bay window we have in the living room that looks down to the tree lined street below. The window stretches nearly the entire length of the wall and goes almost from the floor to the ceiling. It lets in so much daylight and I love sitting in our glorified bean bag (the love sac) in front of it while I do homework.

I've been stressed, but I've been equally blessed, and I am so thankful for God's provision and love.

How in the world did we get so much stuff?

Note to self: Never, ever move in the middle of the semester.

I am contiually amazed at how much time college eats up when you actually do the things required to get good grades. Not that I didn't have good grades the first time around. I actually did pretty well. But I was also an art major. No studying required. Just playing with cameras and computers and spending hours in the dark room. That's certainly not the case this time around.

Let me state for the record I am SO impressed by people who do this while they are raising children. How in the world do you find the time? I can't even imagine trying to study and learn all the things I have to know while managing a bunch of curtain climbers. Eventually that might be my situation depending on what I decide to do with future schooling (a masters for example). But for now I am simply concerned with the proper care and feeding of my husband, as well as us moving to our new apartment tomorrow.

Things have been challenging this week to say the least. Alex has been working so hard to fill in the places that I have to skip out on because of my studies. I am blessed to have a husband who is such a hard worker. He comes home exhausted from being on his feet all day long since before dawn, but still manages to find the energy to pack. What a guy!

Today is the final packing. It seems like we have so much left to do, but I think it always feels that way no matter how far along in the process you are. I never feel like Alex and I have that much stuff but once it all gets condensed into boxes suddenly I am repeating to myself over and over, "How in the world did we get so much crap? Geez, we have a lot of junk." The funny thing is that us being only semi-stationary for the past three years and having never had more than 750 sqft to our names has really helped us to keep our collection of items pretty low. Everyone keeps telling me, "Just wait until you have kids" or "just wait until you have a house". And I am inclined to beleive them. Nature abhors a vaccum, after all.

Here we go again!

The Instability of Life and the Sovreignty of God

The last three or so years of my life I have become very fond of saying that living in the grace of God means I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I said this once to a dear friend of ours, Emmanuel, who is from Kenya. He had never heard the expression "flying by the seat of your pants" so I explained to him it means you don't have a plan, you take things as they come, and you make it up as you go along.

That in a nutshell has been my life the last few years. Alex and I have not been able to make any sort of plans beyond a few months in advance, and sometimes not even that far ahead depending on our financial status. For someone who is so future focused like myself and very much a planner I've been oddly comfortable with this. In all honesty it's been maddening, scary, exciting and actually kinda fun.

I have been blessed to have two points of stability in my life. One is my marriage (thank God) and the other, much greater anchor is God Himself. As crazy as life is with all it's unpredictable ups and downs, God is always steady and stable. He never changes, He never leaves, and you can always count on Him to come through. So what does that mean? Well, it certainly doesn't mean that all the crap we have to deal with should just make us grin ear to ear like fools. Even Jesus wept and felt sorrow at the brokenness of human life. But it does mean that He cares about me and what's going on in my life. It means that when my life seems like more than I can handle, God is more than I need. He's the one being in all of the universe whom can give and give and give to me and never get tired. I can cry and scream to Him and open my hands and ask, "What the frig?". And I can consistently expect to find peace, strength and hope to help me endure.

Sometimes I think it is easy to assume that because God loves us that means nothing bad is ever supposed to happen and that things are always supposed to be perfect and work out. I will admit to being baffled most verily at the way things go down sometimes. I don't understand why some things don't work out or go the way we pictured them. And yet Jesus said that we'd have trouble in this world. He also said that He had overcome it. When you know that you belong to God, that your life is in His hands, somehow amidst the confusion and the pain there is a deep steadiness that comes from knowing the father of all creation holds you, that He is what you're standing on.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that God's hand is upon me, especially when I feel like I should be doing a better job with something or someone, or that I should have handled a situation differently. A lot of times I feel like that with my marriage which I am so thankful for! And that's when I need to take it on faith that God's got a handle on the things I don't, and His actions, plans and ways far exceed my own bumbling buffoonery. When I feel lost, He's still walking beside me, gently guiding to something much greater than I could ever hope for or even imagine.

And that's what makes the instability exciting. I am SO much more open to the workings of God than I think I could ever be if I had a "perfect" life. I honestly don't know what He's going to do next, but I can trust that it's only good because He promised.

If you are wondering what inspired this posting, it's an upcoming move. I have lived in so many places in GR in the past nine years that it's starting to get difficult to keep track. I'm thinking of making Alex and myself t-shirts that say Perpetual Vagabond. It's been good sharing a home with a friend for the past few months, but now we'll be moving closer to my school to further alleviate our transportation challenges. We weren't really planning on the move, but then we weren't really planning on getting a delay from the Air Force in Alex's application, we weren't really planning on him working at Baker again, we weren't really planning on me losing my job, we weren't really planning on the first delay we got from the Air Force, we weren't really planning on living with a friend for a few months, we weren't really planning on Alex losing his previous job, we weren't really planning on Alex's police department applications not to work out, and we weren't really planning on not being to return to Japan once we were married (thankfully we were actually planning on getting married!).

Life is just funny like that. You gotta write your plans down in pencil because you just never know when things will change. And through it all God has shown to be incredibly merciful, caring, providing and abiding in love for these two perambulating children.

So strap on a pair of strong trousers and get ready to fly by the seat of your pants, my friend. By the seat of your pants.

Jesus Loves You, This I Know

Unlike my first time around at college I am not here to make friends. That may sound somewhat callous but the fact of the matter is that when I am on campus I am attending class, studying or doing homework. I try to get as much as I possibly can done while I'm at school so that I can spend my free time with Alexander and my friends or practicing guitar and taking care of things at home. When time is all you own you spend it very wisely. Usually this means that I spend extremely little of it socializing with other students. Regardless I am getting to know some people and occasionally I will spare a few minutes to chat.

CC is a very diverse crowd. It's refreshing considering I spent almost the last decade of my life surrounded by a rather homogeneous crowd. I was beginning to feel a little too sheltered and was excitedly nervous for the opportunity to have some contact with someone other than a middle to upper middle class, educated person who was working full time and regularly attends church. Don't misunderstand me, I love the folks in my life who fit that description; they are fantastic people. But if you can help it, I think it's always good to associate with others from all different walks of life. It keeps things interesting and helps you to understand the whole of humanity better (I'm oversimplifying it of course, but roll with me).

Human beings are creatures of habitual comfort zones. We don't like change, and we all prefer what's familiar and easily understandable. I am no exception. It takes a concerted effort to get outside of one's comfort zone and most of the time it takes an even greater effort to find a good reason as to why we should even bother. It's not easy, after all. But I find that when I have made the effort the benefits have far outweighed the initial awkwardness. I try to keep that in mind and as a result I am not easily rattled by folks who walk different paths than me. If they are anything like me (and let's face it, we are all far more similar than we care to admit) any flamboyancy a person who is different from me may possess is most likely bravado. Usually, if you can look past it, there is a very similar, simple person underneath with the same kinds of hopes, fears, struggles and longings. Usually then end up being pretty interesting and you can learn something from them, too.

However, as I mentioned before, I will admit to finding different people slightly intimidating at times. It's natural and I'm human, so I extend myself some grace in that area, deciding that at least having a willingness to try is worth more. For me the people I wonder about the most are those who are severely antagonistic towards God. It's been a while since I've known any. In Christian circles and in our worship services, congregation meetings and Bible studies you hear much about the importance of sharing your faith and telling others about Jesus (there is something to be said about sharing your faith amongst other believers, and I feel that area of sharing faith isn't focused on nearly enough, but that's another blog entry). And that's what scary.

For some reason most Christians I know, including myself, find it hard to talk about the very God we claim to love so much. Honestly I can understand why; the whole world is tilted against us and it's easy to worry about what to say and how you'll sound and what the consequences will be. I myself have pondered those very things many times (I think it can be especially hard for people pleasers like myself because we don't like to upset others). But Jesus commands that we share what He has done for us, and really when something is so important to us we should be able to talk about it and in fact not really be able to not talk about it. I am not that great at sharing my faith. But it's something I want to get better at. And something that I know to be true, in the deepest part of my soul, is that anything God commands us to do, He will help us to do. Granted, it may be a process of growth as most things in life are (spiritual matters are NOT an exception), but I have a deep conviction that God will not fail me in areas He wants me to be strong in. I know that if I ask Him to help me become better at talking about Him and Jesus to others, He will do so.

And so I feel anxiously excited about how God will answer that prayer. I've certainly come across many people here in the past month who don't seem to claim Christ. And I've met a few who seem to claim Christ. Mostly I have been watching, waiting and listening, praying from time to time when I hear certain things spoken. In Craig Gross's new book Jesus Loves You, This I Know, his overall theme is that any meeting you have with any person, Christian or not, is an opportunity to love them and to show them God's love. That's it. Really it takes the pressure off when I remember that Jesus does the changing of a person's heart, not me. I am commanded to share. I am not commanded to convince. It also helps when I remember that I don't need to defend God. I don't need to protect the Bible, and I don't need to defend God's honor (I think someone who placed the stars in the heavens and carved out the ocean's bed can take care of himself). All I am commanded to do is love and share.

Everyday I come to school I spend a little time in the student commons of the music building. I have a locker in that building I keep my guitar in. A group of regulars hangs out there during various parts of the day and many of them are becomming familiar to me. One such student is a young man who has spoken somewhat vehemently against the church on a few occasions. Since none of his comments were directed at me I haven't spoken up about anything he's said. I feel sorrow in my heart over the things he has said, but also knew that trying to talk to him during those times could have possibly turned into an argument that would have done more harm than good. And so I have watched, listened, waited and prayed.

Today when I walked into the student commons he was sitting at one of the tables with some of the other students and he was tearing bits of pages out of a small Gideon's Bible that some men had passed out on campus a few weeks earlier. He held it up to me and asked, "Have you had your daily dose of fairytales today, miss?"

I smiled and replied as I walked to my locker, "I don't think they're fairytales."

He snorted and dropped his head to the table. His friends laughed. And nothing more was said.

I left the room, marveling at how the Holy Spirit had dropped the words into my mouth for me. I do not know if more extensive dialogue will develop out of what happened today, but I know I don't need to be concerned with the results. When God gives the opportunity my job is to pull weeds, maybe plant a seed, and let the master be concerned with the growth. And regardless, one thing is for certain:

Jesus loves you, this I know.

Calculator how I love thee... let me count the ways

Yesterday I took my first math test in nearly a decade. It has been a long time since I felt racked by anxiety. I am not completely sure what it was that made me so nervous. I have been doing very well in class (getting a 94% on all the homework thus far) and felt I had a good grasp on all the concepts. I think what freaked me out was not being able to check my answers with a calculator. I will admit to being somewhat calculator dependent. But not quite in the way you may think. Unless it's some ridiculous numerical set (like 1,237,564.9860598 divided by 23.48596756, or the number 17) I will almost always try to do things in my head or write them out on paper first. It is then that I like to check my answers with the calculator.

The instructor decided, I am assuming unknowingly, to torture me by having a non-calculator portion of the test. I am thankful that the class period is two hours because the non-calculator portion of the test took me a little over an hour. I checked and rechecked and erased and redid and stared so hard at the paper I almost burned a hole right through it and the table underneath it. I swear at one point smoke was coming out my ears and the numbers in one linear equation jumped up and started doing the Chacha.

Regardless I survived. I think I actually did ok, but we'll see when I get the test back next week.

The Importance of Persistance

Unemployment is sort of a catch 22. It's fantastic because when that money shows up in your account it's like, "Oh! Free money!". But it's also a pain in the neck. Really it's good that the government doesn't make it too easy. Plenty of people milk it, I'm sure. But seriously, it would be really, really nice if they made it at least easier to talk to a real person.
On Friday I had called up the automated unemployment line for my bi-weekly check in. This week I had to answer a few questions differently, however, because I had started school. At the end of the phone call MARVIN tells you how much your check will be for. This week he said, "A check cannot be issued at this time. You must call the inquiry line. Goodbye."

...

...

... WHAT?!

This was about a DEFCON 3 (see my entry titled A Debate, A Desire, A Dream, A Decision for more details about that). Mostly I was worried because I have tried to call the Unemployment Agency a few times in the past and each time I was on hold for about 30 minutes before the system told me to try to call again later and booted me off. Why should this time be any different? A series of thoughts ran through my mind, including how maybe this unemployment thing really just isn't worth it and I should just look for a minamum wage part time job or that Alex and I could just eat once a week to save on groceries.

But reason won and I reluctantly dialed the number for the agency, set my phone to speaker mode, and put it down on the table next to me while I surfed the internet. Alex came home while I was waiting and he told me about his day. I checked the phone and saw that I had actually made it past the 30 minute mark. A small glimmer of hope sparked to life within me. Could it possibly be that I might just get through to someone today? My friend Emily told me that the folks on the inquiry line were very nice and quite helpful to her. Did I dare to hope?

Alex and I got a snack and some drinks and sat down to talk about our budget for the month. I checked the phone again and saw that it had been about a hour. I've got the commercials they play on the hold line memorized now. Now my hope was beginning to get fiesty. I shook my finger at the phone and said, "You'd better not boot me or I'm sending you my cell phone bill!"

Alex got on the computer and I started reviewing my biology homework. Suddenly the hold music stopped and the line rang. I grabbed the phone and turned it back to regular mode, breathlessly waiting with it held to my ear. Would I hear a real human voice or that cursed "No one is available to take your call," phrase. And then it happened. The voice of an angel said, "Michigan Unemployment Agency, how may I help you?"

I literally squeeled with delighted relief and exclaimed, "AH! I am so glad to be talking to real person!" The lady on the other end laughed and I continued, "Seriously, I've been on hold for an hour! I'm so glad you answered!" She expressed her sympathy to me for having to wait so long and asked me what she could do for me. I explained the issue and she said she could help me. At one point she asked if she could put me on hold for just a minute while she checked something. I gave a nervous laugh and said, "Yes, but only if you promise me you're going to come back." Within a few minutes the problem was resolved and she told me how to avoid needing to call them again in the future.

All in all I am thankful for Unemployment, even if it's a pain. Really it's worth it. Alex and I would be struggling greatly without it. So what's the moral of the story?

Be persistant. Nice ladies will put money into your checking account.

The Bowels: You Move Me, Baby

I think it probably says something about me that I get excited whenever my instructor talks about digestive enzymes in my anatomy class. For those of you who have known me for a while you will probably remember that my stomach and I are not always best friends. I fall under that ambiguous umbrella of IBS: Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Thankfully for me it is easily managed by diet. I am the queen of label reading when it comes to finding out how much fiber a supposedly whole grain cereal has, and my husband says that since we got married he has never been so regular in his life. In order to combat my physical ailment I decided to educate myself to wellness. I know more about the way the human digestive system works than you probably ever care to hear about.

The past two weeks (holy wa, 2 already!?) have shown me just how fascinated I am by the human body. It's gross and complicated and beautiful and simple all at the same time. As much as I have been enjoying my guitar classes, anatomy wins the favorite award, hands down. The way God put us together is truly amazing. And it reveals his logic. Something Alex often talks about is how the God of the Bible is different from any other god in that we can actually know Him. God is mysterious, yes, and we certainly will never be able to fully understand Him, but He can be known. I have come to understand that one of the ways in which we can know God is by studying nature and science.

During the early years of American intellectualism the study of science and christianity went hand in hand. It was not until much later that the two became divided when man became falsely convinced of the superiority of his own intellect (if we were so smart you'd think we woulda figured out by now how to fix our screwed up lives, wouldn't we?). There was a time when people studied our world because they believed that God created it in an ordered fashion that could be understood and would make logical sense. Studying the body has shown me just how very true that is.

In anatomy there is a rule that structure determines function. Your bones are put together in such a way as to allow you to move and manipulate your environment. Even down to your very cells God built everything in your body to work a certain way, and it's functioning is simply an amazing, complicated, delicately balanced work of art. How beautiful!

We will be starting our cadavar labs in a few weeks. I am so excited. I hope I don't throw up.

In search of a feeling

Labor Day has come and gone, and so has my first week of classes. I am a total nerd. I cannot believe how incredibly geeked I have felt to be back at school. There are several other returning, adult students such as myself, but by and large I would have to say that most of my fellow students are people just fresh out of high school. They roll their eyes and whine and complain about how they just can't believe that summer is over. And oh my, how they bemoan their academic responsibilities. In order to not completely ostracize myself I smile politely and do kartwheels on the inside.

There is something incredibly different about being back at school now that I'm in my late twenties and I've done this all before. I suppose the biggest difference is I have such a clear idea of what I want and what I'm after. The sense of purpose I have discovered is the biggest driving force behind my newfound enjoyment of academia. The first time I was in college I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do. I switched majors three times. And if I am completely honest with myself I will say that I was absolutely, without a doubt much more concerned with my social life and friendships than I ever was about my degree. I do not regret the time I spent at Calvin. The shared experience I had was wonderful, challenging and maturing. I'm glad I went because of the chance it gave me to spend some time with some great people, form some lasting friendships, meet my husband, and allow me to work in the creative industry for a few years.

Things are differnt this time around, however. I am on a mission. The OT program is INTENSELY competative. GVSU only has thirty spots open each year and beleive me, they look at your grades. That means I don't have time to be screwing around. Especially because two of my classes are so challenging: Anatomy & Physiology and Intermediate Algebra. So far so good. My profs are nice people that actually like to smile and joke around (which I find to be incredibly rare in the world of mathematics). My classes are very interesting and I'm excited about what I'm going to learn (is it sad when you get to feeling passionate about digestion?).

It all seems kind of strange to be back in college after five years, but I also feel like I'm right where I'm supposed to be and that is one of the best feelings in the world.

God cares about your class schedule

Signing up for classes is frustrating when you do it just a week and a half before classes are due to begin. All the good stuff is taking up. For me that included everything that I needed to take.

You see, the OT program is a Masters degree. I got a BA so I'm set there, but I still need to fill some prerequisite courses in order to even apply for the program. I decided that I would do this at the local community college since I was already enrolled there (I had been pondering their Culinary Arts program). Yesterday during my meeting with the adviser at GVSU I was given a list of equivalent transfer classes I can take at GRCC. Feeling solid and excited about my new chosen direction I rushed home to sign up for classes online. There were three I needed to take: Algebra, Pyschology and Anatomy & Physiology.

All three were full.

I was determined, however, and, armed with a transcript from Calvin, went to speak with an adviser at GRCC this morning. I asked her if any of the credits I had from my undergrad would cover some of the courses I needed. It was a long shot. I had been a music/art major during college and highly doubted that Music Appreciation and Art History were adequate substitutes for biology and math. But you never know unless you ask. As expected nothing I had would cover what I needed.

The adviser informed me that I should keep checking the available classes. She said that if people don't pay their tuition they get dropped from the class and that people change their minds right up through the first week of class about what they are going to take. She checked her email and told me that the system had just been reset from the day before and that I should look as soon as I had the time because something may have opened up.

I debated about checking on campus or just waiting until I went home. I found my way over to the student life office and got an ID card made (woohoo student discounts all over again!) and got some info about parking before I finally decided I might as well just look. I walked over to the enrollment office and sat down at an available computer. I checked and all three of the classes I needed were still full.

Feeling discouraged I prayed, "God, what should I do? I really feel like this is the direction you are pointing me in and I need these classes. I don't want to wait until next semester to get started." I decided to check just one more time. Mind you this was about two minutes after my initial check.

All three of the classes I needed were suddenly open and they had exactly ONE SEAT EACH.

God is amazing. His timing is perfect and He often does things in ways that cause us to see just how amazing He is and how much He truly cares about us. Even the little things! Who the heck am I that the creator of the universe should care about my class schedule? And I know He does, not just because I got what I needed but because God answered another prayer in the doing of it. Alex and I had been concerned that because I was registering so late I would end up with all night classes and we would never see each other. When God opened up all those classes for me He picked ones that would get me home in time for dinner and be free for the rest of the evening. What a blessing!

So after five years away, come August 31st I'll be a student again. What an adventure. Whoever thought being a follower of Jesus is boring never met my God.

Close Encounters of the Relative Kind

Last Saturday my father called to tell me that my grandmother, his mom, had passed away during the night. It wasn’t at all unexpected. She was 92 and living in a nursing home. I did not have much of a relationship with my grandmother. Not because there were any sort of hard feelings. Far from it. She was a fine woman who raised seven kids all by herself in a rural area of North Carolina (my dad grew up on a cotton and tobacco farm). My dad would call her on Sundays and she would always tell me to “be sweet“. The lack of relationship was simply a matter of distance. She lived nearly 800 miles away. The last time I saw any of my father’s relatives was 8 years ago. So I really just did not know her. The feelings of sadness I had were completely due to the fact that I knew my father was hurting.

My grandmother’s health had been rapidly deteriorating for the past few years. My father told me that he was happy God took her home. That was not surprising. But what he asked me next was. He asked me if I wanted to go to the funeral.

I will admit that my first reaction was to say decline the invitation. Riding in a car for 13 hours to go see relatives I have no connection with for something as depressing as a funeral was not my idea of fun. However, I was the only family member available to travel with my dad. Alex pointed out that it would be a good opportunity for me to simply spend some with my father, and that since I was not employed I really didn’t have an excuse. I couldn’t argue with that. And really, how heartless would I have to be to make my dad go to his mother’s funeral by himself? I know that I sure would want someone I loved to come with me. Besides, the title of this blog is “Adventures in Unemployment”, and traveling across the country with my pops to have a close encounter of the relative kind sure fits that bill.

So on Sunday afternoon my dad drove over from the other side of the state to pick me up. It’s about a two and a half hour drive from GR to my folks‘ house. It did not take long for the ease with which I converse with my father to unfold. It’s something that I’m thankful for. We stopped for dinner at a Quizno’s and talked about random things. At one point we listened to a Dave Matthew’s Band CD and Dad’s conclusion was that he had heard better. We got back to my folks’ house and I was able to chat with my mom and show both of my parents the photos I had taken while in Mexico.

At 5am the following morning we hit the road. The trip in and of itself was pretty straight forward. We talked about many things: music, God, faith, careers, family, relationships. We rocked out to some top radio hits from the 70's and I exposed him to the melodic delights of U2, DMB, Ben Harper and Jars of Clay. At one point my built in ice cream radar had me choose a rest stop that just happened to have a Dairy Queen in it. I discovered that my mother isn't the only parent that has a penchant for the sweet, heavenly goodness of ice cream.

When we arrived at my grandmother's house my dad's oldest sister, my Aunt Mona, had already arrived up from Atlanta. There was an instant warmth about her towards me and I think it is largely due to the fact that she thinks of my dad kind of like her baby. She was 15 when my father was born and pretty much raised him because Grandma was working hard to earn money to care for them all.

My uncle Gene and aunt Silvia live in a double wide right next door to my grandmother's house. For the last five years it was they who cared for my grandmother before they moved her to a home. I love my uncle. He is the closest in age to my father and looks a lot like him. He has a handlebar mustache and usually wears a belt buckle big enough to be his ID. He loves to sing and is quite the story teller. He came over to say hello, but the reunion was short because we had to get to the funeral home for the viewing.

This is only the second time in my life I have seen a dead body. And actually it is the second time within the last year (the last one was a co-worker's elderly father). I had always been a little freaked out by dead bodies because they don't look natural. You can tell they aren't sleeping and something literally looks like it's missing. It is strange to think that only after death is a person's soul visible, and it's only visible because it's no longer there and you notice it's absence. I also have entirely too wild of an imagination and even though I know it's not going to happen I am sort of waiting in anticipation for the person to sit up and scare the living the daylights out of me (one too many zombie movies I guess). Thankfully that did not happen. Grandma actually looked pretty nice.

I stuck close to my dad's side during the viewing. I didn't know anyone else, really, although I was introduced to several people through the night. Oddly enough so was Dad. He met relatives he didn't even know he had, too. It seems that many people knew and loved Grandma. At one point during the evening I slipped outside to call Alex and he asked me if I was surrounded by a war party (for those of you who don't know my dad's side of the family is Cherokee).

After the viewing Dad and I were extremely hungry; we hadn't had any time to eat dinner before we left the house. We drove down the road to a nearby place called Smithfield's and bought some BBQ Pork Sandwiches. We sat up talking with my aunt for a little while before bed.

The next morning a woman from the funeral home actually came to Grandma's house with a limo and picked Aunt Mona, Uncle Gene, Aunt Silvia, Dad and me up. We went to Bethel Baptist Church (where Dad had gone to church as a kid) for the service. I was happy because the pastors who spoke really focused on the fact that this was only a temporary goodbye and we would see Maudie Lawson again on the other side of glory.

Dad and I were the only ones who stuck around to see the actual burial take place. I had never seen one before so I was curious, but for Dad it was about closure; for him it wasn't over until the earth was settled.

There was a small reception inside the church's fellowship with drinks and snacks, but it did not take long for things to wind down and soon we were on our way home. I was not sure what to expect from my relatives after the service, but no one was terribly wrought with anguish or grief. I think it's because Grandma had been on her way out for so long that there was more rejoicing than mourning in that day. She is finally whole and happy with Jesus.

My aunts and uncle took Dad and me to a real southern style buffet for lunch. I enjoyed some spectacular fried chicken and biscuits. After that we hung out at Grandma's house until later that evening when my Uncle Albert and his wife, Gayle, came over with their 4-year-old son, J.J. I ended up being on kid duty (thanks for volunteering me, Dad!) while everyone else listened to Uncle Gene read Grandma's will. The night ended with peach cobbler and some ice cream (YUM).

The next morning Uncle Gene and Aunt Silvia came over to have coffee and chat for a bit. It was really the first chance I had gotten to speak with them about something other than family affairs, and I appreciated the opportunity. Soon, though, Dad and I had packed the car and we were on our way back up to the mitten.

I like traveling with Dad. Here is a sample of how our navigating works:
-Check GPS for route
-Double check directions printed off from Yahoo
-Find discrepency between the two and pull out road map provided by AAA
-Decide to make up our own route and delight in tourturing the GPS
-Change our minds and decide to follow the GPS
-Check the map again and compare it with the Yahoo directions and decide to go with what Yahoo says
-Make a pit stop and find that once again my ice cream radar is functioning properly (Dairy Queen!)
-Check GPS for route and decide to make up our own
-Find out that Yahoo directions and GPS are actually agreeing and change our minds to follow them
-repeat

The cool function of the Garmin is that you can look up restaurants. Dad and I had been living off of fast food mostly so he decided that for dinner on the way home we need to eat at an actual restaurant. He said he felt like popcorn shrimp so i used the GPS to search for a Red Lobster. How cool is that? We had dinner in Toledo and made it back to GR around midnight.

I wasn't sure what to expect on my trip with my Dad. But I am so happy I went.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

Lately I have found myself struggling with thoughts of what to do with my life. Perhaps that shouldn't be surprising considering that I'm unemployed and was feeling unhappy in my last job. I have been struggling greatly with the thought of myself as a graphic designer. I have been looking at other designer's online portfolios and have been consistently, painfully, blown away at how much better their work is compared to mine. I cannot not help but wonder if when I send in my resume to companies if they go to my portfolio and think, "She's worked for five years and this is all she has to show for it? What a joke!"

I can't be surprised if that's the case. If I were truthful to myself I would say that Baker was always just a job for me. I've known other designers or artists and they live and breath their work. They are creating and designing and reading about design and thinking and talking about design outside of their office. They love it. They are wholeheartedly dedicated to it. And I never was.

Outside of the office I never read magazines or blogs about design. If you asked me what the latest trend in design is I couldn't tell you. When I left the office I LEFT the office. I spent time reading cookbooks and fitness magazines. I would work on sewing projects. I'd bake and talk on the phone with friends and hang out with Alex. I wouldn't think about design. I wouldn't peruse the internet reading articles and looking at other people's work. Several times I even tried to motivate myself to learn HTML and web design because I knew it would help me but I never could make myself just sit down and do it.

Before you tell me that I am being too hard on myself, that no one does the things I have written, stop. The reality of the matter is that there are indeed people involved in the creative design field that do those very things. I know a few. It's not to say that they don't have lives and are not social, but they are very dedicated to their craft. It excites them. They live and breath it.

I do not. And perhaps I can never be.

It is a startling conclusion. I've felt dissatisfied for quite some time now and I am beginning to suspect that it may be because I am missing something. I am missing dedication. For the last five years I have dabbled in this and that, doing a little of this and a little of that, and really just scratching the surface of many things. My personality, by default, is attracted to randomness. Call it a short attention span if you want but really it's just that I am excited by change. That is a strength and a weakness. My desire to avoid the mundane and routine is most likely what has allowed me to survive the ups and downs of the past three years so well. And yet, I know that it makes it hard for me to dedicate myself to becoming truly exceptional at something.

I am currently sitting in a Starbucks in Gaslight Village (a small, quaint, almost disgustingly idyllic wealthy part of GR filled with boutiques, salons and restaurants) and on my way here I mused over whether or not Mozart ever wished he had been a baker, or if Steve Jobs (CEO of Apple for those of you with your head under a rock) wished he would have been a tour guide, of if Michael Phelps wishes he would have been a veterinarian, or if even Mother Teresa wished she would have gone to cosmetology school (probably not, but I'm trying to make a point here). It seems that people in our world who we would consider truly exceptional are those who dedicate their entire lives to perfecting a certain craft, ability or calling.

The possibility that I have been afraid of missing something and thus not just picking one thing and sticking with it has haunted me of late. I don't think it's because I feel like I can't, but just because what if it ends up not being just perfect for me? I will have wasted too much effort and time that I can never get back. At yet, each path grows shorter the longer I stay.

And so I have decided to ask myself a question. If I cannot dedicate myself to design, truly living and breathing it and feeling invigorated by it, what can I dedicate myself to? Actually, an even more important question is one that I ask you, dear reader:

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

Whoa. Scary, huh? Think about it for a moment. Don't worry about what's the most logical... don't worry about what's the safest. What would you do? Would you become a doctor? Would you move to Hawaii and open a resort? Would you become a writer or a pastor? I believe that this question reveals the deepest longings of our hearts. Ask the question to yourself. What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail? Perhaps the happiest person in the world would answer, "Exactly what I'm doing right now."

Me? It's only fair for me to answer my own question. I would open a small bakery and coffee/tea shop in a disgustingly idyllic neighborhood like Gaslight Village. I'd offer fresh baked delights like donuts, scones, muffins and cakes. I'd give discounts to veterans and police, fire, military and EMT personal. I'd be closed on Sundays and open early Monday through Friday. I'd offer classes to people that wanted to learn how to make a popover and on Friday and Saturday nights I'd invite local musicians (jazz and classical) to showcase their skills. And maybe if I got really ambitious I'd learn how to make candies and start offering those, too.

The second thing I'd do if I knew I could not fail would be to become a professional classical guitar maestro. Oh yeah. Don't know if I could make any money doing that, but it is a desire.

So, we'll see what happens over the next few weeks. I am not certain what God has in store for me, but I do know that I'm tired of doing the same thing and I am in search of a passion that I can live for.

Perhaps in the end I will find that it was design all along and I just needed to take a break. If not, I will be playing Bach's Partita for lute in E Major while offering free samples of tarts and coffee at my shop's open house.

Day 4: In which we have our first day of VBS, find there isn't enough to do, and get dive-bombed by a chicken

Day four dawned and we started it with cornflakes. I am beginning to think that no matter where you go in the world you will find cornflakes. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. It is far from my favorite breakfast cereal but it is a little piece of home. We also had coffee and some kind of sweet bread which I promptly discovered tasted excellent dipped in my Nescafe.

We left for the church and arrived a good 45 minutes before any children were due to descend upon us. About half of our group was scheduled to work construction and the rest VBS. Alex was with the construction group so I followed him out back to get a view from the roof before the day's activities got rolling.

When you walk through the doorway in the back of fellowship hall you have to turn right because a very tall retaining wall is directly in front of you. The retaining wall is built of brick and runs parallel to the church's back wall for about 10 feet. This trench opens up into a large back lawn area of the church's property. Directly to the right and about a good 13 feet below is the home of another family (plus 4 or 5 dogs and a slew of cats and kittens that hang out on the roof of a shed). To the left the wall cuts at a 90-degree angle and continues for about 15 feet before turning again at another 90 degrees and marking off the edge of the church's property. The wall itself holds back solid earth and creates a small grassy area right across from the church building and directly next to another family's home. Above that is the church's roof where the construction is taking place.

The actual construction project is to build a third story onto the church which will be a new home for the pastor and his wife. Currently they are renting, so having a home of their own right above the church they serve and love will help a great deal. Getting to the roof is OSHA's worst nightmare. First there is a makeshift ramp built out of random bits of 2x4s and plywood that leads from the ground to the top of the retaining wall. From there you have to walk up a steep pathway (that's easy to slip on) to an equally steep, second makeshift ramp, which is also made out of random bits of 2x4s and plywood. Going up actually isn't that bad. It's coming down that's a slight bit nerve racking. I get the impression that the Mexican workers are used to it, however. I imagine they must get a kick out of watching me carefully, slowly, plotting and inching my way down the ramps.

Regardless, it gets the job done. And the view from the roof is well worth it. The church sits on a hill and provides one amazing vantage point of Mexico City and it's outlaying areas. Rolling hills covered in green and dotted with concrete houses give way to low lying, fluffy white clouds that are cut through with snow capped mountain peaks and plateaus, all against the backdrop of a gorgeous cerulean sky.

I went back down and soon the kids started arriving. The pastor greeted everyone and we began to sing a few songs. The first one I actually knew. It was "The Lord's Army" and they even used the same motions with it that I learned when I was a kid. How fun! After the singing the children were split up in age groups (4-6, 7-9, 10-12). I hadn't been assigned to work crafts or games, so I decided to stay with the 4-6 age group simply because Debbie (my ridiculously cute, 5-year-old host sister) is in that group.

We stayed in the sanctuary and the adult leaders told a Bible story and helped the children with the memory scripture verse for the day. Periodically someone had to use the bathroom and I feared that I would be asked to take someone. All I could think about was one of those little children falling into the toilet that had no toilet seat and me not being able to understand that they needed help with something because I don't speak Spanish. An unfounded fear, perhaps, but in the moment it seemed pretty legitimate. Thankfully I never had to serve as a bathroom attendant and the group went downstairs for craft time.

The theme of VBS is the Armor of God. So today's craft was centered around the Belt of Truth. All the kids got a long strip of cotton cloth and were given markers and stickers to decorate their belts with. I helped draw a few items, but mostly just took pictures.

After this it was snack time and all the children came to the fellowship area to dine on meatballs and rice. I was impressed. When I was growing up snack time at VBS consisted of stale cookies and sugary fruit flavored drinks that burned the back of my throat. These kids had meatballs! And fresh, handmade ones, at that.

At one point during the snack time I noticed Jane playing Cat's Cradle with one of the Mexican teens. I joined in and so did some other kids. I have come to the conclusion that, like cornflakes, cat's cradle is something you'll find no matter what country you're in. And the best part is that you don't need to speak the same language to teach people how to play. You just have to show them. And it's so much fun.

After snack time everyone went back up to the sanctuary to sing more songs. I ended up getting recruited to the front of the room to help lead with motions because I knew the song. It was one I had LOVED singing as a child in my own church. You divide the room in half and each half sings a different part of the song. It's great fun, especially if you turn it into a competition to see who can sing it louder.

After singing it was game time for the youngest group of kids so we went outside to the back lawn area of the church. The Mexican men and folks from our group were hard at work on the construction and were in the process of tossing and carrying bricks up to the roof. I watched as a few men on the ground lifted up bricks in stacks to people waiting atop the retaining wall. Those people in turn would pass the bricks on to other people who would then carry them up the ramp to the roof. Alex and a few other guys, however, tossed them to each other and up to the roof. Thankfully each brick only weighed about 3lbs, but it still would have hurt to have gotten hit by one. Alex is pretty serious about safety, however, so I wasn't concerned.

After the games were done everyone gathered one last time in the sanctuary to sing a few more songs (I love these people... they love to sing almost more than I do!) and review the scripture verse for the day. The children slowly left but our day was far from over. For the rest of the afternoon we would be helping with construction.

Before that, however, it was lunch time for our group. We would be going to the pastor's current home again to eat (just like we did the first day we were here). It was suggested that we all walk and everyone in our group agreed that sounded like a nice idea. We left the church and walked down a very steep hill that was lined with houses. The road was actually under construction and so we had to carefully make our way, single file, down the winding and narrow street, avoiding the large crevasses and jagged rocks that were piled on one side. We actually passed by some of the construction workers who were taking a siesta. Some of them were awake and stared in unabashed curiosity at our group. This annoyed Alex greatly, but I find it somewhat amusing.

When we arrived we were served lunch by the pastor's wife, Raquel, and some of her friends and fellow church members. Oh it was SO tasty. Raquel had whipped up some homemade salsa verde that was so good I asked her for the recipe.

After lunch it was decided that we would ride back to the church instead of walk. Alex, Matt, Jacob and I piled into the pastor's car, a little VW bug (the original style)... and held on for our dear lives. I am not easily shaken by the way people drive, but Hacinto excelled at it. Never in my life have I passed five cars on the left in order to get ahead of slow moving traffic while playing chicken with an oncoming bus. I lost count of how many times I was certain we were going to sideswipe someone or hit something. Either that man really believes in the divine protection of God or he isn't too concerned with how quickly he gets to go see Jesus. Yikes.

We arrived safely back at the church and quickly discovered that there simply wasn't enough work for all 20 of us to do. No more than perhaps four people actually found things to help with. I sat down and wrote in my journal, some of the girls sat around and chatted, the boys played soccer with some of the Mexican kids (including 60-something-year-old Fidencio) and the rest of our group worked out lesson plans for the crafts and games.

Eventually our group met for prayer and we spent some time talking about alternate plans for the afternoons because there isn't enough work to do. Tomorrow we will be going to a market place and viewing some gardens along a canal. Wednesday we will be going to a park to play with neighborhood kids and do some evangelism/outreach (which I'm not too sure how I feel about because tracks are supposed to be involved and I know most Americans find those corny). Thursday we will hang out with our families (which I'm also not too sure about because my host fam doesn't seem to do a whole lot in the evenings). Friday is for packing and then a farewell party at the church. As far as tonight's activity, it was a prayer meeting with the church members at Domingo's house.

We walked and along the way I pondered what several people back home had told me when they found out I was coming on this trip. Everyone kept saying that it would be life changing. So far nothing has seemed to be life changing (granted we are only half way through our time here, but still). I asked Alex if he thought it was all hype and he told me that he thinks it is a lot of hype and that a more realistic approach is a willingness to have your viewpoint and perspective changed by the people you are with. That is not to say that God won't reveal something new to me in a powerful way, but if all I come away with from this experience is a greater appreciation of another culture and have a broader sense of and love for God's people, rather than some intense mountain top experience, I think that will be enough.

When we arrived at Domingo's house I could the man was well to do. Unlike in America where a person can be in debt up to their eyeballs and have a super posh house, in Mexico if you have a nice home you got money. Domingo's house was lovely. The outside was a pleasant shade of rust colored orange and he had large windows and the very first wooden door I had yet seen. He also had a yard and kept some chickens in a pen off to the side. Inside works of art hung on the walls and the floor was covered with large, colorful area rugs. We sat down on a comfy sofa underneath a large window while we waited for the rest of the church members to gather.

Suddenly the quiet conversation was interrupted by a loud and jarring noise.
WHAM! BUCK-UCK!
A chicken had dived bombed the window directly above the couch we were sitting on and was scrambling to stay perched on the narrow window ledge. Upon further investigation I discovered that Domingo's chicken coop was actually built right next to the house and you could look into it from the window. I had to laugh. Only in Mexico would a prayer meeting be interrupted by a kamakazi chicken.

We opened the meeting by singing and our group sang Psalm 121 in English for everyone because the Mexicans could read along in Spanish in their Bibles. Afterward we divided into groups and spent time praying for each other and various needs of the church. I really enjoyed the prayer time and realized that lately I have been far too focused on myself and my own problems regarding my unemployment. It has been consuming my thoughts and is really bringing me down. I want to focus my thought life more on others and I resolved to not pray for myself again until we get home. Please don't misunderstand. It's not that I am trying to minimize my problems or my feelings, but rather that I felt God's command to put others before ourselves applies to our prayer and our thoughts too. While I'm on this trip I don't want to think about what's at home. I'm here now, with these people in this place, and that's what I want to focus on.

The prayer time, for me, was far too short. When we were all finished we were served a very delicious dessert that was some sort of mix of chopped apples, pecans and fluffy white sweetness. It was so good that both Alex and I had seconds. It was dark when we left and we walked home with David, a few other Mexican teens and a few of the girls from our group. It was chilly and very windy, but the city lights were gorgeous. It was the first time I had been able to see them and they stretched on for miles, twinkling and shining like endless strands of Christmas lights.

When we got home Alex was exhausted and he went right to bed. I spent some time talking with Lucio. He had his laptop out (our family has internet and wireless) and so I booted up Yahoo!'s Babel Fish to aid in the conversation. It was very helpful and I was able to tell him about Alex's job at Baker and the fact that I had just lost my job.

All in all it was a good day. Tomorrow we will go the market place. I am looking forward to that.

Day 3: In which we attend church, have a potluck and get lost in translation

Alex and I came downstairs, dressed and ready for church by 8am. The service didn't start till 10:30am but we were told breakfast would be at 8. However, this is Mexican time so we didn't really get to eat till about 8:30. But it was well worth waiting for. I had never had hot dogs fried with scrambled eggs, but it was very tasty. Margarita made my day when she gave me a bottle of ketchup to use. Slowly the family came down one by one and everyone just kinda ate whenever. We were sort of expecting everyone to sit down together and eat at once, but now that I think of it I am not sure where that idea came from ^^'' Alex actually went back to bed for a little while at one point.

When we were finally ready to leave we, Lucio, Andres, Margarita and Cesar piled into the family car and drove the five minutes to church. It was pretty much uphill the entire way. We made a sharp right turn down a narrow road and Lucio pulled off to the side (which almost looked like a nearby house's yard). We got out and walked down a pathway to a set of wide stone stairs. We split off to the right and walked down a confining alley that was bordered by tall brick walls on each side. To the left a pale yellow, metal door was swung open to reveal a set of adjacent stone steps. We walked up these and found ourselves in the church's courtyard.

The courtyard was paved with concrete and contained with tall, smooth, off-white walls. Directly in front of the steps was a large, beautiful bush adorned with bright purple flowers I could not identify. To the left was a large green barrel filled with water and next to that were two small bathrooms. The bathrooms' doors were metal (I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see a wood door in this country) and each was narrow, perhaps only 4' wide. Each had a small sink held up on thin metal legs. The toilets, much to my dismay, did not have toilet seats. I had been told that many toilets in Mexico don't have toilet seats. Apparently something we as Americans consider so essential is sort of looked at as an extra but unnecessary feature to a bathroom. Sort of like a lid cover or a jar of potpourri. I'm happy I've been working out; hovering is easier when your quads and hams are strong.

Directly in front of the bathrooms is a set of wide stone stairs that leads up to the sanctuary on the second floor. When you walk up the stairs there is an open area like a patio that has a white metal railing around the outside. The sanctuary has two sets of curved, double doors made out of pretty pieces of colored Plexiglas and white metal. Inside the adjacent wall is lined with large windows, and all the walls are the same off-white shade seen on the outside. The floor is covered in a shiny, caramel colored tile with a simple geometric pattern on it. The seats resemble a cross between a traditional wooden bench and movie theater seats. They fold up when no one is sitting in them and they are not bolted down to the floor so they can easily be moved when needed.

When the service began I was delighted; we sang a lot of songs. I actually knew several of their English equivalents. We also stood up and sat down a lot and I wondered if the heavy presence of Catholicism in the country was responsible for that. After the pastor gave his sermon (very precious little of which I was able to grasp) he asked us all to greet one another. Normally I don't care for greeting time in church. I often feel like it's forced, fake and doesn't make any difference or foster any sort of connection between people. This time, however, I actually enjoyed it. We sang a very bouncy, happy song and walked around blessing one another.

After the service was done their was Sunday School. They actually divided it like this: married men, married women, and young people. I thought that was strange. What if you were not a young person and also were not married? Where would you go? But it seemed that there were no stragglers wondering where they belonged, so perhaps there is no one who falls into that catergory at that church. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. A question I hardly get asked in America is if Alex and I have any kids. We've only been married for three years and just in our mid-twenties, so in the US we're pretty normal. But so far I think every person I have told that I've been married for three years has followed that information with a question of if we have a baby yet. It doesn't bother me, and everyone has seemed quite accepting of the fact that Alex and I have decided to wait a while. But it is a difference I have noticed.

I felt frustrated because I wanted to be with the young people but I am a married woman, so in the end I decided to stay with the women's group. I was joined by Gina, Alice and Jane, the other three adult women on the trip. My frustration grew because I understood hardly a word of what the women were talking about and it sounded like a very good conversation. Everyone seemed very open with each other, and more than once some women shared some personal goings on in the families that brought them and others to tears. I was impressed by the openess that I sensed in this group, in this church family, and wondered how it could have come so easily. Is it just a cultural difference? Or perhaps this was truly an exceptional group of closely knit church members.

After Sunday School we all gathered in the fellowship hall downstairs. To get to it we had to go down the stairs outside of the sanctuary, through the courtyard and in through another set of the colored Plexiglas and white metal curved doors. In here the floor was concrete and one of the walls was lined with large windows. Directly in the back an industrial, sliding metal door was open to reveal a large opening in the wall that led to the back portion of the church's property.

We shared a potluck meal (which of course was delicious) and had group meeting after. Scott let us all know who would be doing what the next day, whether it was going to be construction or VBS. When he told me that I'd be doing VBS I will admit I was scared (for those of you who have read previous posts of mine, you know that large groups of children scare me and I really have to pump myself up for it). The fact that there was going to be a huge language barrier made me feel even more uneasy. But Alex pointed out that this was theMexican's VBS, and if there was a problem they would handle it. It helped me feel better, but I was still a little worried.

There was a short evening service at church where we sang more songs, and then it was time to go home. Lucio drove, like usual. But in the back seat was me, Alex, Margarita and 5-year-old Debbie, who sat on my lap, and in the front Andres shared the seat with Cesar. It's just the way things are done here. People don't wear seatbelts and you pile as many folks as you possibly can into one car because it's all you have! Usually folks don't have to drive very far, and because of all the topes you end up never going very fast anyway. Although the traffic is still somewhat unnerving.

Back at home we shared a lite dinner and got a chance to chat with the family. Thankfully Lucio knows a little bit of English and he seems eager to pratice. He is easy to speak with and slowly we are able to hash things out. Mistakes still get made, however. One had to do with my hairstyle.

Before we left I had done my hair up in corn rows so i wouldn't have to fuss with it while we are here. Lupita, Margarita and Michele complimented me on it, and I wanted to tell them what we call them in America. We took out our dictionary and looked up the word for corn. When we said it they all looked at Alex and me with confused faces. Alex glanced at the dictionary again and discovered the word we had used for corn was the word for the kind of corns you get on your feet. Very embaressed but completely amused with our error we found the correct word and we all had a good laugh. Lupita said that they looked like churros to her (which are long, slender, deep-fried pastries that you can sometimes find at carnivals in the US), and so we decided to call the style that instead.

Things are going well. Tomorrow we get to work!