30 Favorite Blogposts from Xanga, pt.1

I started posting June 23, 2005, but I began by posting my prayer letter e-mails that began in January 2005.

1.      My first entry (edited)

I am looking down at my pink slippers with their green flowers in deep satisfaction. Because Bugg gave them to me for Christmas and it was really sweet of him to remember me. My sister and I packed in the car and headed to the U.P. for New Years. By 3:00am, I was popping in hot fries and Nerds to keep my eyes open, but we made it in one piece.

Some people in this world just inspire you. I came together with people of like mind who wanted to have deep conversations about the greatness of God and tell how He was writing their lives. I needed it. Because sometimes you only live your life by others’ expectations. And as long as those expectations are low, your life is easy. Their purity of life revealed not only my sloppiness, but also that it is not about keeping up with others, it is about following the Highest Standard--Jesus Christ.

 We reopened the youth center on January 3rd, although it sure was not finished. There was so much rain that the office was flooded and we had to walk across the gang planks laid out as the youth center area was turned into a mote and covered in water. Everyone was stuck inside because of the rain and had a ton of nervous energy, which meant basketballs were being bounced off my head *literally.*

Mr.James (who just had a baby boy tonight) is the new director. He is big on visitation, so twice last week I got to go out and see some kids. We were trying to find this family that moved--Shenequa and Micalya, because they had more Christmas presents given to them. I banged on quite a few houses and got strangers looking at me like I was selling something.

Donald wanted to buy some bread, so when we went into the store, I stuck out like a snowflake in the rain. Donald kept shushing me, so I pinched him. Donald turned a nice pink (for him) and then grumbled all the way home how I was so embarrassing and how he would never take me any place again: "Imagine me, having a white girl beatin up on me.”

Here is my verse for this year: John 15:16 "Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain; that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name He may give it to you."

2.      July 2005, my second trip to Brazil

My suitcase arrived, late. I started unpacking…and no chocolate. I had brought a box with 36 Hershey bars. It is hard to miss. I get to the bottom of the suitcase, and no chocolate. Grr. You should have seen David: “That is horrible! Someone needs to give us our chocolate! How corrupt can they be—taking chocolate? I am going to call them right now!” And he did, but it has not gotten anywhere yet. 

The bug bites are up to 50 and as I was religiously itching them I was trying to talk in Portuguese and said something about the horrible “moo-sa-kas.” Well, apparently that is NOT the word for mosquitoes. It is something similar, but enough different that David and Silvio (another seminary student who is hilarious) could not stop laughing at me. They have determined to call the bugs “moo-sa-kas” from now on. David says it like on Lion King when the hyenas say “Mufasa.”  

I am part of the mime team—playing a little devil. The problem is that I am just not very good at aggression. Karine was like “think of someone you hate—oh, wait, you don’t hate anyone do you? Come on Rachel—be mean—think evil!” so now I have homework to look in the mirror and find a way to make my face express evil and deception. They kept laughing at me because the harder I tried; the more bouncy I got instead of more evil. 

I tried to make some more goose-goo, and this time there was salt, but the problem was that when Ricardo showed me, he did not measure anything. I ended up putting in four times the proper amount of salt in. David, like that trooper he is, still ate it. Gilson came in, took a mouthful and then painfully swallowed and showed me the proper amount of salt to put it. For something only requiring two ingredients, I sure am having a hard time of it. What will happen when I move on to making rice and beans?

Every afternoon I played futebol barefoot, and now the bottom of my feet are permanently black. I have scrubbed and scrubbed, but...nope. I got a bruise on my cheek from running into Sonja, a bruise on my shin from running into Ricardo's heel, and my big toe feels sore anytime I touch it. But I know a bit more of what I am doing now, and even hit the ball with my head (so what if it went out of bounds).

I am convinced that Brasilians are forced to think before they speak just because of the grammar. I was trying to learn articles. I mean, how hard can "a" and "the" be in a different language? you never know a question is dumb until you answer it: there are four different ways to say "the-" a,o, as, and os. Depending on feminine, masculine, singular, and plural form of the noun you are going to say. So when I try to say "The light is on" before I can say "the" I have to know the Portuguese word for light, recognize if it is feminine or masculine (most of the time you can tell by the end of the word "a" or "o", but sometimes you can't--like Luz- is z masculine or feminine? it turns out that Luz, meaning light, is masculine...did you know that?). So here I am, standing in front of someone, trying to say the simplest sentence, and it takes me three blank looks and alot of "ums" just to say the correct word "the." by this time I am exhausted and ready to forget about moving on to the rest of the sentence.

I went shopping with Edjane and Kattia today. I think the world is against me and my goal of trying to cook. there was no baking powder in the whole supermarket...and this was the largest supermarket in Carpina! and besides that, I did not know the word for it...try acting out "baking powder" without any English. it's alot harder than most words in charades. It turns out their flour already has baking powder in it?

3.      November 6, 2005

“I envy the person I could be but choose not to be.” I want to be so much more.When you surrender things you don’t have to stress about them. When you start stressing again it is a sign you took them off the alter of surrender. Ivy is dancing around the house. Her futebol team just scored another goal. Josue is getting grumpy. It is against his team.

I now know enough Portuguese to have theological discussions. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the five points of Calvinism and so I cannot remember what I believe and what I don’t. When you hug a person, you are supposed to put your head one direction and they the other direction. I always manage to smash my face by going the wrong way. Oh well. Hugs are dangerous anyways.

Karine (or a ghost) enjoys turning off the hot water every time I get in the shower. This is an evil way of messing with my mind. Wednesday was the “Day of the Dead” in Brasil. We played futebol instead.

I now have had dreams in Portuguese. I woke up long enough to remember the proper conjugation of the verb. Those are called nightmares. I tried “Guarana do Amazonas” juice from the Amazon and it tastes like peanut butter and jelly in a glass. It looks like it too. To hide from myself I have to hide from God—and that is just too stinkin hard.

The secret to being satisfied is not being selfish. The secret to not being selfish is to be too busy serving others and having other passions consume you—namely knowing God and making Him known. We hope for what we trust in. oh yeah. That is an original “Rachel” quote. I think.

“I never knew the dusk could break my heart. So much longing folding in. I’d give years away to have you here. To know I can’t lose you again.” –Fernando Ortega. I called my family and my brother said “Oh Rachel I miss you. But I am glad you are in Brasil so you can tell those kids about Jesus.” I could only choke out a “oh Johnny, I am glad I am here too.”  He is gonna change the world someday, and I am gonna watch him and smile.

I find it funny how I am always so surprised when I ask a question—and God answers.

 

4.      May 16, 2006

I know the feeling. Wanting to be alone. To be somewhere where no one knows, and, for the moment, no one cares or realizes. I would not want it to stay that way. I like being noticed. But for now, obscurity looks inviting. To watch without being seen. To listen without being heard. To make a sudden change of decisions just because the idea suddenly passed through my head. To untie yourself from all that normally holds you and have space to move and breathe and trip on the sidewalk without anyone pointing and laughing. To think the thoughts you’ve had to push aside all week. To forget about how you look or do and just rest. Refuse to look at your watch. Take pleasure in the passing time. Watch the shadows move, the fly alighting on your leg. This is you. This is who you’ve forgotten to be. This is a moment with no expectations. With no callings. Where is God? Is he with the birds singing? In the person passing by? The warmth of the sunshine on your skin? The gentle wind brushing past your face? Is He beside you, pointing out the beauty, in front of you watching your beauty? Is He resting, with His head in your lap? What is He saying? What does He want you to hear and know before you break the moment. Before you stand up and walk back to the struggle, to the job, to the smiling because it is the right thing to do.

Will they wonder where you were? Will they ask you what happened and not really listen when you tell them? Would you even be able to explain why—why you were not satisfied to say, to continue on, to leave your heart locked up and to accomplish just a little more business…a little more work. Maybe they won’t understand. And that is alright. Because you’ve been there. You’ve practiced His presence.

Let the beauty hurt and ache and burn your soul. Let the silence speak and shout and rage at the injustice of this world. Let the burden of pain and grief and accumulation of little things slide off your heart. Alone. Naked. Empty. Present yourself anew. A living sacrifice.

5.      February 22, 2007

you live a better life when you still believe that there are secret doors to other worlds if only you could find them
you live a better life when you can cry and weep and wipe the snot from your nose unashamedly
you live a better life when you realize that you are not the center of the universe, but that the universe was made for you
you live a better life when you let it bleed, you don't scratch it, and you give it time.

6.      February 13, 2007

We all just want to know we are irreplaceable. That we are special enough to have a space just for us that no one else can fill. That it is worth getting up in the morning. That sweating and running and grinning and looking people in the eye and going the extra mile and doing things right when no one is looking…adds up to something. We all long for someone we respect and look up to to stop and notice us and put their hand on our shoulder and say, “you did good. I saw that. It made a difference. Keep going.”

I met this guy named Chad. We were both sitting at the computers at the hostel in the everglades. After a couple sentences he asked me, “are you a Christian?” which led to sharing “God stories” for the next while. It was good. Connection of two people with the same dad. So the night before I left he asked if I had anything good to read on the plane. I didn’t, so he said he had a book for me. What a book.

I sat alone in Costa Rica, tears running down my face, looking at the world and being overwhelmed with the beautiful and the pain and the wretchedness. “The Irresistible Revolution” by Shane Claiborne. MUST READ.

Karine took me to a special place today after school. A field in the middle on nowhere. Where the wind blows and you can see the “lonely tree” and the hills and the cows and…lovely. I’d read Karine some excerpts from the book and we were inspired.

Karine: I want to roll down the hill, but the grass is sharp and will cut me and there is cow dung everywhere.

Me: but if you really wanted to you could. What is stopping you? What really is stopping you? I bet the author of that book would roll down it—scratches and dung and all.

That’s the kind of book it is. And it hurt me that I didn’t roll down the hill. What stops us? What REALLY holds us back?

 (In an old comic strip) “Two guys talking to each other, and one of then says he has questions for God. He wants to ask why God allows all of this poverty and war and suffering to exist in the world. And his friend says, “Well, why don’t you ask Him?” The fellow shakes his head and says he is scared. When his friend asks why, he mutters, “I am scared God will ask me the same question.”

Let me bleed. Let me feel guilty. Let me do something. Let me roll down the hill thought the scratchy grass and cow dung.

“One friend was asked by a skeptic, “You all are just a little group if radical idealists. What makes you think you can actually change the world?” and she said “Sir, if you will take a closer look at history you will see, that’s the only way it has ever been done.” 

 “Once, there was a small group of kids who decided to go to a park in the middle of the city, and dance and play, laugh and twirl. As they played in the park, they thought that maybe another child would pass by and see them. Maybe that child would think it looked fun and even decide to join them. Then maybe another one would. Then maybe a businessman would hear them from his skyscraper. Maybe he would look out the window. Maybe he would see them playing and lay down his papers and come down. Maybe they could teach him to dance. Then maybe another businessman would walk by, a nostalgic man, and he would take off his tie and toss aside his briefcase and dance and play. Maybe the whole city would join the dance. Maybe even the world. Maybe…Regardless, they decided to enjoy the dance.”

 “Ask the poor. They will tell you who the Christians are” –Gandhi

 “So live real good, and get beat up real bad. Dance until they kill you, and then we’ll dance some more. That’s how this thing seems to work.”

 “Bored? God forgive us for all those we have lost because we made the gospel boring…it’s because we don’t dare them, not because we don’t entertain them. It’s because we make the gospel too easy, not because we make it too difficult. Kids want to do something heroic with their lives.”

 “True revolution is when…the oppressed are freed from being oppressed and the oppressors are freed from being oppressors.” –Bishop Desmond Tutu.

7.      March 5, 2007

i bought a coconut. and sipped my coconut while walking around town. but i didn't look all "native" because no one in Brasil does that. because walking around with a coconut is rather heavy.  i've learned that i am looking for a place. that is quiet. beautiful. alone, empty. where i can't hurt anyone and no one can hurt me.a place where i can go when i am tired. a place of rest.
i've learned i am looking for a person. someone who wants to sit down and listen to my day. whose face lights up when i come in the room. who sees the little extra things i do and says "hey girl, that's good." who sees my mistakes and hugs me and says "hey girl, that's okay."
i am learning that that person is God. the place is somewhere with Him (until heaven). He's enough. so i am learning again. and again. and i will still be learning tomorrow. i've been staring at the stars alot lately. there was a lunar eclips the other day. red moon. sweet.
Last week i decided to teach the kids the alphabet. i didn't realize that kids in Brasil learn how to write cursive. most of them don't even know printing at all. so what i planned for as teaching 26 things turned into teaching them the whole mechanics of writing and so on and so forth...what is funny is that they will never forget the letter "x". because of x-men. they mumble through the whole alphabet and then come to x and all the guys get excited and say "X!" in their power positions, imagining they are wolverine or something...
my goal for this month is to talk to more strangers. Yep

8.      May 16, 2007

Don't ask questions if you don't want an answer. so many questions are not really questions at all--they are polite fronts. and most of the rest of questions...the person does not want to hear an answer anyway. it is rather a lose/lose situation for the one being questioned. it is a horrible thing to wake up one morning and realize you can't remember the last time you prayed for anyone besides yourself or having to do with your situations.

why is it so easy to be self-centered? Burn the midnight oil. but i am scared to make the sacrifice of not sleeping. i need sleep. i like sleep. Sobre o abrigo pasam, lentamente, os sonhos que nem se ousam sonhar. "Looking towards heaven can be seen the dreams that simple people dare not have."

someone asked me "what if you love Brasil just because it is all you have ever known." then they pointed out how they had loved milk chocolate until they met dark chocolate and now realized it was really the dark chocolate that they had loved all along...If you stop at the first thing you enjoy, how do you know it is the best? how do you know you won't like something better?

you don't. you make a choice. some things you just know. what if i am only a Christian because it is the first thing i ever tried? good then. because it is what i want, what i am satisfied with. what i know is true. some people think this is a little box. close-minded.

Maybe i will go to another country. other ministries in my life. maybe some day i might even like dark chocolate. but Brasil is where God has me now. and i believe that. i believe in this ministry and what God is doing. When you have that feeling...somehow the need to go out an experience everything else fades and loses its power over you.

there is something beautiful about that...being happy where you are. in other things, it is just a beautiful to have a hunger and drive to see and try all things new--to explore and discover and learn. oh! to learn the art of moderation. not of excess or of elimination.

 

9.      June 5, 2007

Sprinklers watering your lawn while it rains and other such irony.

I asked John what he wanted to be when he grew up.

J: a father. (serious sigh) i want to be a good parent.

R: who told you to say all that?

J: no one.

shall we believe him? i took John to swimming lessons. he looks so little watching him from the bleachers. every time i look at him he is wiping his nose. we need to talk about that.

back at the youth center. love it. played at the park with the little kids. they love me and think i am the fastest thing alive. my feet were so dirty that they said i was finally turning black. yesssssss. i found this in my journal from January and thought it relevant:

i am gonna miss this psycho version of what is called the ghetto. i'll probably have weird random dreams in Brasil about driving the van "butt fulla kids" or someone getting shot (happened twice last year). maybe having the SWAT team come in because the neighbor went crazy from some bad drugs...maybe about being joaned on. i got called "Steve Nash with a hair cut" the other day. maybe i'll dream about life and love and tears and sharing and "How are you and God?" Maybe i'll hear about people leaving and coming and changing and growing and running away. Sometimes i won't miss the ghetto. the expectation. the "i deserve this and more" the "give me something free" the "no, that isn't good enough" instead of a thank you. the stuckness--"i want to do the right thing,but i just can't. the waiting. gosh they take forever to get ready. the sick jokes. sometimes, i really don't want to know what you are thinking. the meanness--or plain lack of kindness. it is like being nice or kind is "weak." you are part of the group when they are mean to you. sometimes i'd rather not be part of the group. those little lines of "Everyone hates you Ms.Rachel, why don't you go home." replay a thousand times over. they dig my soul. they take away something soft and innocent that i value very much. the chip on their shoulder. they know what to do. they feel bad if they don't--but don't you dare go and point it out. Don't you dare say they are wrong--it is always someone else's fault. "yeah, i just picked up that girl and slammed her on the ground--but you play favorites and never did nothing when she..." and then the "so yeah, i will feel bad about this tomorrow, but i don't know how to apologize so i never will...but for now, i will disrespect you and make you feel like the most insignificant person on the planet..."

And then there are the hugs and "Ms.Rachel, watch me" like if i am watching i give them superpowers--they can fly only if they are noticed. there are the"How was your day?" and genuine "you look like you are gonna cry--i got your back--tell me a name and i will beat them up for you." they are so proud to be taller than me now. old kids stop by every once in awhile to show us they are alive and remember that at least one thing in their childhood was real and it is still true. it is the best of life--laughing and playing hard and not hiding--and the worst of it--pain and ugliness and protecting yourself by destroying another. i love it. i hate it.

10.  August 26, 2007

I started internet classes. Creative writing and Psycology. as if i am not already confused. English class was covering body and clothes vocabulary. this led to many interesting conversations, and kids are just not shy and find any discussion on body parts funny. You know what makes me smile? Pastor Assuario walking down the hall singing ´´You must not know ´bout me.``
i had a mid-life crisis during my second grade class. I always ask the kids questions like ´´how old are you?´´ but i switched things up and asked Neto, ``how old is your mother?`` he said 25. since she couldnt be 25, i repeated the question in Portuguese, thinking he misunderstood me. nope. his mother is 25. so is his father. i am as old as my second grader´s parents.
i got scared again. i told Tele that my documents had arrived and he was ready to send them off that day to get my VISA. i had two years flash in my face and freaked over the committment. half way to 50 sounds bad enough...almost 30 sounds even worse. i was talking with God...He said wherever i went there would always be something beautiful. for the moment, that answers works perfectly.

people asking me how I am is normally my cue to ask them how they are. But 3/4s of the time I get so glad that they asked that I start one of my stories of me and then never have time to even get to them. most problems are really rather simple, it just takes us getting to the end of our rope to be honest with ourselves and others and realize what we need to do.

I am learning about love. The kind of love that I know seems to make me choose one and reject the other. Like I am a fairy that can only hold one emotion at a time. I choose to love one person and then anyone who hurts them I hate. Sounds natural. But that isn’t how it works. I am supposed to love that person too. It is easy to love the raped woman, but what about loving the rapist? I am called to love. To love both. My love does not go that far. To love the unborn baby I hate the abortionist. To love my country and freedom, I hate Iraq and terrorists. To love the ghetto I hate suburbia. Maybe hate is too strong a word…despise, look down upon, be apathetic towards…but whatever it is, it isn’t love. And if I am not loving everyone, am I really loving anyone? How does one love so that someone else can feel it?

11.  October 1, 2007

A memory: I love that church. I had just gotten home from Brazil where all I had learned and seen was jumbled up inside me. We walked into the big church and my heart began to bulk at the religiousness and affluence. Then a man walked up to me, my little brother squirming in my arms. He reached into his pocket and presented a stuffed animal to my brother. A quick smile and he walked up the podium and began to preach. In that moment, i realized it was not about what people had or did not have, it was about those who GAVE.

A poem: In fourth grade they laughed
and said i was not their best friend anymore
In sixth grade they taunted
and called me four eyes
In eighth grade they left me alone
only conscience of themselves
In tenth grade they glanced around
and said maybe I would be some fun
In twelfth grade I flew away
and realized I was enough

12.  November 11, 2007

The first thing I noticed was the soft toilet paper. I guess USians think that is important. My second thought was that there cannot be everything bad about a culture that has things like vanilla chai.

I was rather bitter at this point because I was freezing because of the AIR CONDITIONING in Miami. The weather itself was fine, lovely, beautiful. I traveled all day, via Sao Paulo and Panama City and got to Miami at Midnight…but the baggage holder place was closed, so catching a bus with two trunks did not sound appetizing. I slept in the COLD airport with my stuff and warmed up with vanilla chai. Dunkin Donuts is always open. The world seems to wake up at 5:00am. The airport at least, and then I dumped my bags and made a run for the beach in time for the sunrise. Via Detroit, I made it to Indy in time for dinner Wednesday night. I managed to take this trip without one intelligent conversation. Two people asked me if I was old enough to travel alone. This is not intelligent conversation. Especially at 2:00am when I forgot how old I was.

I snuck out of Brazil. The meaning of a red eye flight. Everyone thinks they are going to tell you good bye the next morning, but when they wake up, you are already gone. Maybe then they cried. Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter because you are not there to see it. So it doesn’t count. You stare down at the morning sky and wonder at their tears. Or lack thereof. And wonder at your own. Maybe just stress. Maybe the romance of being somewhere between two worlds. Somewhere between leaving and arriving.

There is nothing romantic about leaving. It sounds romantic, and then you build up and plan and get ready and say goodbyes--I guess there is some romance in all that. Maybe in tears…but then you leave, and it is all black and white. it’s the headache and nagging tug that says you forgot something. It is the fear you might not come back because all your plans are overruled by the words “Nothing is sound” by Switchfoot yelling in your inner ear. It is the unresolved note at the end because you cannot tie up your relationships and let them wait in the corner. And then you are alone. Dreadfully alone. Maybe someone wanted to wait with you, maybe no one did. But it does not matter now because you are gone.

And now I am back. Do I forget all that I have learned when I come back? I wake up in this bed and wonder how much of it has just been a dream. John crawled into bed with me this morning and started talking about albatrosses and hot air and whales and sonar. My intelligent reply to my seven year old brother was something like “Albatrosses…they are something like seagulls, right?”

I went job hunting Thursday and Friday. Was overly efficient and ended up getting three jobs. As you know, highest bidder wins. Swing dancing on Friday--the milkshakes were better than attempting to learn yet once again. Randomly, I like hair short enough to let the wind take it where it wants. It is amazing how you can get used to an idea--any idea, if you think about it for long enough. The good news? All those bad people out there--yeah, there is hope for them. The bad news? All those good people…aren’t really good.

13.  November 22, 2007

I met two gypsies at work. Real ones that travel and everything. Unfortunately, they also steal. They have stolen before so I was sent to give them "good customer service" until they left my department. The guy who makes sure people don’t steal (I am sure he has some title) came by my department and picked up my receipts. And read them. They started out something like "Hey God, how are you this morning?" and so he asks me "so, you are pretty religious?" I cringed and said "well, I like to think of it as more of a relationship kind of thing." he said "that might be pretty hard on your boyfriend." Hitting on me or not…I had never thought about it like that. It is the common terms now to say "oh, not religion—relationship." But if you actually think about it…pretty hard on your boyfriend.

Anyone with a real heavy accent or that speaks another language; I automatically speak in Portuguese with them. Without even thinking. The lady at the Chinese food place looked at me strangely when I said "Obrigada" and I didn’t even notice until I was out the door with my food.

When I say "I don’t know" it doesn’t normally mean I don’t know, it means wait a minute, I have to think about it…

I like the US. I like my car. I like my family’s church. I could get used to this…but I want Brasil. Most of the time you only know what you have. I know 2 worlds. And I have my choice of them. How lucky is that! Except not. Because I always know and feel what I am missing know. In hard times I wish for the other. In good times I wonder "what if?" and I feel this huge responsibility to "DON’T MESS UP RACHEL" because I am the only one to blame for a wrong choice. I am the one who has to live with my life. So where does God fit into all of that? Or working at Carson’s? I mean…what do I do during the day…how is the fact that I am a Christian make my life, my job, my day, different?

I understand Dad now. Coming home and sitting on the couch and just being tired. The sore shoulders that sag a little lower every hour until it is time to leave. The feet that ache until you move them and then they throb. You don’t want to do anything, but you don’t want time to pass because then it will be closer to the time you have to go back to work again. Plans are made for those illusive times called "weekends" or "vacations."

I own a space in a parking garage. I’ve rented a piece of suburia. Not many people pay in cash. I get a little buzz when the cash drawer opens and I get to use actual money. Some people drop hundreds like bagels. Sometimes I just have to hug someone. Sometimes I just have to sing. Like in the wind or sunshine. Maybe just because I can’t hug God.

Sometimes I can’t do anything but stare at the person. Like my eyes are greedy and starving and my only food and salvation is seeing that person…this only has happened to me twice--both when I realized I was losing someone. When I realized I couldn’t hold on to them…and that was okay--but dang I was going to live now and right now I was with them. I could think of no better way to pass the time then being as close as possible to them and just staring at them. I bet it was quite unnerving. And somewhere in those moments, I lost myself and began to love.

You can’t go living life with God without soon realizing that there is something very big, very scary and very much more important than you going on. Like “V for Vendetta” there is no such thing as a coincidence. I am filled with a certain dread when I see little decisions I made in the past affect a whole world of people. At the same time, I see little obediences that add up to a million good things and I bubble over in awe. I am a part of this, and belong--for all the good, bad, ugly, and breathtakingly beautiful.

He calls me forward, to places I cannot see, to a journey of sifting sand where I am promised no companion but an invisible hand. A hand connected to this Power, Force, King--and yet my Lover, Consoler, and Friend. He calls me deeper, to treasure troves of untainted gold, and I am claustrophobic, clawing for the end of the tunnel, and am then led to a place where I see the inside is bigger than the outside. He calls me to Himself, where like a new crush, all I want to do is ask what He thinks about life and toothpaste and women preachers. Where fascination draws me to his eyes and I cannot look away. His words take on new meaning, and monotone is turned into music. Those words aren’t for the crowd anymore--they are for me.

I want the feeling of my wet tears sliding out of my eyes and gathering on the rim of my glasses to last. Of being tangled up in two blankets and my brother and still being cold as he wiggles around and jumps up every time the movie gets exciting. Of watching the “Little Prince” and my heart hurting and pounding out for someone to tame me. Of hugging the little boy beside me and being glad I can hold him for just a little bit longer. Of being glad of being surrounded by simple, innocent things that seem so far away from a long harsh day of work and world and reality. Of talking with old friends and seeing that some things never change. But changes within those non-changes shake and rattle until it takes something away we never knew we had.
I am going to have to forget, aren’t I? I had a dream somewhere between when I woke up and when my alarm was supposed to go off. I went to a wonderful place within a place, and felt things and learned things and overcame my fear of murky water. Everyone else was asleep, and would not remember this place when they woke up. I knew I had to go to sleep too. So I looked at my friends and said “I am going to have to forget, aren’t I.” And then a nod and a dream and I wake up in a cold room, trying not to move because I know as soon as I do it will all fade away. Why do I always have to forget? Why can’t I stay awake?

14.  January 28, 2008

Dear Mom...

I read your recipe book and things are a little different here. We don´t have pop ´n fresh. how do you make it from scratch? The meat is not the same. not ground up and in a package...it is hanging from a rack in big slabs. Chicken isn´t frozen in nice pieces to put in the George Foreman machine...it is sold live. and they look sick. how do you make popcorn without a microwave? how do you make relish? and i am not sure if they have pickles. there is no celery here. no whip cream. no maple syrup. no Arbys horsey sauce. how do you make horseradish sauce? how do you make ranch dressing...or anything to dip carrots into. because eating carrots alone is not fun. They have things that resemble lettuce, but no dressing. how do you make granola? the fish they sell has the whole thing still intact. how do you get the bones out when it is still looking at you? can you eat the skin? the cheese is squeaky when you chew it. and they have all these weird kinds. not cheddar. and not nicely grated in a bag. big blocks. salsa doesn´t come in a can. and everything is cut by hand. no slicing/dicing/chopping things. how important is it to have a beater? can you just whip things by hand...what about meringue? What can i use in the place of cream cheese? and don´t say cottage cheese, they don´t have that either. How do you make deviled eggs again? please send spinach seeds. i shall just grow my own

15.  February 16, 2008

Raining during the sunshine is called "the wedding of the widow" in Portuguese
happiness is:
*sand so clean that is squeaks.
*eating random things. Like leaves. and fish with pointy noses.
*spending a whole afternoon in water.
*eating mangos in the ocean. eating popcicles in the ocean. eating peanuts and cheese puffs in the ocean. eating darn well anything in the ocean. i guess they don't worry about getting cramps in Brasil.
*best friends
*seeing the bottom of the ocean when you are neck deep in water--so clear the only dark spot is your own shadow
*driving in the back of a pickup truck. stopping when you see mangos. (Nando climbed the tree and shook it until it rained mangos) filling the pickup with mangos. sticky, yellow fingers.
*waves that pull you in and raise you up and then gently put you back down on the soft sand
* taking pictures of "banho de lama" (literally, the bath of earth)
*doing dust donuts in a pickup
*reading poetry on the beach. star gazing on the beach. three shooting stars.
*a picnic of rice and beans. and more mangos
*having a tanline from my ankle bracelet. somewhere, i do have some melanin.
*a long shower after a day of salt water
How can i account for the time that passes so naturally...like it was meant to be lived, and not recorded? i got sunburnt until my eyebrows stung and my wrists were stiff. the salty water busted my lip and it is still growing. My friend asked me...what would happen if you got really sick? and i thought about it...i guess they would buy a ticket for me and send me back to the US. to my family. thinking about that made me miss my family. deep saudades stirred inside me. because they are there. So present in my life. ALWAYS. and it also hurt, and ached...will i ever really be at home here?