I feel like something is growing in me. sometimes i wonder if it is a lukewarm plague because it is so calm. but really...it is something of...seeing that God is here. before i ask. while i am asking. learning that i don't need to ask Him to come. but i want to and do anyway. and i think He likes that. He is so close that sometimes to ask Him to hold my hand is irrevelent. I am learning a trust that i do not have to hear "i love you" to know He loves me.
For a long time my relationship with God was more of a "needy girlfriend/tough guy" thing. I did the dos and not the don'ts because i was going to make our relationship work. i was going to make it happen. i read the Bible every morning. went to every church service. If someone said this was how you got closer to God, i put it on my schedule to do. I constantly came before God, tugging on His robe and asking "Is this what you want? please tell me you love me. please tell me i am doing right. please give me the warm fuzzy feeling." and it was a good time in life. because i went after it. and God was always there. When i asked, He answered.
But then i started asking other questions. and sometimes He didn't answer. sometimes He said i didn't need to know. Sometimes He said that He, and He alone, was enough of an answer for me. And i struggled with that. i felt like these questions...the ones that did not fit in my box, were the most important ones. and that it wasn't fair. i was tired of all the work i had to do to make "being a Christian" feel right.
Then...somewhere along the way, i began to see that God was God no matter what. That He does not need me to stand up for Him. He does not need me to read my Bible and pray and go to church. He does not need me to make this relationship work. It is not my responsibility to make it work. But something inside me wanted to see if this was for real. i wanted to test it. and i put my Bible on the shelf. i hid in my room and did not go to church. i pushed the boundaries and looked at Him with all the rebellion i could muster up and said "I dare you to walk away. to punish me with silence. to get mad and say you do not love me anymore. to give up on me." Something in me was so scared that He would. and i wanted to make it happen fast to get it over with so i could shut down everything and never be hurt again. but God didn't leave. He didn't give me the silent treatment or make me do penance. During those times were some of the sweetest moments...after i had yelled at God, the words of hate rolling around my tongue. and that made me even more scared. because then i loved Him even more and it would hurt even more if He left me someday.
I don't know how i came to see that that day was never going to come. it wasn't something i can put my finger on, but it happened. If i do not read my Bible, it is not to feel guilty. He is not going to glare at me. Now i want to read it because i want Him. i am hungry. i pick it up like i open the refrigerator door--not because i am maintaining a relationship. I am not reading until i fill a deadline, i am reading until i am filled up. satisfied. Same thing with church...i go because something has "dinged" in me and said "hey, remember that 'fellowship with others' thing? you need that because something is empty in here."
somewhere, i think i finally understand that He loves me before i ask. not because of what i do, but just because He chose me. It is a no-strings attached deal. i cannot pin Him down. i cannot control Him or make things go my way. Yet he makes these promises to me: "I won't leave. i won't change. i love you and always have and always will." And these promises are bigger than me. They come to me--i didn't ask for them. It is the ultimate friendship that won't wake up one morning and not feel like calling me. I don't worry about His issues or if He will be grumpy or i will say something and have to make it all better. It is the ultimate relationship--i never have to worry about rolling over in bed and finding that He is not there, or that pit stomach feeling when He is struggling or hurting and i cannot help him or do anything to solve it. It is not my responsibility to cheer him up or have an answer.
and some days i wake up and realize it has been a couple days since i have had intimacy...a real conversation with God. But it isn't guilt that crushes me...i turn over and say "hey stranger...how is it going?" we talk and catch up. and i smile and sigh because i have missed the closeness and i tell myself not to let it happen again because THIS IS THE LIFE. but it does happen again and life becomes like a fog until i wake up and wonder where i was...because i sure wasn't living. i forget like this a lot. I live in the fog. maybe living is just learning how to remember. that God is here. That He loves me. That He isn't leaving. That He is mine and i am His and that is a commitment in itself. a commitment bigger than me. a commitment that won't break even if i do.
For a long time my relationship with God was more of a "needy girlfriend/tough guy" thing. I did the dos and not the don'ts because i was going to make our relationship work. i was going to make it happen. i read the Bible every morning. went to every church service. If someone said this was how you got closer to God, i put it on my schedule to do. I constantly came before God, tugging on His robe and asking "Is this what you want? please tell me you love me. please tell me i am doing right. please give me the warm fuzzy feeling." and it was a good time in life. because i went after it. and God was always there. When i asked, He answered.
But then i started asking other questions. and sometimes He didn't answer. sometimes He said i didn't need to know. Sometimes He said that He, and He alone, was enough of an answer for me. And i struggled with that. i felt like these questions...the ones that did not fit in my box, were the most important ones. and that it wasn't fair. i was tired of all the work i had to do to make "being a Christian" feel right.
Then...somewhere along the way, i began to see that God was God no matter what. That He does not need me to stand up for Him. He does not need me to read my Bible and pray and go to church. He does not need me to make this relationship work. It is not my responsibility to make it work. But something inside me wanted to see if this was for real. i wanted to test it. and i put my Bible on the shelf. i hid in my room and did not go to church. i pushed the boundaries and looked at Him with all the rebellion i could muster up and said "I dare you to walk away. to punish me with silence. to get mad and say you do not love me anymore. to give up on me." Something in me was so scared that He would. and i wanted to make it happen fast to get it over with so i could shut down everything and never be hurt again. but God didn't leave. He didn't give me the silent treatment or make me do penance. During those times were some of the sweetest moments...after i had yelled at God, the words of hate rolling around my tongue. and that made me even more scared. because then i loved Him even more and it would hurt even more if He left me someday.
I don't know how i came to see that that day was never going to come. it wasn't something i can put my finger on, but it happened. If i do not read my Bible, it is not to feel guilty. He is not going to glare at me. Now i want to read it because i want Him. i am hungry. i pick it up like i open the refrigerator door--not because i am maintaining a relationship. I am not reading until i fill a deadline, i am reading until i am filled up. satisfied. Same thing with church...i go because something has "dinged" in me and said "hey, remember that 'fellowship with others' thing? you need that because something is empty in here."
somewhere, i think i finally understand that He loves me before i ask. not because of what i do, but just because He chose me. It is a no-strings attached deal. i cannot pin Him down. i cannot control Him or make things go my way. Yet he makes these promises to me: "I won't leave. i won't change. i love you and always have and always will." And these promises are bigger than me. They come to me--i didn't ask for them. It is the ultimate friendship that won't wake up one morning and not feel like calling me. I don't worry about His issues or if He will be grumpy or i will say something and have to make it all better. It is the ultimate relationship--i never have to worry about rolling over in bed and finding that He is not there, or that pit stomach feeling when He is struggling or hurting and i cannot help him or do anything to solve it. It is not my responsibility to cheer him up or have an answer.
and some days i wake up and realize it has been a couple days since i have had intimacy...a real conversation with God. But it isn't guilt that crushes me...i turn over and say "hey stranger...how is it going?" we talk and catch up. and i smile and sigh because i have missed the closeness and i tell myself not to let it happen again because THIS IS THE LIFE. but it does happen again and life becomes like a fog until i wake up and wonder where i was...because i sure wasn't living. i forget like this a lot. I live in the fog. maybe living is just learning how to remember. that God is here. That He loves me. That He isn't leaving. That He is mine and i am His and that is a commitment in itself. a commitment bigger than me. a commitment that won't break even if i do.
17. August 9, 2008
i crossed over ``middle earth`` or whatever you would call the part of your life spent being transported and airport life--self-flushing toilets, self-running faucets, self-squirting soap, and being permanently attached to your baggage. Question: what do people do who do not have a Dad who looks them in the eye and says ``You made the right choice.``?
I arrived at the international school with a big hug from Daniel (4th grade), who then lead me to the other classes and i was pushed into a corner by waves and waves of children flowing out of their classrooms and chanting "Rachel! Rachel!" you think i am exaggerating. i am not.
Returning to Brasil was not magical. it was familiar. just as i notice a chance when i go to the US of everyone being black or white, so returning to Brasil i noticed everyone turned back to a nice mixed brown again. a familiar brown. a familiar, melodic language. what was not familiar or magical was returning to the cold morning shower. i have a sudden urge to become French.
i have so much STUFF. i always forget that until i have to unpack it all. because i try to bring the USA to Brasil and that is impossible.
i went to college last night. first time for me and for them. yep, i am the first American to attend there. and neither one of us is sure what to do with me. i have lost some of my Portuguese. about 25% of the lecture went over my head. another 25% was lost because i am taking the education major, and for some reason, all the guys are scared away. there is only one guy in the class. and i think they will scare him away too--because they are rather loud and chatty. but the 50% of sociology class was good. then she talked about tests, and i am getting nervous.
I arrived at the international school with a big hug from Daniel (4th grade), who then lead me to the other classes and i was pushed into a corner by waves and waves of children flowing out of their classrooms and chanting "Rachel! Rachel!" you think i am exaggerating. i am not.
Returning to Brasil was not magical. it was familiar. just as i notice a chance when i go to the US of everyone being black or white, so returning to Brasil i noticed everyone turned back to a nice mixed brown again. a familiar brown. a familiar, melodic language. what was not familiar or magical was returning to the cold morning shower. i have a sudden urge to become French.
i have so much STUFF. i always forget that until i have to unpack it all. because i try to bring the USA to Brasil and that is impossible.
i went to college last night. first time for me and for them. yep, i am the first American to attend there. and neither one of us is sure what to do with me. i have lost some of my Portuguese. about 25% of the lecture went over my head. another 25% was lost because i am taking the education major, and for some reason, all the guys are scared away. there is only one guy in the class. and i think they will scare him away too--because they are rather loud and chatty. but the 50% of sociology class was good. then she talked about tests, and i am getting nervous.
18. January 6, 2009
I am just here. Just here. Empty. I can’t feel anything. It is all gone. All of me. All I want, don’t want, desire. I know what is right, and I know every old decision like the back of my hand. So I guess I will live off of them until I find myself again. I am stumbling through. Not half bad, but not all there. And only I know me enough to know it is missing. No one else knows me well enough to know I am not here. Not here really. And not there.
I alternate between thoughts of how can I return and how could I have ever left. And neither one sticks to me. They all flake off and float down on the floor around me. Nothing is real. Nothing stays. What is mine? Allow me a moment more to think only of myself, to be surrounded by the music and tilt my head back to receive it all. Just receive and be filled.
I am so empty.
Oh God. I feel far away. I feel like it has been awhile since we’ve had a good talk. How have you been? I ache to make you more human, to put flesh on you and have you hold me. I want to be held by someone who isn’t scared to get my snot on their shoulder. Someone who I feel no barriors with, just blind trust and open arms. Someone who I know the answer is yes. And then what? Oh God, and then what? Part of me wants everything, but I know it is only because I want nothing that I can have.
I can almost imagine myself washing the dishes outside the kitchen. Singing some random song. With the wrong words. “don’t break anything now!” comes a call from some where, between cell phone calls. A kiss on the cheek. A good hug and “minha Linda!”
*
Anna was the one asking Johnny the questions. i was just giggling on the sidelines.
A: Where do babies come from?
B: the egg comes from the mommy and meets with the sperm from the man. Then it grows and becomes a baby.
A: Where does this happen?
B: that part is kind of gross.
A: Really?
B: yeah, it is where you go number one.
A: and where does the baby come out?
B: that is where you go number two.
A: can you have a baby without a mommy and a daddy?
B: no.
A: are you sure? Why not?
B: well, maybe you can, but I don’t know how that works.
*
It started snowing.
the nice fluffy snow. but it is still cold. cold cold. my little brother and i got in the car and i started it up...gathering my courage to get out and wipe off all the snow on the car so i could see. "Please please please can i do it?" he asks with a hopeful smile.
"i think so." i reply, a little more disinterested than i should have been. And he puffs around the car, stretching his eight year old arms as far as possible to get the windshild cleared...then goes to the other side, still leaving a strip of white in the middle that little legs cannot raise up to.
and i wish...i wasn't old enough to know it isn't fun to wipe the snow off the car.
19. February 14, 2009
If i get the best education, 4.0 GPA, and have not love, i am worthless. If i run into a lot of money, or speak and have it donated, or work hard and give it--but have not love, i am nothing.
if all the Brasilian children are fed and clothed and given a good education and make professions of faith, but i have not love, i gain nothing.
if i write something that moves people to change, inspires them to grow and benefits those without a voice of their own, but have not love, i am just an irritation that will soon go away.
Love keeps on. it is patient and waits. it is nice and just WANTS to be nice.Love does not want something you have and it doesn't. it doesn't think it should have been the one to have gotten it. it is not jealous, or reading into situations. It is not full of itself, too busy to listen to others.
Love does not fish for compliments or put itself out there to be praised. it is not over-confident, thinking that it does not need help and has all the answers on its own. It does not forget what others have done to help it get to where it is at today. it is not proud or too busy to be kind and mannerly. It never tries to show-off. Love is meek, not insisting on its own way, but thinking of others. It does not get angry easily, it does not worry about things or try to control situations or people. It is not bitter, but forgives, and forgives completely, not keeping a list and bringing it back up the next time something happens.
Love doesn't make diry jokes, or gains from something that hurts someone else. Love always stands up for the one who cannot stand up for themselves. it stands up for what is right, and is happy when the right thing happens, even if it is hard on them.
Love is in it for the long haul, not just the good times. it has made a commitment. it does not listen to gossip, and makes sure that the truth is found out. Love always hopes and will never stop hoping because it wants the best for them, no matter what personal sacrifice that requires. Love never dies.
Love keeps on keeping on, no matter what you do to try to stop it. knowledge, college, learning, philosophy--even wisdom --will be used and then become useless.
Our little brains just can't get it all. it was never meant to be squished into that small of a space. so get over yourself, because you just aren't going to know it all. ever.
but don't worry, because when Jesus comes, it won't matter anyways. because it was never about you or me.
i liked being a child. i wish i could still be one sometimes. sometimes i still think i am. but no, i am stuck in 26. at least to everyone around me. and i am finding out that it isn't so bad. becoming an adult and taking responsibility for yourself is important. and then learning how to put yourself aside and serve others--that is even more important.
i am trying hard, but i can only understand so little of what there is to know. And even what i understand is a struggle and it seems i am always having to relearn it. but when Jesus comes, i will be able to look at reality in the face and laugh and kiss it. I will have that big sigh of relief and peace when everything is reconciled. but even better, i will finally understand that i am known, and loved in spite, and because, of who i am.
And so i believe God is who He says He is, and i live in expectation that all He says will happen will happen, and i love because He first loved me. but the most important part of this is...i love.
20. March 19, 2009
Secondhand Lions. You know that part where the old uncle got out of the hospital and those four rebellious guys need to be taught a lesson? he stands up and says this line that gives me goosebumps. "I'm Hub McCann. I've fought in two World Wars and countless smaller ones on three continents. I led thousands of men into battle with everything from horses and swords to artillery and tanks. I've seen the headwaters of the Nile, and tribes of natives no white man had ever seen before. I've won and lost a dozen fortunes, KILLED MANY MEN and loved only one woman with a passion a FLEA like you could never begin to understand. That's who I am. NOW, GO HOME, BOY!" So i wrote my own.
“I have lived in two countries and claimed them as my own. I have watched those i love die and those i hate live. I have fought for many causes and won many arguments. I have worked to end the suffering of those who do not have. I have striven to make the world a better place by sharing the love God spills into me. I have loved two men with all i had in me. I have dreamed of doing greater things than i could and have lost many presumptions and expectations along the way. I have laughed when i should have cried and cried when i should have laughed. I have failed more often than not--but haven't kept count. I have heard words that cause our hearts to live and die. I have tried to live each day as if it were my last. I have spoken two languages and dreamed with them both. I have seen beauty that hurt to look at, and had pain that released me to live. I have read books that said what i couldn't, and have written words i couldn't speak.”
21. June 15, 2009
Maybe we should walk...It doesn't seem right somehow. To be able to change environments and life and situations so quickly. My body hasn't caught up yet. We drove through Iowa. ok. Iowa wasn't that thrilling. but it was nice. And it was an excuse for Anna and i to sing all the songs from "The Music Man." And finding a park with a polka band...and then dancing something that might have been polka-ish was fun.
Then South Dakota. There is just so much happening outside my window. i can't keep up with it. flat plains. then green lumpy spaces. then you turn and fall into the BAD lands. Then rocky-ness. Then lots of flags and patriotism and looking up George Washington's nose at Mt.Rushmore. Then the Wild West. capitalized. i would gaze out the window and try to wrap my brain around what i was seeing. but i couldn't manage. not before everything was changing and different and i had to start all over again.
Wyoming seems lonely, yet inviting. open, open, open. the idea of OWNING land just seems silly. at least when you are on a road in the middle of ALL of it staring back at you. John began the trip by counting all the McDonald's that we passed. by South Dakota, we started stopping at WHATEVER was available, because McDonald's had disappeared. Along with everything else man made.
And then Colorado. Mountains. How can you wrap your head around mountains like these? two miles above sea level, shivering in the snow (because i didn't bring pants), and feeling overwhelmed. lost. afraid. because there is so much world, and you can only love so many things without being splintered into a million pieces.
I think what i like most about traveling is seeing how other people live. seeing how many other ways--besides mine--that there are to live. and sometimes you smile. sometimes you frown--quietly. sometimes you are awed by brilliance, and sometimes you just wish you could shake the bloomin' daylights outta them to make them DO SOMETHING.
Then South Dakota. There is just so much happening outside my window. i can't keep up with it. flat plains. then green lumpy spaces. then you turn and fall into the BAD lands. Then rocky-ness. Then lots of flags and patriotism and looking up George Washington's nose at Mt.Rushmore. Then the Wild West. capitalized. i would gaze out the window and try to wrap my brain around what i was seeing. but i couldn't manage. not before everything was changing and different and i had to start all over again.
Wyoming seems lonely, yet inviting. open, open, open. the idea of OWNING land just seems silly. at least when you are on a road in the middle of ALL of it staring back at you. John began the trip by counting all the McDonald's that we passed. by South Dakota, we started stopping at WHATEVER was available, because McDonald's had disappeared. Along with everything else man made.
And then Colorado. Mountains. How can you wrap your head around mountains like these? two miles above sea level, shivering in the snow (because i didn't bring pants), and feeling overwhelmed. lost. afraid. because there is so much world, and you can only love so many things without being splintered into a million pieces.
I think what i like most about traveling is seeing how other people live. seeing how many other ways--besides mine--that there are to live. and sometimes you smile. sometimes you frown--quietly. sometimes you are awed by brilliance, and sometimes you just wish you could shake the bloomin' daylights outta them to make them DO SOMETHING.
22. January 20, 2010
Why did i put on red socks today? And other questions that cannot be answered after a long day of academic excellence. welcome to the world of being a senior in college. consisting of not being able to find a parking place, wishing you would have brought your scarf, and weighing out the pros and cons of eating broccoli in class. yes i did. eat broccoli.
Get up and hit snooze until you can't hit it anymore. shower and eat and pack your backpack too full and pray for parking spaces. Fiction writing with a teacher who judges boxing matches. Philosophy with a typical golf-sock wearing professor (where i eat broccoli), and a little snoozing while multitasking in Abnormal Psychology. The other days are Editing and holding my breath that i don't get called on because my books are not in yet, and professional writing with a teacher that might just be a pushover. and then i go to the youth center. and run the tutorial program. and play air hockey.
"You've gotta be mixed, mz.Rachel...you sound so black." and other such things that get said to me daily. flashback to 2006 and i wonder if i have grown any older...back at the same center, but it isn't the same me. and the things that are different...were not in the places i thought they would be. Sledding and snowballs, mostly in a skirt, sculpting snow, capture the flag, fooseball tournaments, writing contests...
All my old kids are not kids anymore. most of them are mommies and daddies. or just about to be and i am invited to the baby shower. I still love girl's Bible studies. more than ever. We were talking about who God is, and i read a verse about how God doesn't abandon us. Diamond, due in April, asked if it was a sin to give your baby up for adoption. or abortion. I wonder what kind of pressure she (at 16) is getting. We changed what we were talking about for the rest of that Bible study...
so i have filled my life up to the brim again. homework claims the rest of my nonexistent social life. oh, and just got a second scholarship to help with IUPUI costs. and a nagging question tugs me: am i overcompensating for feeling empty? or the idea that if i left it empty, there would be nothing to fill it?
"What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself. All day long, and every day, the mill of his brain is grinding, and his thoughts, not those other things, are his history." --Mark Twain
23. August 1, 2010
Sometimes it really stinks to be conscious. To be aware. To be trained just enough to open your eyes and see how things COULD be. Sometimes it feels evil to get a taste of such a good thing when the rest is just out of reach. A horridly good place.
A place where I am challenged and pushed. A place where sometimes I want to dig my heels in and say no--where is my sofa and coffee instead? A place that supports me and never forces me, but looks me in the eye and says what we both know: "You will regret it if you don't go for it."
A place that celebrates my efforts and successes, but more than that, a place that has stopped to listen to the real me, and celebrates who I am. And from this place, I can face my questions openly: "Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I going? Can I do this?" They surround me with the most powerful word in the English language, until their chant echoes inside my heart: YES.
Sometimes it really stinks to be conscious. I am able to see the person I want to be--the teacher I know I can be. With the vision fresh in my face, it tauntingly dances near and then far. And I make a list of progress yet to be made. I go to bed tired, muscles sore--but tomorrow I will wake up to greatness, standing inside and outside of my door.
24. August 11, 2010
Everyone has a story about their tattoo. Even the guy who had a stick figure fire dragon on his leg who said he didn’t plan it—just went in and got it done. That told me a lot about him. A tattoo can be planned out for certain reasons, and then change. It is all about what you attach to it. Certain stories stick, and others don’t.
I’ve always loved the star of David. Since I was a little girl, celebrating Purim with a Jewish friend, since I had a Sunday school crush on David—who even the Bible says was cute. The past couple of years have grown my fascination, and consequential study of Judaism and determination to someday visit Israel. After all, I am in love with this Jewish guy. I should know a little about His background, culture, family…I envied my friend who was part Jewish…she must be closer to God somehow. Funny how I am the one mistaken as being Jewish now—I am marked.
I flirted with the idea of getting a tattoo long before it happened. God and I talked about it. And many times I came close, but didn’t. Would it be worth it if it offended someone who then might be turned off to something important I had to say? I didn’t want it to be a rebellious thing—I talked with my parents, godly counsel…
But part of me did it for selfish reasons. I felt that many people I knew only cared about me because I fit in their plan, their system. I didn’t rock the boat; I was the “good girl” who didn’t cause controversy. I wanted to see if they would still care, even if I didn’t fit or agree with them: could they see past the outside to the inside?
Just about to turn 26, walking down the hot Brazilian streets of Recife, my friend got a butterfly on her back. Since my mom’s request was to NOT get a tattoo on a side street, I paid a bit extra and got a very sanitary place in the mall. Ten minutes and voila! A star of David, with a cross outside it if you look, just behind my left ear.
But that is not the story I tell when people ask about my tattoo, or if I am Jewish. Because that is not the story that stuck.
One month earlier in Indianapolis, I drove from the youth center to Daisy’s house (name changed for privacy). I had just learned that Daisy, 15, was pregnant. Stories of preggos come fast and furious at the center, so I went to ask myself. I knew the father, and I heard there was a catch: Daisy was telling everyone that it was rape.
I knocked at Daisy’s door, the big Doberman barking me away. Daisy came out. Yes, it was true, she was pregnant. Her mom came out to talk as well, spitting threats about the boy and how this was a demon child. Daisy said she was getting an abortion. “Please,” I said, “please let me adopt the baby.”
The words surprised us both, and tears came to our eyes, but only Daisy let them spill.” I don’t know, Ms. Rachel,” she said,” I don’t know.“
I left her my phone number and left, awkwardly. There was nothing romantic or wonderful about it, TV blaring in the background. I was single and about to leave the country, but the moment the words left my mouth I knew they were true. I wanted that baby. And in that time, that baby had become my baby. Explain that however you want to in your head.
Daisy went back and forth in the next visits I made. I made different suggestions, different ideas—letting her know there were other options. I had an unbelievable amount of love and support by everyone who knew what was going on. She was not alone—I was not alone.
Daisy’s mother insisted this baby was going to be aborted. I broke down and cried that this baby get a chance to live. “No, no no. Ms. Rachel! You can talk and beg here all day, but my daughter is not having that baby.”
Daisy didn’t want to be 15, pregnant, in school. She said she wasn’t ready to be a mother. I agreed…which is why I would adopt the baby. But if she had the baby, then she would want to keep it. Why? I asked. “Because I made it.” She said as she wiped her tears. We talked about God and love and hope and forgiveness, while her little brother popped his face through the screen door, telling me about his superpowers.
She decided against the abortion. She decided for it. In Brazil, my English class prayed for her. Hugo said “Ms. Rachel, I prayed that God would be with this baby. That He would save it and let it be with us, or that He would hold it in His arms.” Two days later I found out she had decided not to get the abortion, giving me hope—and then, a couple days after I got my tattoo, she decided to get the abortion.
Today a star was born
And left us here on earth
To wander in the small light
Of silver mornings
And golden nights
The beauty with a sword
That kills us willingly
I had learned to love someone I could not see. Someone I did not know the gender, the intelligence of, the athletic ability. Someone that meant leaving the place I loved and being “tied down,” future unknown, with visions of long nights and drool. It wasn’t just any baby—it was my baby. Now I had a star in heaven, and every time I catch a glimpse of my tattoo, I remember my baby. But stars in heaven don’t mend holes in your heart.
Daisy is now 17 with a beautiful baby girl. Her mother answered the door when I picked her up, to celebrate Daisy’s birthday. We smiled shyly at each other and said little of the past. Daisy and I keep the conversation light and laugh as much as we can. I wonder if she will ask me about my tattoo. I wonder what I will say.
25. September 15, 2010
Rachel babysits Rowan, version 1.2. This is my second official babysitting. The first time that it included being at Anna's house which included eating her ice cream. He drooled a lot. Then he leaked and wet my pants. I couldn't get his shirt off and he gave me the "you are worse at this than I thought" look. Then he started crying and I almost started crying because I don't know how I managed for him to be almost half a year old without changing his diaper. And there was poop. It has been a long time since I changed a diaper. Some of the kids who's diapers I used to change are now in college. But I did change Rowan's diaper. And we both decided that he preferred to stay naked after that. Clothes are overrated. Then we went outside and talked about things.
Now he is playing in the trash. He is trying to swallow his fingers. I bet bulimics got the idea from babies. He found my soft spot. Erica knows my soft spot too, but don't ask her to tell. That is cheating. If Rowan laughs, I will do whatever it takes to make it happen again. While I won't go all the way and say that babies are cute, I must say truthfully that babies do cute things. There wasn't anything I can think of cuter than when Rowan looked up from crawling around in the grass and smiled with a face full of leaves.
Fun fact about Rachel: I like rolling over leaves. I like stepping on them and hearing the crunch sound, but I like it even better on a bike. Crunch crunch. Happens faster. But beware of leaf-looking rocks. They are out there. They don’t go crunch. They make you go crunch. Today, it was a leaf-looking piece of pizza. It didn’t crunch, it just made me laugh because I had rolled over a piece of pizza.
The teacher in health class asked how many drinks it took to get me tipsy. Most everyone said three, so I said two. I don’t know. I’ve never been tipsy. But I am sure it wouldn't take much. I am better at abstinance than moderation.
There are three left handers in fencing class. We have to special lefthanded equipment. I was the only left-hander that showed up today. I make the righties nervous. I make myself nervous. Not only did I get in the minority left handed group of life, I also got into the “I am in college and can’t tell my right from my left” group. Do they have that group on facebook? I should join. I still have to make my hand into the “L” shape…not on my forehead.
26. February 15, 2011
Remember the adventures. The ones that don’t have to be, they just have to feel like it. Like when the cows chased us—or maybe they just could have. Or running away—or maybe just taking a walk. Or buying everything you wanted in the whole mall—because you realize you don’t want a bit of it.
The shadows you mistake for something else. The stolen moments you can’t explain. Writing by candlelight. Let the pen move fast as time crouches down on you, telling you there’ll be no more adventures. Adventures? Yes. Even in the middle of the work week—especially when I am busy. Adventures where I open my eyes and see the beautiful architecture of the city I have lived in all my life.
The sound of rain on a hot tin roof and sizzle as it cools. These adventures are free but they capture your soul at the price of mediocrity—you can never go back—your dissatisfaction will slowly kill you. Adventures are hearing God’s voice or seeing God’s beauty or feeling God’s presence wrap around you finger by finger.
A moment, she cries, I would give you anything for a moment!
Louder, louder, it grows, and my skin cannot stay still. It is beauty, in all of its forms, calling me—and I ache. How have I stayed away—how have I turned away from adventures? The price of the world to save my soul.
Why can’t you paint in shadows and fleeting moments? I would have the perfect picture. Raindrops pour through candlelight. I’ve missed you, lonely part of my soul. I am glad you are here to say hello. The loudly quiet echo has done me good. I carry some of you back to the land of the living. It does them good to see a pale horse.
I’ve sat here long enough. Enough to say “I love you” to anyone, and mean it. To see adventures in every corner, for they come with me.
27. August 2, 2011
It is amazing how discombobulating it is to have cars driving on the other side of the road. Riding in a bus makes me cringe because I am always sure we will hit something when we turn. Crossing the street is just disasterous. I have never been good at that, even when I do know which way the cars are coming. It makes you feel like something is just a little off--that you have transported into some other world that moves to the left. And you realize that it works their way too...and you wonder what else can be done differently and still be a valid option. Blow my mind.
I took a cable car to the big Buddha. It was a beautiful view, with a glass bottom. There is something amazing about islands and ocean and mountains covered in green. And about going over them. I kept looking at the Buddha and wondering why him...why did he get to be so famous and all statued-up? From the simple studying I have done, he always seemed like a great guy with a lot of good ideas, but I always get the idea that he would probably be surprised at all the statues of himself as well. The big statue looks like it is waving as you leave. I waved back.
Their efficiency seems to include compactness. Even their dogs are smaller, compact pugs. At 5'3'', I don't feel short. Their toilets are even smaller. Apparently, women are used to standing on the seat, because there are signs in every stall that say "Please do not stand on the seat" in English and Cantonese.
I have flown around the world in much less than 80 days. Counting Detroit as my hub—I went from Detroit to Hong Kong via the arctic circle, Russia, and China: 27 hours (15 in the air, 12 changing time zones). Continuing, I flew 4 hours to Japan (1 hour was time zone change). Now I am flying up over Alaska and then back down to Detroit, actually landing 2 hours before I left: 29 hours. Or something like that. Time zones confuse me.
I went to the art museum in Hong Kong. No American art to be seen. Made me laugh that I was expecting it. They have their whole history without us. How did it become an us/them thing? When did everyone non-Asian suddenly look familiar when I passed them on the street? I am ashamed of myself. I didn’t learn any Chinese. My attempts at “Thank you” were politely accepted, but not correct. I got used to seeing everything bilingual until the Chinese symbols became almost invisible to me, like a pretty doodle or underline to the English words.
28. November 12, 2011
I’m catching the wings of the sunset, the clouds passing below me. The brilliant fire bursts with smoke tales of burning sugar cane fields remind me that I am still in Brazil, and not leaving this time—enjoying. Blue to green to yellow to orange, the red horizon line will soon be gone. They will offer me a beverage, but I’d rather hold on to the beauty. How can I have forgotten myself already?
I’ve found the first star of the evening. I’m sure my little prince has returned there. The clouds line up like mountain ranges I wish I could climb. The sliver of moon appears as we travel alongside the horizon, not into it. I want this forever, but keep looking down to write rather than enjoy. I’m trying to transcribe experience to paper. They announce dinner and I am surprised how hungry I am. I am flying and starving. Fill my belly with something other than air.
It’s been so long since I’ve written like this. Like me. Where have I been and why did I go? Was I simply looking for beauty? I feel so close to the little prince on planes. With the dark wing siloetted against the sunset a second star appears, but it is no rival to the first. Why don’t I have a place to lay down and watch the stars come out? I think my life would be better if I did.
The red grows more brilliant as the blue closes in. I see every color of the rainbow, shining under the moon and wishing star. I breathe in haggardly, for the beauty kills me slowly. That is why it cannot last—I couldn’t stand it. The rustle of sandwiches behind me makes my tummy ache. But I dare not look away. Must life be recorded to be validated?
Orange, yellow, and green are being squished to a sliver. Purple is looming. The colors grow bolder, but the stars stay shy. I don’t know if I can watch any longer, distractions are calling me from this most lovely evening. I wish for him once more, my little prince who has returned to his rose, with his pet sheep safely in its box.
I was born to feel things, but once I do they flee so quickly. The sky begins to relax and we pass the small lights of a city below, twinkling like a spider web in morning dew. We are flying, and not even the screaming baby can take away how amazing that is. Don’t lose the wonder.
29. February 8, 2012
After three and a half years of saying “no” to meat, I have a couple of things to say:
1. I am a vegetarian without any morals. You can kill the cute little animals. It is not my battle. It was a childhood dream to become a veterinarian, but then I realized that I only had one life and didn’t have time to help everyone—so I decided kids were more important. No eating kids, ok?
2. I am a vegetarian by accident. It was a month long experiment with Carina—let’s try not eating meat. I liked it. It worked for me. I always say I will stop when I REALLY feel like eating meat. Once I came really close—sausage never smelled so good—but I was like “Really? Quit for SAUSAGE?” And went on with veggies.
3. I am not a thorough vegetarian. I still want my biscuits and gravy. Sometimes I miss some of the sausage chunks. I am not saying no to Lasagna. Sometimes the little hamburger bits might slide through. I am going for the principle of it.
4. I am a vegetarian because of my lack of self-discipline. I figured out that abstinence is easier than moderation. Saying no to all the meat is so much easier than saying “eat healthy.” Balance is tough stuff! So my hat goes off to those of you with a consistently healthy diet, with meat in moderation.
5. I live in Brazil—no way I am a true vegetarian. Not because I am sneaking meat. Nope, never done that. But do you know how many ants are in Brazil? Those little ones that eat the glue out of your computer keyboard and the binding from your books—YOU CANNOT GET AWAY FROM THEM. Or realistically think you’ve never eaten them. They are everywhere, including in my belly.
The veggie thing works for me. But there’s a secret no one tells you—well, no one told me: when you start eating healthy stuff, your body starts to like it. After I became a vegetarian, I started to like mushrooms and zucchini and eggplant and all those weird things you gag on as a kid. I never forced anything. I never look longingly at meat and think “a whole lifetime without you?” I choose fruits and vegetables NOT because I want to brag about the “v” word, or write cool articles like this, but because it is actually my first choice.
Someone told me it is your blood type—that some types need meat more than others. Maybe. I don’t know. But that sounds right. It works for some and not for others. So just use the blood type excuse when people want to argue. And be happy if you have friends who are vegetarians like me: it means free double meat at Subway because I will give you mine.
30. December 2012
It is that time again. When nostalgia creeps up on us and I, for one, stand with mouth open and looking out many windows, trying to find where my year went. I’ve just gotten used to writing 2012, now I will have to change again? What are the lessons I have learned this year?
January:
You can't really leave until you have someone to say goodbye to. If nothing holds you, you are only going, not leaving. But I am overly blessed: I find myself continually coming home, always a goodbye and a hello.
Rio: Sitting in a shop corner next to the Sugar Loaf mountains. Acai na Tigela is heaven in a bowl. The heat gathers that little pool of sweat in the small of my back. My feet ache in sandals. They've grown wimpy from constant socks and shoes in winter weather. I want to paint a picture of the little boy flying his kite from the roof of his favela. There is no sauce on my pizza. That is why Brazilians use ketchup. I am Brazilian today. What did I do to get life this good, and how can I make it last forever? The woman from Rio told me to pray “God give me patience because if you give me strength I will kill them.” Perfect motto for people who work with children.
February:
I am a vegetarian without any morals--you can kill all the cute little animals. And I have eaten many of those little ants that fall into your food on accident. I know they are there.
Valentine’s day: Mariana: do you have a boyfriend? Me: no. Mariana: oh! Is that why you are so rich?
“The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." --G.K. Chesterton
March:
Carnival: One spoon in the whole kitchen. We get up to cook breakfast for 80 people with one spoon and one working oven burner. We manage. Because this is Brazil. And somehow, the things that need to get done get done. With just one spoon. I am getting the "camp-y" feeling. A soft heart that wants God like the first time I got excited about it and knew it was the only way for me. No, I hadn't tried other religions, but I knew it, like you know you love him, even though there are so many guys you have never met.
Motorcycles: I love the sound of wind brushing past my ears with no apologies. Flying through nature: the green that only tropics have, the blue that belongs to Brazil. The 4:30pm sun that doesn't burn, leaves a haze over the sugarcane fields. The stones make my teeth chatter, the view makes my heart hurt. "I'm the lucky one" I whisper to myself, and hope the feeling will never grow old. I look down at my foot with the black line of dirt where my sandal was, my nose burnt even with SPF 30, and I wish I could put it on paper--the way it really is—instead of random lines of words that I try to tie together into a sentence.
Kony rant: Anytime you give to something that you are not currently at (in location and in heart), you will be, for the most part, "blundering blindly forward." Giving to missions in general is a great step of faith--because no matter how many reports they give you--you still have to trust, and there is so much you don't know and don't understand. And yes, mistakes will happen even with the best intentions: think about trying to help your own family and how that gets tangled. But that doesn't mean you stop--which is the only other option given in these criticisms. Don't tell me what is wrong until you give me an option to make it right.
April:
My problem: Once you know one child, and learn to love them, you begin to find them everywhere. The boy on the kombe, working a man’s job. He should be in school. 12, 13 years old. He looks like one of mine. He could be one of mine. Is he one of mine? Why do I feel responsible? It is such a heavy thing to be responsible. Isn’t it supposed to be fun? Oh it is, with Milena playing her fingers across my arm, wiggling every direction but up, asking me to hold her tighter.
“The secret to Christianity is the life of Christ in you. Allowing his life to become your life. His revolution is not self-transformation, but his transformation of us, from the inside out, as we receive his life and allow him to live through us. Vine, branch. Anything else is madness. If you are not drawing your life from Jesus, it means you are trying to draw it from some other source. I’ll guarantee you that it’s not working. I have spent most of my adult years trying to find those keys that would enable people to become whole. The epiphany I have come to is this: Jesus had no intention of letting you become whole apart from his moment-to-moment presence and life within you.”—John Eldredge “Beautiful Outlaw”
Easter: painted rocks for eggs, celebrated Passover, learned how to have Sabbath and sacred: “If one allows, Sacred will choreograph and lead a life into the arms of exquisite beauty, extraordinary joy, and blissful closeness with Jesus Christ. Sacred asks for our entire life. She asks us to trust that in God’s perfect timing she will remove the sweet smelling product of her labors from out of the heavenly oven, hand us a fork, and say, “Enjoy!” “ –Eric Ludy, “Meet Mr. Smith”
May:
Can I look you in the face and say “I need you to be a better person in this situation?” I can hear all day that God has only the best for me, but when it comes down to it, I still don’t feel like I can ask for it. Because asking is putting my desire out there, vulnerable. And when you ask, you give the other person the power to respond. To deny or ignore. To look at you and say your fear: “No, you don’t deserve that—you are not enough.” And I know what that looks like: it looks very lonely.
Six word memoires: Jesus loves me: I love Jesus. Cut my hair: It grew back. Said goodbye to say hello again. Divided in half to become more.
Mothers day: “Believing in the miracle of metamorphosis is the sum total of a mother’s job. The theological term for that is faith. To have faith that the baby in arms will become the toddler toilet trained before 18, and that kid who can never find his shoes or matching socks or math homework will be able to find a girlfriend, job and Jesus. It’s always the mothers, preachers and prophets who doggedly believed that leopards can lose spots and grace and angels can make pigs fly. Mothers were made to have faith. I don’t want to imagine if you hadn’t. Mothers give up much and never give up.” –Ann Voskamp
Dorothy Day: “I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life and I wanted the abundant life, I wanted it for others too. I did not want just the few, the missionary-minded people like the Salvation Army, to be kind to the poor, as the poor. I wanted everyone to be kind. I wanted every home to be open to the lame, the halt, and the blind.”
Airports: I have discovered another world between the worlds, and it is a cold place with gleaming floors and doors. Each door leads to a new place. Everything looks sanitized, even the people, staring up at informational screens with their mouths half-open.
June:
Life divides: Brazil, Indiana, rich, poor...irreconcilable circles moving in opposite directions. I pull together, bringing in all the disagreements and making them mine--making them me. I shouldn't expect this to be easy. It is good to be home.
July:
Supercamp: I like the word YES. It oozes positivity. But I often forget that for every YES it means a NO for so many other things. Someone said "You can do anything you want to in life, but you can't do everything you want to do." You make choices and stick by them. Yes to Supercamp meant no to other things...like extra sleep. Like me time. It is a beautiful sacrifice, but it takes all of you.
August:
I’ve learned enough to know I don’t need answers, I just need peace. Funny girl, you are almost 30. But your soul will never believe that.
September:
We walk down the road to Paulo’s house. A trail of children follow, wherever I go there is a processional. With one kid on either side, and Flavio telling me we are late. I run into people everywhere. I’ve infiltrated this whole community, I realize. For better or worse—you are responsible for what you have tamed.
Joelson on marriage: “Rachel, it is one thing to live life having your own goals and reaching them. But when you open your life to someone else, have a goal with them, and then manage to reach it and see how it affects not only you, but also them…well, that is joy exponential. And that is marriage.”
Rice and Beans Experiment: One month of rice and beans (September 13-October 12, 2012). First week: Just rice and beans. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Like 1.4 billion people who live off of $1.25 or less a day. Three weeks: Rice and beans as the staple, but can add other things. Like the 3.5 billion people who live off of $2.50 or less a day.
“See that I am God. See that I am in everything. See that I do everything. See that I have never stopped ordering my works, nor ever shall, eternally. See that I lead everything on to the conclusion I ordained for it before time began, by the same power, wisdom, and love with which I made it. How can anything be amiss?”—God to Julian of Norwich
October:
My difficulty with the rice and beans experiment is not the lack of variety, or even getting tired of it: what makes it hard is time and motivation. When I put limits on myself (only food with rice and beans), it is harder to put together a tasty meal. Can it be done? Yes. Will I do it? About 40% of the time. Time + Resources + Motivation + Creativity = Tasty Meal. How often do those four things line up for someone in poverty?
I danced with a girl wearing a torn, thrown-in-the-trash princess dress with a gaping hole in the side. But she was the princess and I sang and twirled her non-the-less. They giggled, because I sang all the Disney songs in English. But they knew the movies, so it didn’t matter. I picked up a little girl to make sure she was out of the way of the passing car, and she winced. She lifted up her dirty shirt to show me a belly full of infected bug bites. Everywhere I touched her hurt.
Poverty does not look like rice and beans: it looks like rice and/or maize. Beans (the nutritious part of rice and beans) are too expensive for the world’s poor.
“In the past thirty years, extreme poverty has been cut in half. In 1981, 52% of the world’s population lived in extreme poverty (defined by the U.N. as living on less than $1.25 per day). But by 2006, that number was 26%.” http://www.live58.org/about/what-is-58
“Sometimes you have to watch someone love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.” –Blue Like Jazz (Movie) Perhaps…that is one of the most powerful things I can do in Brazil. Love these kids to show others how they are lovely.
Doing this experiment was just a little layer of experiencing and understanding poverty. It is easier not knowing. It is much easier to just go into a community, “put a band-aid” on it, and then go away with the afterglow of doing good, rather than actually be in relationship with them. Relationship changes everything. Everything that used to be black and white turns grey and things get a lot more confusing. It was never about rice and beans: it was about sacrifice, limitations, small frustrations, and the patience and creativity to overcome.
November:
I have been in Brazil for four and a half years, beginning in 2004, but I am still only doing “band-aid” help in so many areas. It is hard to take the steps to invest your life. It is also hard to know what that looks like: there is no manual—it is simply living life with God.
I am a seller of dreams. Of ideas, of myself. Being a missionary—or in ministry—you are presenting yourself to people. Your sacred dreams of changing the world. And saying “Please—please trust me—believe in me—and support me financially.” The truth is, I’ve been working with children in poverty for 15 years and still don’t understand it. As I sat and watched the kids at the dump, I asked myself: what they do when they poop. Leaves, I guess? Are their certain kinds of leaves to use? What about for babies? What do girls do when they are on their period? Do they really never floss? And so on. I want more than just “band-aids.” I am learning. And it is an incredible responsibility to KNOW.
It takes extra grace to go back and forth between the world of HAVE and HAVE NOT. Staying at one or the other requires less of me. All the moving around just makes me feel like I am trying to please everyone and failing miserably.
I feel like I am losing grace and getting mad more easily at overly expensive cars, as I wait for the bus on the side of the road. Extremes are so blatant in Brazil. And to see them zooming by in what they don’t need, purposefully not caring about those around them…I cannot excuse them. There is no excuse.
I feel the bitterness growing inside of me…cars too fancy for their own good. People too rich for their own good. The “It’s not fair” echoes in my head. And I have a car; I have chosen this life. Imagine someone who didn’t. Seeing the “Haves” all day. Pass by without even knowing. I think it is the not knowing that irritates the most. How can they continue to be so ignorant to the needs around them?
Where is grace? Where have I let it go? And this is being a responsible adult: having 50 things on your plate to do and learning to do every single one of them with grace.
Bottom line: the hard part about being poor is, everything takes extra grace. But the amazing thing about it is that the grace you need is always there—the exact amount you need. I guess that is what makes us all equal in all of the inequalities: the grace we need is always there.
Behind every locked door is some kind of broken trust, and every time I turn to lock it, I am reminded of that. And honestly, I’d rather lose another cell phone than have to remember that. Trust is such a beautiful thing. Why then, when you are stolen from, does it make trust look so naïve and stupid?
December:
After living in community with the people I am serving, I realize I need to reevaluate my definition of success. In ten years, when I see these children, what do I want to see? That they know and love God. That they can read and write, and do basic math and are able to provide for their family. That they know how to be faithful and love as a spouse and a parent. I have to let the rest go.
In her book “One Thousand Gifts,” Ann Voskamp writes three things she is grateful for every day, discovered many things along the way, including two simple sentences that marked me profoundly: “Thanksgiving creates abundance” and “Thanks is what builds trust.” Could it be that the abundance the children I work with need—that I need—in all areas is found through thanksgiving? Through being and teaching gratitude? Thanking God for everything, even the pain, the lack, the ugly, is what builds trust. In all of my relationships, they can only be transformed to beauty through gratitude. And it starts with simple “Thank yous” in the little things you begin to see when you practice.
“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.” –Arundhati Roy
No comments:
Post a Comment