puzzle pieces

For the last two weeks I have been wrestling with an idea that I haven't been able to put into words. I was going to ignore the massive blurry image floating in my mind and instead write about the spirit of giving during the Christmast season. My plan to ignore didn't work, and you are going to have to think about the spirit of giving without me. Fortunately, though, I think I may have found some words to explain my latest internal struggle.

I am nowhere near conquering the struggle. I have no conclusion to present. I might not even be near the climax of the conflict. But I wanted to share with you my thoughts.

My thoughts begin with a woman in the slums of Manila in the Philippines. Like all of her neighbors do, I will call her Nanay, which is Tagalog for Mother. Nanay was my host mom when I stayed in Manila in September, '06. Her house is one room, with a curtain separating the living room/dining room from the bedroom. Four of her children, one of her grandchildren, and her grandchild's father live with her in that tiny house, and the dining room table folds up at night to make more sleeping space. She makes a "living" by selling food from 9 pm to 4 am every night. She cooks the food on a small coal stove that sits on the ground and holds a large bowl similar in shape to a wok. The stove sometimes makes flames a foot high, threatening to burn the shelves next to it. When she isn't cooking or selling food, she is going to the market, working at the nearby prison, or helping the church next door with their ministries. Sometimes she gets to sleep. When I was there in September, she was also cooking lunch and dinner for me and a friend every other day.

Her life is hard, but she is one of the most joyful and content women I have ever met. Don't get me wrong, I have seen happier people, and Nanay has had a life full of pain, but she is amazingly grateful for what little she has and she is full of joy. The church once tried to give her money for a new stove, which would help her cook faster, make better food, and protect her home from possiblly burning down. She took the money, bought food and blankets, and gave it all to the people in the nearby prison. She was happy with her broken stove and she wanted to help others who had less than herself. She is truely content with her life and excited to give joyfully to others.

I am leaving too much of Nanay's story out right now, but in interest of time I am moving on. I will hopefully write more about her and you will just have to trust me right now that this woman is amazing. Meeting, talking with, and learning to love Nanay has completely changed my life. My collision with her has left me feeling broken and small.

Here is where the massive, blurry image begins to come into focus:



In my mind's eye I see the lives of everyone in the world, past, present, and future, coming together as a gigantic, intricate, beautiful puzzle. When I look at Nanay's life, I see a small but complex and priceless puzzle piece. I see a piece that fills a very tiny space, but reveals an amazing image of true joy and selflesness. Her puzzle piece is one that finally puts the image together. Nanay's life is one that truely impacts the lives of those around her, completing a beautiful picture, and revealing that beauty to the beholder (the beholder being me in this case, and maybe you).

Then I think of my life, and a million questions ensue. What puzzle piece am I now? What piece do I want to be? What picture do I want to reveal? What space does God want me to fill? Do all these questions point to the same piece? Or are the answers to these questions in conflict, pulling me in different directions, breaking me apart, and turning me into several microscopic, useless pieces, filling holes that reveal nothing more than a spec of dust or the anxiety of the pursuit of happiness?

In essence: who am I, who do I want to be, and who does God want me to be? And are these three the same?

I am 100% sure that the answers to these questions are different.

I don't expect to resolve this problem any time soon, but I wanted to share with you the tension that I am experiencing.

Where do I fit in the puzzle? What responsibilities do I hold in my hands? What pictures could I reveal to the beholder? What beautiful images does God want to reveal through me? Do I want to be like Nanay and bear those complex, painful, and amazing images with joy and selflesness? Do I want to bear it at all?

I want to scream "yes, yes I will bear it." But do I mean it? What does it look like for a white, single, american woman with a car, an apartment, a job, a lot of friends, and a great family to "bear it," to reveal God's beautiful images?

Currently, I have no clue.

I'm feeling reflective, so its time for a story

There once was a little girl who had no clue what her future would hold.

She wanted to grow up and be the next Amy Grant. (Now give her a break, she was just a little girl.) Deciding that show-biz wasn't the life for her, she knew she had to choose something else. She liked the ocean, so she thought that maybe she would be a marine biologist. She liked school, so maybe she would be a teacher.

In the third grade she got glasses. (Yes, she was young for glasses, but oh well. Not everyone has perfect vision.) Every time she went to the eye doctor, she wanted to know why. "Why is he making me watch the tip of that pen? Why is he writing something down? Why does changing the lenses and saying 'one, or two? two or three? two or four?' help him know what perscription I need?" So she decided to become an optometrist. She told her optometrist the news, and he said there was no money in it. He told her "you should become an eye surgeon, they make more money." After considering his advice for a while, she decided to become a laser-eye surgeon. And when it came time to apply to colleges, she applied for all the pre-med programs in the state. She got into almost all of them.

She picked her college and her major, but she was nervous. "Am I doing this because I want to, or because I decided in sixth grade that I would?" Early spring semester of her senior year of highschool, her grandpa wound up in the hospital with heart problems. While sitting in the ICU with him, she kept staring at the medical machines. That night she realized she didn't want to be a doctor. She didn't want to do laser-eye surgery because of the eyes, but because of the lasers. She liked the machinery. She needed to be an engineer.

So at the last minute she chose a different school and a different major. She began her engineering experience having no clue what she would do with it. Maybe she would do bio-medical engineering. Maybe she would work with planes. Maybe she would become an astronaut. After struggling through 2 years of general courses and lower level engineering classes, she doubted her choice. Engineering was hard and it wasn't personal. She didn't like doing math all the time and testing this and analyzing that. The summer after her sophomore year, however, she came across the idea of civil engineering and transportation. She had been living in a city where they had actually made one-way roads in order to keep the traffic away from the low-class, run-down areas. That bothered her and she wanted to change it, so she decided to become a transportation engineer.

Two years later she graduated from college. She went to a far-away country for a month, where her world was turned around and flipped upside down. She fell in love with it. She fell in love with the people, the place, the weather, the culture, and the life. And they didn't have running water. That was stupid. It was raining every other day and they had pipes, but they didn't have running water. She decided that she could fix that problem, that she could figure out how to get the water to the people. And once again she changed her mind: she would do water engineering.

So fourteen years and 11 careers later, this girl went from wanting to be the next Amy Grant, to wanting to work with water.

The next battle was finding a job. In her four years of college, she had taken only one water course, which unfortunately had nothing to do with the water engineering she was interested in. She went from one civil consulting company to the next, not finding a place that fit her desires or a place that fit their needs. She again began to doubt, but this time she started to doubt all of her choices. Did she pick the wrong college? Did she pick the wrong major? Should she have just decided to be a missionary? She could have just moved to that country that she loved and stayed there forever.

And then she found it. She found the job that she never could have dreamed of. She does master planning in infrastructure. She looks at a city, looks at where the people are and how much water they need, and then looks at how much water there is and where it is stored, and figures out the best way to get the water to the people.

And here's the best part:

The country she fell in love with is in Africa. The company she works with helps support a non-profit agency called Water for People, which does work in Africa. They help people build and maintain water systems. They help people get water. To top it all off, a woman in her office is on the board for Water for People and is working with them in India this month. She is taking extended time off from the company to work with Water for People, and the company had no qualms about her leaving for so long. Her job is waiting for her when she comes back.

So the story ends with this:

There is a slightly older girl who still has no clue what her future holds, but she is extremely excited to find out.

to be continued...

a little advice:

My friend, who shall remain nameless, has been extremely busy and consequently very tired. One night he dreamt that he was eating an extremely yummy and very chewy piece of food. He started to wake up and realized that he was actually chewing something, so he reached in his mouth and pulled out an earplug! It was the middle of the night and he drowsily rolled over and fell back to sleep, not worrying about the fact that he was chewing on his earplug. But in the morning when he woke up, he looked down at the plug and discovered that there was only half of it left.

YUCKY!

I feel an obligation to stick with the theme of my blog, so....

what should we remember and how should we adjust accordingly?

remember:
- this story and try to avoid repeating it
- to not go to bed hungry
- to stay rested and avoid crazy dreams

adjust by:
- maybe duct taping your mouth if you wear earplugs?
- or maybe duct taping your ears...

at least make sure that they are in tight.

sweet dreams! :)

Rasheed

I have been thinking about Rasheed a lot lately and I have finally decided to tell you about him.

Rasheed lives outside of Kumasi, Ghana. He attends the Amazing Grace Preparatory school that I worked with in July. He was in class 6 while I was there, so he should be in class 7 now.

I never talked to him very much. I spent most of my time in class 4. But when I did talk to him, I was overwhelmed and confused by the despair and hope that I saw in him.

The last week I was there he asked me if I could pay for his schooling. I had already committed to pay for two other girls and I had no income at the time, so I didn't have enough money and I told him that I couldn't help. I HATED telling him I couldn't help, especially when I saw the hope begin to dissipate and the despair begin to consume. Wishing for his hope to return, I told him I would pray for him and look for a sponsor when I went back home. Sure enough, his hope returned and he smiled at me, but then a new anxiety washed over him and he said: "Don't forget me."

Every day in that last week he would come to me and ask me his name. Every day I would say, "yes, Rasheed, I remember you." And on the last day I was there he wrote down his name and handed it to me.

Then he said it again: "Don't forget me."

Rasheed is probably getting ready to go to school right now. (Yes, they have school on Saturdays.) He is probably wearing the same yellow-shirt and brown-shorts uniform that he wears everyday. He will do the school thing in the morning, devour his lunch that the school provides for the students every day, and then play soccer in the scorching heat.

I miss him. I remember him. But when it comes down to it, remembering him is not what he needs. He needs help. He needs money to pay for an education and food on the table. I feel ashamed that I haven't found him a sponsor. I haven't tried hard enough. When he heard me say that I would look for a sponsor, he pictured me flying to wealthy America where no one is in need, everyone has more than enough, and someone would definitely be able to help him. How could I not find someone?

But somehow, in the wealthiest country in the world, I have found no one.

It costs 30 dollars every month to sponsor a child at the Amazing Grace Preparatory school through their partners, Adom Partnership International.

For the month of November, I have probably spent nearly 30 dollars on coffee and lunch. Why so much? First, I love coffee. Second, I make my lunch in the morning before work, but too frequently I have run out of time in the morning and decided to buy my lunch at a nearby deli.

What a waste of 30 dollars.

Well... you have just witnessed something:
I have just convinced myself to sponsor Rasheed.
Haha.

It might mean making my lunch the night before work, but I think I can handle it. Quite an application to my blog: I remembered Rasheed, and now I am going to adjust my life accordingly. hahaha. I never thought this stupid blog would work that well on me.

And since I can't resist:
If you are interested in sponsoring a child at the Amazing Grace Preparatory school, please let me know! There is a link to the right for Adom Partnership International, the supporter of the school. The link explains a lot about the Parntership and the school, so I suggest you check it out.

My grandma fell down the stairs

and broke her neck.

She broke it in the best place possible - at the very top where it is most difficult to damage the spinal chord. She has a HUGE brace, she is in quite a bit of pain and very uncomfortable, and she is home with nothing to do but be uncomfortable.

My shower is annoying. The hot water connection is aweful. To have a warm shower in the morning you have to turn the hot water all the way on - which comes to a full blown drizzle :/ . If you want any sort of water pressure, you have to turn on the cold water and settle for an almost-warm shower.

My 13-year-old neighbor's dad died about 2 weeks ago.

My ignition is broken. Ever day when I go to work I fight with my car for 2 minutes, begging it to let go of my key.

I feel like an idiot at work. I have no clue what I am doing.

In the last week or so I have developed a really annoying problem. I'm suddenly lactose intolerant. yep.

So..... Why do I say all this? Don't worry, I'm not complaining.



My work is too lazy to give me a parking permit for the month of November because I started in the middle of the month. Since I have no permit I have to stop at the security window every day to get my parking stub. I see the same, kind, old man every morning and every morning our greetings to each other become more and more familiar. I am always in a hurry when I rush into the parking lot, but then I remember that I get to see the awesome parking dude with the parking stub and the warm greeting.

This morning he looked at me through the window and said with his beautiful accent:
"If I don't see you later, you have a BEAUTIFUL, WONderful Thanksgiving."
I have never heard a stronger wish for a happy Thanksgiving. He pulled out the most elaborate words he could think of with his second-language English, and each word was supported by his whole-hearted sincerity.


This man - who is barely more than a stranger - reminded me how really thankful I am.


I am thankful that I don't yet have a parking permit. I would be missing out if I didn't get to know the parking dude.

My grandma is 77. She could have been paralyzed, bed-ridden, or killed falling down those stairs. She is home with her husband who is taking really good care of her. She is alive and physically capable of healing. She also has this really cool-looking bump on her head. In fact, this is the second time this year she has escaped death (the first time being when she and my grandpa had carbon monoxide poisoning). God isn't done with her yet.

All summer long I had to deal with really crappy showers. I had 7 weeks of cold-water bucket baths, which really weren't that bad, but nice, hot, long showers are definitely my favorite. I shared a bathroom with up to 7 people, where taking longer than 5 minutes wasn't an option, and in Ghana and Manila, the feeling of being clean lasted for about 15 seconds because of the thick humidity... It is really nice to have a shower with running water, two bathrooms to share with my two housemates, and good old, dry, California weather.

I get to see my 13-year-old neighbor often. I hate what he is going through, but I am glad I am here. I am so grateful to be able to be in his life - and hopefully to help positively influence it. I have already been blessed by the short amount of time I have spent with his family, praying with them and listening to his mother when she needed to talk and cry.

My car is now almost 17 years old and it gets about 24 miles to the gallon on the street and 30+ miles to the gallon on the freeway. This car has treated me well and taken me thousands of miles. I am so thankful that I have such a reliable car and can afford the gas.

I LOVE my job. I work for the woman who's job I want as soon as I know what I'm doing (which will maybe be in 10 years or so). It took me over a month to find this job, and it was well worth the wait. I am never bored - being challenged with every project. My supervisor hands me work and then tells me that I probably won't know what I am doing. When I show her what I did and tell her I didn't know what to do with the rest, she thanks me for the work and then patiently explains everything. I have no clue what I am doing, but I am learning more than I thought I ever could.

Praise Jesus for soymilk.

there is SOOO MUCH to be thankful for.

so much.

My grandparents, neighbors, parking dude, home, car and coworkers have been huge blessings in my life - not to mention my parents, the rest of my family, my housemates, my friends, my mentors, etc.

What are you thankful for?

By the time most of you read this, I'm guessing it won't be Thanksgiving anymore, but thats okay.

I hope that it was BEAUTIFUL and WONderful.

the women at the salon

I start my new job tomorrow.

In 8.5 hours to be exact.

And I can't sleep.

I think its the caffeine I had earlier today.


When I was in Kumasi, Ghana....
I had to get my hair braided. I wanted 100 little ones. There were about 5 salons along the street where I was living and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. My Ghanaian friend, Lydia, took me to the nearest salon and told the women what I wanted. Lots of little braids. They were amused. A red-headed white girl wanted to be like the Ghanaian women.

It was a slighlty awkward situation, but totally worth it. One of the women had gone to school through 4th grade so she knew about as much English as I know Spanish. She was excited to work with my strange hair and practice her English with me. She was extatic when I told her my Ghanaian "day name" was Akosua (pronounced Akossia, meaning I was born on a Sunday). Another woman came in who knew quite a lot of English and was extremely eager to show off her language abilities. Of course some of the kids came over to watch me get my hair braided. One of them was so scared of me that when she saw my face she started crying. They ended up having to take her home. haha.

This all happened in the first 45 minutes or so.

It took them 4 hours. four.

And most of the time there were at least three women simultaneously working on my hair.

After the excitement caused by a white girl being in the salon wore off they all started talking to each other in Twi (the local language). I became a fly on the wall, my head being pulled and tugged in all directions, my hair all over the place, my butt going numb. I just sat there watching them interact, making jokes (some most likely about me), discussing some seemingly boring things, some other clearly important things, and some random stuff. The kids kept running in and out, sometimes trying to convince the crying girl to come back. (That story ends happily: she became my friend.)

I think 5 women total worked on my hair. The total cost: 30,000 cedi, also known as $3.33.

5 women. 4 hours. 3 dollars.

I could almost not bare giving them so little. I was able to squeeze in a 10,000 cedi/$1 tip. Giving them more than that would have been insulting.

Spending those 4 hours watching them made me want to know them. I wanted to know what they were talking about, why they were laughing, why they were getting excited, why they sounded disappointed. I wanted to understand them. All I could do was give them 4 dollars.

I took some pictures with them. And I said "medase pa" ("thank you very much") over and over again. I said hello to them afterwards every time I walked by the salon. They were always there - every day - doing someone's hair.

Its 12am here which means its, I think, 9am in Ghana. You know what that means? They are probably in the salon right now: waiting for a customer, working on someone's hair, or talking about something really funny in Twi.

I start my job tomorrow, or today I guess. It took me about 6 weeks to find it and all I could find was a part-time position. But I am making way way way more than $3 every four hours. And I don't have to hope for business. I just have to fill in my time card. I even get to work where I want to work. In fact I was extremely picky when I looked for my job. Not only that, but I get to use the degree I was fortunate enough to obtain.

I miss those women in the hair salon and I pray that God blesses them with more business than they can handle this week.

I pray that I remember them when I begin to be ungrateful about my job, because I know I eventually will. I pray that I'll think about the time when I was sitting on their floor with my numb butt, watching them live their extremely difficult lives with hope, joy and love. I pray that I will think about the woman who had to leave school in the fourth grade to start working and supporting her family.

I pray that I will work joyfully for them just as they did for me.

3 continents, 6 countries, 4 months, and a lifetime of impressions

Needless to say:

My summer of '06 was CRAZY.

From May 22nd to June 17th I ran around Europe with my wonderful friend Katie. From June 26th to July 26th I lived in Ghana, West Africa. From September 11th to the 29th I stayed in the slums of Manila in the Philippines.

And during my travels I found, discovered and experienced some crazy things:

In Germany I found my distant relatives, discovered a beautiful countryside, and experienced the German club scene.

In the Czech Republic I found a country trying to recover from the recent end of their communist government, I discovered the necessity of an umbrella, and I experienced, for better or worse, the strength of absinthe.

In France I found Van Gogh and Monet, discovered the beautiful combination of crepes and nutella, and experienced some true French hospitality, both good (thanks to Katie's friend) and bad (thanks to our sketchy hotel).

In Italy I found the rumor that Italian men are extremely sketchy to be extremely true, I discovered the bones of St. Peter in the Vatican, and I experienced directional confusion from being on the leaning tower of Pisa for too long.

In Ghana I found true beauty, discovered my deep love for Africa, and experienced genuine Ghanaian hospitality.

In the Philippines I found unconditional joy, discovered the pain of lacking, and experienced humility.

So now what.

What in the world do I do with this past summer? Do I take my memories, fold them up, and stuff them in the back pocket of my mind?

That would be a waste of a summer.

If you know me at all you probably (or hopefully) know that I hate blogs. I would rather talk to a person than have to remember to read his/her stupid online journal. Furthermore, if you know me you hopefully know that I don't even like to write. So let me explain to you why I am doing this.

When I was trying to figure out what to do with all of these experiences, I realized that there was something I wanted:

I want to be affected by this summer.

And so, I am starting this blog to remember and adjust accordingly.

Why use a blog to do this? A couple reasons:
1) You get to hear about wonderful, crazy, beautiful, strange, important people and experiences in my life, and
2) I get to remember them while I continue with my wonderful, crazy, beautiful, strange life.

I guess at first I will write mostly about the people I met this summer who I hope to never forget. But don't worry, my summer of '06 may have been my inspiration to start the blog, but I will be writing about much much more than just those past few months.