7 posts from 2009

      Last night I stopped asking God, "what am I going to do with my life?" I have always had, at very least, a growing desire to DO something for people, something other than decaying behind a desk for the purpose of building a comfortable life. I knew I loved academia, but that knowledge was meant to be more than learned and then proven by diplomas. It was meant to be applied practically and purposefully as needed in befitting 'places' and places. One summer in Africa and introductory anthropology course - two and half months later I now recognize that with knowledge comes responsibility. The phrase sounds sadly cliche, butin the depths of linguistics, far below the crust of catch-phrases and buzz words, the truth of it's meaning yet remains and that ancestry keeps it from becoming so. In fact, that statement is the second most powerful statement of my life, second only to the words I strung together asking God to forgive me from my sins and take me as His own.
     Sara Groves, a Christian song writer known for her word-stitching creativity, wrote this piece back in 2007. It best speaks what I want to explain to you.

I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it

Something on the road, cut me to the soul

Your pain has changed me
your dream inspires
your face a memory
your hope a fire
your courage asks me what I'm afraid of
(what I am made of)
and what I know of love

we've done what we've done and we can't erase it
we are what we are and it's more than enough
we have what we have but it's no substitution

Something on the road, touched my very soul

I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have and I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction

Something on the road, changed my world

To micro quote, I saw what I saw and I can't go back. Or can I? Anthropology, though I love it, is like opening up a can of worms. It's fascinating, it's puzzling, it's mind-bending, and the further I go the more often I hesitate and ask myself, Do I really want to go there? Digging in means I become responsible for what I learn and it's doubt I will be able to justify continuing on my way as before.
      So I find myself standing before a partially open door with a choice to make.
             Option 1: close the door and return to what I knew life to be before, forgetting as best I can what God showed me there in the deserts, make a  comfortable life, earn a comfortable living, never have to worry beyond paying a mortgage, completing my projects, and getting the kids to soccer practice on time.  Comfortable. Stressful? Yes. Rewarding? Sure. Did I do something with my particular talents that God gave to me - me as in Barbara Helene McAlister? TBD.
             Option 2: open that door wide and pass through to take up the responsibility that became mine when I opened it in the first place by saying, "Lord, I want what you want." You might think the decision was already made then, but that was only the preliminary step. The desire was still to be tested. When God asked me this September, "Will you commit to me? Do you?" I said, "Yes Lord" It was then that I pulled wide the door which I had cracked open bit by bit over the last 20 years. Then today He extended His hand across the threshold to me and asked, "Will you?" and I reached out my own hand to His and took it. "I do." I cried, "With all my heart." I don't even remember if I bothered to close the door of the room I left behind me.
      When God made me He wove me with a vision just for me to dream and do. It is up to me to ask Him to reveal it to me, to inspire me with it. It is up to me to pray for it and prepare for it as one would prepare themselves to be a spouse - to grow in honesty and love, to learn self-control, to be bearer of peace and joy, to listen, to obey, to stand up and speak; all of these things and more as God shows me. In the act of crossing through the door I continued, "Lord, give me the vision. Inspire me with the vision of what it is that you want because I've crossed over now. I do want what you want." 

      The price of stepping through the door is that I forfeit my rights to decide my own path. But I have realized that I on my own I cannot stand and be counted as righteous, that I cannot have hope or real joy, that I cannot be a change-agent, that I am empty and nothing unless i submit myself to God. And then it is not about me anymore. It is about Him. Life is about Him. All of the human effort in the world is not enough to change it. Change cannot come from us. It must come from God. He must be the reason - and He is - that I get out of bed in the morning, that pursue my studies, that I love others and give to others. I can have no other reason than Christ in me. He is the hope and glory.   

This is how I know that I am growing up.

Our transatlantic flight was delayed at least an hour, all passengers on board. The hurricane warning kept a queue of 15 or more planes grounded, our being the last. I didn't sleep much as we crossed the ocean, though I did try, but my excitement mingled with over-tiredness shocked my system to a near state of ADD. Thankfully my seatmate liked to talk a lot and so did the steward facing us from our seats in the bulkhead. Robert, Navneet and I talked the night away (classical music, Swedish mattresses, cross-country cycling trips) and then watched Slum Dog Millionaire, a film I've waited a long time to see. It was the perfect opening to a trip in to another world. The preemptive forewarning that later held me together as I witnessed similar circumstances throughout my trip. I could not image what it meant for a child to live in filth in a shanty of cardboard, foraging in the gutter for food, toys, and merchandise to resell.

Finally, finally, we landed in Brussels. I said goodbye to my new friends, and spent the next 20 minutes trying to refrain from dancing down the near kilometer-long hallway to immigration. It was hard. Along the way I stopped at a WC to wash up and take some water. When you see something for the first time, everything in your view is delightful. Well, that included the WC. Yes, I took pictures. The moment i stepped through the door, I burst out laughing for it was so different. They don't have stalls, but tiny, individual toilet rooms with heavy doors. The toilet paper is odd too, though quite sensible. It comes from a dispenser in sheets of two so that you don't accidentally over-draw and waste half a meter of paper. After brushing my teeth (of which I have a video, yes, yes) I moved back out to the hallway where I was soon distracted by a pair of statues looking opposite directions. Of course, I had to stand there and take a million photographs, posing with them.

There is something about those first few steps on foreign turf. You feel electricity shoot through your veins as you say those words: Bongo, I've a feeling we're not in the U.S. anymore. It is a crazy, crazy feeling. Just when you didn't think you could stand any taller, you're suddenly walking on the ceiling, and if the ceiling weren't there, you'd be walking on the clouds.

Following a 1am packing spree, 2 hours of sleep, 3 ½ hour drive, and 4 hugs goodbye at security, I am now through the gate. Alone at last. Since Friday morning I've been living for this moment, when I would finally turn the last corner of the blue-carpeted hallway to sit quietly by the terminal windows and watch the planes come and go. It means no cell phone, it means no internet, it means no planning; it means I can do nothing more, and that is the greatest relief. Someone told me that the hardest step is onto the plane because you can't turn around. Mid-flight, the pilot is not going to sympathize with your home-sickness, regrets, or misgivings. “Sure son, we can turn this plane around. You've changed your mind? We'll be home in just a minute.”

I think the hardest moment isn't a moment. It's the press leading up to the moment of relief, when you finally turn that last corner. It's running the last errands, settling final plans, packing and repacking, fixing the things that didn't go right the first time. Once you turn the corner, there is nothing more you can do. Not immediately at least. It's the kindest relief. It's the sweet, cool air stirring past your ear on a hot afternoon when the sun beats so oppressive and heavy you lose your breath. You just let go, sit back, and give in to the ride you have signed yourself away to. I'm relieved, alright?

I hadn't spent five minutes on the Other Side before noticing a stranger in loose-fitted cotton pants and a plaid shirt. His unresolved eyes fixed directly on my tumbled hair. His companion, a similar-looking traveler, seemed to find my Merrell treckers fascinating. He cocked his head to one side and studied them diligently, as if looking for for an answer. And how did I see all these things without staring rudely back? Through my new ninja cut, of course! I haven't had bangs since I was eight-years-old. Yesterday I went to the hair dresser, closed my eyes, and told her to have fun. Five inches and quite a few layers later, my family doesn't recognize me. It's a mildly wild cut with curl and flair. The shaggy bangs constantly fall in my eyes, making intimate conversation difficult, exactly my point. It gives me an air of mystery. And I can see everything through the unruly fringe. But you can't see me! Edgy,l I call it, and comfortably distancing. I think it adds to my battery of ninja powers, along with super clean kitchens, onion washing, an indelible desire to laugh, and dancing to my ipod in the street. In the meantime, we'll just have to wait out this tornado warning.

     I've had since that slate gray morning in November of ham and cheese omelets with Eleni to prepare for this trip. Slowly and slowly I have gathered information, taken down names, read books, made connections, read more books, talked to travelers. Now I have only two months before I leave (I haven't even purchased the tickets yet, don't tell!) and I'm feeling very anxious about this. Did I do it wrong? Am I doing it wrong now? there isn't one right way to travel I guess, but there sure are a lot of wrong ways. The most important thing for me is to pack light. I do not want to be hauling excessive amounts through either the Mediterranean or Africa. So how many pairs of shoes does that add up to? Should I take hiking boots, should I take flip-flops, do I need tennis shoes, what about a pair of dressy shoes? Do I need a nice outfit just in case? Cannot forget that toothbrush! Every question births a new question, or maybe two. And the scariest part is that I just won't know what I got right and what I got wrong until I'm there. If I can just lay the fear and the feelings of being overwhelmed, I know i can get this figured out.
     It makes me shake my head in wonderment when I think about how I begged for this trip because I wanted to expand my world - I wanted a bigger view. I haven't even left the continent yet and I'm already overwhelmed by the enormity of my growing world in these last six months. It's too scary and many times in a day I want to run and hide because it's all too big for me to sort out and control. But look on the bright side, it throws me back into the arms of God - I know this whole long life of mine is a trek I won't be able to walk alone. God is my constant travel companion, he never leaves me, he always knows the way, and he has endless resources and connections. So even if the world is too big for me to handle on my own, I have nothing to fear.

This is the beginning of my bucket list, but by no means the end...

Things to do:
     Skydiving
     write a book of poems
     write a children's book
     write songs and cut an album
     play basketball again
     become a certified personal trainer
     meet George W. Bush
     meet the president
     try surfing
     publish that book of poems
     take a sculpture class
     model gowns
     correspond with a soldier on active duty
     bike cross country, maybe the whole country
     reach a height of 6'2"
     kiss the most handsome man in the world
     fall in love with him, permanently
     dress up
     teach women in a foreign land
     run a half marathon
     complete a triathlon

Countries/Continents to see:
     India
     Italy
     Greece
     All of Europe
     All of Africa

Languages to learn:
    Italian
    Arabic
    Spanish
    French

Instruments to learn:
     Guitar
     Voice
     Bass
     Cello

Return to ballet, modern, ballroom, tango, tap

It's the day you say "I do," but do you realize what you are saying? You might be beaming from behind a gossamer veil; or you could be the handsome man with the ring in his pocket and his bride filling his eyes. Whoever you are, you are making the greatest commitment of your life.This promise is one that you are swearing to live by until death. Most people don't realize that anymore. 40-50% of marriages in the United States end in divorce. Oddly divorce rates among conservative Christians if significantly higher than that of other faith groups. Wondering why? It is because those marriages are more impacting on a community when they last. A couple that not only sticks it out, but that has taken seriously that "the two shall become one," and is able to minister as a living example, have the power to influence many, many more husbands and wives to hold fast to their commitment, thus preventing broken homes and broken children that would only go on to repeat the standards of their parents. You have no idea how many struggling couples are watching you now, or how many will watch you over the years. The home is the foundation, the safety, for a child. If they cannot see and feel love, respect, and acceptance demonstrated there, there is no model, no proper faucet for filling the child with these much needed verbs and nouns. 

If I had a Mantasaurus I think that I might call him Boris.
Or Loris. Or Horace. Or maybe even James, but definitely not Doris!
I would have him wash my clothes, the pots and pans, and wipe my nose.
He would be just as good as any man, but he’d be a Mantasaurus.

If I had a Wrenchasaurus he would do the plumbing for us.
His name is Gus; he clears the rust into his coffeepot, nonplussed.
He’d twist, and twist, and turn the pipes until the water came out just right.
Except that I’d still have to bathe. Never mind the Wrenchasaurus!

Now a Hydrasaurus! He could take my baths! I’d never see the tub again,
Until perhaps 2010 when I turn five and five, and ten.
And then…my mom will tell me, “Noris! Go take a shower.
You smell so awful, like Maquiladoras” I really want a Hydrasaurus.

How about an Oratorasaurus? The kind you find in Moroccan forests.
I’ve heard they like to sing in chorus,
So it’s best if you find two or three so they can sing in harmony
While singing in their chorus. Now that’d be cool! An, Oratorasaurus.

My mom would like a Tergasaurus, and so would dad I’m sure.
In fact, they said they might send in for one that’s really poor.
“Because,” mom says, “he’d be so grateful. He’d always do his chores,
and eat his limas, for he knows it builds the health of dinosaurs.

“And where’d I sleep? I’d like to know!”
“We’d send you back instead.” My mom is adamant a dinosaur could fit into my bed,
and all because he won’t complain and does his stink’ chores.
Ha! I’d like to see a Tergasaurus try vacuuming the floor!

But more than any other kind -saurus, I’d most prefer my own Thesaurus.
Dad says they’re great for saving time while writing paragraphs or stories.
And even poetry, I’ve heard, would go a whole lot faster
If I had my own Thesaurus to be their wordy master.