An Almost-End-of-the-Semester Letter

Dear New York City,

I have quite enjoyed our last several months together. Before I came here, I thought you were just an American city that had a ton of diversity. But I was very wrong. You are, in fact, an international city that happens to be claimed by America. You have no Wal-marts or King Soopers and have very few Christians. I walk everywhere, but I appreciate that it is on paved streets and not in the dirt.  I like that I hear different languages daily, yet everyone understands when I speak. In you I spend my afternoons with the richest people I've ever known and then ride the subway home with beggars. I never expected you to present so many challenges. Although I spend 15 hours a week in classes and even more doing homework, you have taught me the most. You've taught me to only wear sweats in my apartment and that the world is more messed-up than I wanted to believe. At the same time, you've taught me to ignore the people around me and that people are always willing to give directions. Now I'm ready to end this learning curve. I would like a chance for a nice, big deap breath. In two weeks, I'll be looking up at mountains instead of the Empire State Building, sitting at a quiet coffee shop instead of walking to two or three before finding one with an empty seat, and walking up and down the ailes (with a cart!) of King Soopers instead of pushing through Trader Joe's in hope of finding the groceries I need. I'm really looking foward to it, but I know that in three weeks I'll probably be missing you. After I gulp air in Estes Park and get a chance to drive, I'll be ready to come back. So please don't get mad at me for wanting to leave really badly right now. Be waiting for me when I come running back ready to take you on again in January.

Your loving resident,
L

One Year

One year ago today, I began my life-changing adventure in Africa. I've been thinking a lot about what has changed in me in the last year. Most people assume that Africa was life-changing because I saw poverty and a bunch of weird customs. But that's not what changed me. Before I went, I had been in much more impoverished areas and I think I run into more strange customs here in New York City each week than I did in my 6 months in Africa. I didn't change because it was a cross-cultural experience. I changed because of the people I met there.

I quickly learned that life there is hard. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I didn't couldn't understand how hard life is there. The heat, the isolation, the pressure of speaking a different language when you leave the house, trying to be a light-, all caused days when I just didn't want to get out of bed. I wasn't alone in all of this though. All the ex-pat women who I met there understood. They had gone through the same things. They were going through the same things. And most of these women are still pushing through there. They raise their families there, they make a home and they live lives that show the evidence of the Spirit that lives inside of them. These women taught me hospitality, how to follow God even when it means giving up some of your own wants, and how to love the people around you. They give of themselves each day, making a place home, even when they have no assurance that it will be home the next year. They bend over backwards to serve yet know when they need to stop to take care of themselves. I learned that family are the people who you sit around the dinner table with, who search the stores until they find crackers for you when you're sick, and who invite you to sit and cry and talk when they know that it is what you need.

These women showed me how to be like Jesus day in and day out. They walked out their faith. They are real life examples of  who I want to be. They showed me what being like Jesus looks like and how to continually be going through the process to get there. And that's what changed me.

Photo of the Day

Just the view from my window tonight!

Church Shopping

Pretty much the only time I miss 'home' is on Sunday when I go to church. I've tried a few really good churches here in the city and liked most of them. But they just aren't Good Shepherd. I don't expect them to be, but I really miss it. Today I was trying to figure out what I missed about it. Of course, I miss my friends there, and I miss knowing what to expect when I walk in the doors. I remember though, after having been searching for churches in Colorado Springs coming home and realizing that if I had just moved there and was searching for a church, G Shep probably wouldn't necessarily be the one I would choose. I would be wary of the fact that it is non-denominational, and the worship was just okay (on the other hand, I love worship with the youth groups). So why do I miss it so much? And why is it so much harder to look over some aspects that I haven't liked about the churches I've tried in the city?

This is what I realized today. I was a part of the body at G Shep. I've served there in different ministries for almost 10 years. It's not that I liked every aspect of it or thougth it was doing everything right. It's that I was a part of the living, breathing church body there. In the end, it came down not to the nitty-gritty theological beliefs or whether worship was contemperary or done with hymns. It wasn't about if every sermon is great and is exactly what I needed to hear. It was that I was a part of it and it's hard to disconnect from the body I've been a part of for 12 years. It really is like family- you don't always like them or everything about them, but they are a vital part of who you are you are a part of them. So instead of looking at having a hard time finding a church here as a bad thing, I'm going to start seeing it as a reminder of how we are supposed to be a part of the church. It is good that I miss my church back home, because it means I was a real part of it. Meanwhile, hopefully I can find a church that even though it may not fit everything on my checklist, will be a place that I can become a part of.

Flashback

This is a story I wrote for my college writing class about my time in Africa that I thought I'd share with you all!

        One event is all it took for me to feel assured of my independence. Having just moved to Khartoum, Sudan, I was in a completely new environment. The weather was different, the way I dressed was different, and the language spoken around me was different. More than anything I wanted to make this place my home, but at the same time, I felt completely inadequate in my ability to do anything on my own.

            Then I was asked to go get bread for dinner. I could feel panic rising in my throat, but I choked it down and smiled. I had not yet been out on the streets alone in this strange world. Memorizing the directions was step one. I was to walk down the main street, turn left at the blinking star and then keep going until I got to the bakery. Hopefully, I could make it to the main street without getting turned around. Sliding a scarf over my head, I grabbed the money and crumpled it tightly in my fist.

    After making it to the main street and seeing the blinking star, I sighed out of relief. I walked with my head slightly down, careful not to make eye contact with the men roaming the street. As I turned left, I began to feel apprehensive about what would occur next. Would the men understand what I wanted when I gave them the money? Could I clearly communicate without using words that I wanted the round bread?

         I pulled the small rope handle and walked in as a cool blast of air glided out. No one was at the counter. I stood there, unsure of what protocol was in this culture. After a moment of feeling self-conscious, a timid “Salam?” slipped out of my mouth. It seemed like hours later, but a man finally came out. I pushed my worn money toward him. When he said something that sounded like a question, I made a circle with my hands. Apparently I had given him the correct information, because he promptly grabbed a bag of round loaves and handed it to me.

        My walk home was pleasant. I felt powerful knowing that, although I could not yet speak the language, I could communicate clearly with the people around me. I was a part of this place, and I fit in with all the others who bought their bread each day. It wasn’t going to be simple living here by myself, but I could do it.

Photo of the Day

Sorry for the bit of blur. And it's too bad it was so cloudy this evening, because the lights would have been a lot better.

We Will Never Forget

I didn't enjoy eating lunch on the ground today, but my friends and I will never complain about the reason why there were no seats: