The difference in a year
December 10th.
Three years ago today, I was living in Kentucky. I was a bartending seminarian. We were all anxiously waiting for the miraculous arrival of Mr. Asher Paul. I was in the beginning of a relationship that would eventually become THE relationship. I was anticipating graduation, enjoying snow and had a house full of dogs.
Two years ago today I was in Indonesia. It was a three week whirl-wind trip full of spicy food, bad air and incredible learning experiences. I was able to attend a UN Conference on Climate Change. I marched with indigenous peoples from all over Indonesia. A few weeks earlier I had attended a traditional Indonesian wedding, and spent time with the families of migrant workers.
One year ago today I was in Hong Kong. It was my final day in Hong Kong. I cannot begin to express what all I gained from my time there. I spent 15 months trying to blog about it, only to feel that I failed miserably at accurately conveying how meaningful and impressive every moment and individual was.
One year ago today I was in transition. Leaving my apartment before dawn, (and subsequently breaking my toe!), and ending the day in Japan.
One day. Over the span of three years. From Kentucky, to Indonesia, to Hong Kong, to Japan, to Seattle.
Last night my dad called. He asked what I was doing, and I said eating dinner. “Anyone with you?” he asked. “Of course not,” I replied. “I lead a pretty boring life.”
I think I need to retract that statement. My how time flies when you’re having fun; traveling the world; discovering what it means (and what it doesn’t mean) to be a missionary; watching friends get married and expand their families; falling in love; meeting new friends; saying goodbye to new and old friends; learning about migrant rights and issues surrounding homelessness…..
How time flies
I met Mari not too long after I had started working at Mary’s Place in February. She came to services on Saturday, and dropped by occasionally during the week. While not currently homeless, she had been in the past and is still extremely low income. She’s a sweet lady, quiet, thoughtful. She is proud of her Native-roots and kind to everyone she meets. People who know Mari, love Mari.
Not long after I met her, Mari found out she was pregnant. She had a spirit of quiet excitement. “This is my last one. I knew how many children I always wanted, and this little one will finish me off.” Everyone was so excited for her. Maryanne, another church-goer, made her a baby blanket. Another lady brought a sweet little outfit and hoodie for the baby. There were gifts of diapers, hats and love. At the beginning of the summer, she informed us it was going to be a boy! Everyone had an opinion for naming the baby. Mari would just smile, “We have his name picked out.”
Three weeks ago, Mari came into church for the first time in a month. With her, little baby Sage. He was bundled up in one of the blankets that just a few months before had been a gift. Everyone ohhed and awwed at the sweet little baby. A tiny miracle. There is nothing like an itty bitty baby to reduce a room full of hardened, weary women into a cooing mess.
It is amazing to me that I have been here long enough to see a non-pregnant woman become a mother. These last ten months have just flown by. It is sad to think that there is only 6 months left in this program. It has truly been a life-changing experience. I have able to travel the world, work in grassroots organizations, learn about issues in migration and homelessness. I am a different person than I was 2 1/2 years ago. A better person, I think. These last ten months, I have become wholly invested in the work of Mary’s Place and the Church of Mary Magdalene. So much so that I am not leaving Seattle after my Mission Intern program is finished in the Spring. I am hoping to stay on with Mary’s Place, but even if that is not possible, I want to stay in this community. I feel at home here. I feel a sense of peace in staying that I haven’t felt in a long time. It feels good to be here, invested, learning, stretching.
One Year Ago
My toenail fell off today. I was putting on my shoes this morning, and looked down, and there it was, hanging half off. Since I was running late for work this morning (what’s new), I put a band aid on it and headed off to work. Band aids fix everything, right? When I got home, I took a good look at it, and sure enough, it was ready to come off. Finally. I mean, it has only been, what? Ten months? Remember that? Ten months ago, at the butt-crack before dawn, I was pulling 15 months worth of luggage off the elevator and directly into my toe. I spent my time in Japan and California limping around with a broken toe. I assumed the toenail would fall off, but it never did. Until today. Let the healing begin.
Taking care of that toenail was an odd bit of final closure to my time overseas. It is the final, tangible bit of Asia that was left on me. I used to be able to look down at my foot, see that disgusting, bloodied toe, and laugh thinking about hobbling around Japan. It would remind me of that drasted elevator in my apartment building.
As much as I love my life in Seattle, I miss my life in Hong Kong. A lot actually. More than I thought I would. I could not be happier with where I am right now – where I work, preparing for Kris to move to Seattle, getting married….my life is very very good. But I miss my friends in Hong Kong. My sweet little church. The wonderful ladies of Bethune House and The Mission. I miss the food. Good Lord I miss the food!! The adventure of living and surviving overseas was a good fit for me. It is something I still crave – that sense of adventure. Of learning to navigate around in a foreign language.
I think back to where I was a year ago today. I look back on my blog, and this is where I was. Amazing what can change in a year. I will always look back on my time in Asia as more than just an experience. It really was shaping for me. Who I am today is due in part because of all that I learned in my 15 months in Asia. Those journeys, those experiences, the stories, the faces – they will never leave me. My work and my focus may have shifted, but my love for the people, my desire to help in the struggle, the desire to stand alongside those fighting for justice and equality – that will never fade.
All this, from a toe nail. Funny what makes us remember, huh?
Carol on the roof
Remember Carol on the Roof? Well, she’ still up there. Still raising money. She has managed to raise over $40,000 in a month and a half. Pretty amazing.
Fall is approaching. The nights are getting cooler. There is a threat of rain. The days are getting shorter. And, on the roof Carol remains.
And! She’s in the news.
So check her out. And offer up a $1 if you can. It is for a good cause. 
Up on the Roof with Carol
Remember when I mentioned the lady on the roof trying to raise money? Well, almost two weeks later, Carol is still up on the roof, still raising money and sharing her heart for organizations that help women better themselves. Her own organization, Fabric of Life, is a fantastic organization that has done amazing work with child beggars and street workers in Africa. These women have learned new skills that allow them to be earners instead of beggars. To have purpose rather than shame.
On Tuesday, Pastor Marcia and I took two women from Mary’s Place out to Edmonds to meet with Carol on the Roof. We took leftovers from a meal prepared at Mary’s Place – a special for the day, french toast and bacon, along with a mug of hot coffee. We got to Edmonds and to the Fabric of Life store, and Barb, bless her heart, was the first to conquer her fear of heights and tackle that ladder. Slick from the recent rain, Barb gripped the edges, as Carol extended her hand over the edge to help her with that last step. With all four of us finally up on the roof, Carol welcomed us to her “home.” An impressive set up with sleeping quarters, a table and even a bathroom!
We had a delightful visit with Carol. She was so interested in hearing the stories of Barb and Cassie, who were both eager to share their unique stories of their journies through homelessness. As Cassie and Barb shared, I noticed tears in Carol’s eyes. She was so moved by their honesty and their determination. Come spend 10 minutes with the women of Mary’s Place, you’ll be moved to tears as well.
Cassie shared that one of the most difficult parts of being homeless was the way that people treat you as though you are invisible. “On the street, people look right through you, if they look at you at all. It makes you feel less than human. Like a freak.” Carol gasped, and said how one of the girls in her Fabric of Life program had said nearly the exact same thing, when talking about begging on the streets of Africa. Around the world, women everywhere are faced with these feelings of failure, dejection and isolation. But around the world, women everywhere, women like Carol, are working to make these women and children feel worthy and needed.
We left the roof, Carol waving goodbye and encouraging us, “don’t look down!” as we made our way back down the ladder. A shared experience. The bringing together of different causes, different stories, different hearts. Cassie and Barb both said how meaningful the experience was – to hear what Carol was doing, what the women in Africa were doing, to get out of Seattle and see what else is going on in this world.
We’re all in this together. This growing and surviving and struggling and hoping. Together we can make it.
To read Carol’s take on our visit, check this out!
Up on the roof with Carol
Today, July 31st, Carol Schillios will climb up on the roof of her organization, Fabric for Life, and live in a tent for 30 days. Intrigued? So were we. Turns out, Carol is going to be living on the roof for 30 days in order to raise awareness and support for women and their families in developing countries and in our local communities. She is asking 1 million people to each donate $1. That’s all. Just one dollar. From 1 million people. All proceeds will benefit Fabric of Life as is supports programs around the world and right at home.
Carol’s hope is that people will notice the lady in the tent on the roof and start asking questions. It seems to be as much about raising awareness as it is about raising funds. “Because we want to inspire others that one small act is significant. Because we want to celebrate what people are already doing to make a difference in their world. Because we want to celebrate other cultures. Because an angel donor has already pledged to match $1 for every resident in the City of Edmonds!”*
For the 30 days that Carol is up on the roof, she will be depending on individuals and organizations to help her with meals. Each day a different organization or individual will prepare a meal for Carol and hoist it up to her in a basket. During that time, they will get to share with Carol what they have been doing to make a difference in their communities and in the world.
On August 11th, the women of Mary’s Place will be heading out to Edmonds to share a meal with Carol, to learn more about her organization and her passions, and to share with her stories from Mary’s Place. We are excited to go out into the community, not asking for assistance, but to provide assistance to another sister who is working to make this world a better place.
Carol will be blogging during her entire experience. If you would like to follow her, you can do so here. If you would like to learn more about Fabric of Life, you can do so here. And if you would like to learn more about Mary’s Place, you can do so here, or you can become our fan of Facebook!
*(quote from an email from the Fabric of Life explaining the Up on the Roof campaign)
The incredible world-trotting family
I don’t know how many of you know this, but I come by being a missionary honestly. Its in my blood.
~My dad served on a 3 month mission to Peru when he was younger. It was a trip that altered his faith and there are stories from that experience that he still shares.
~My cousin Ben was a Summer Intern with the Young Adult Mission Program through GBGM (my sending agency) while he was in college. He served in Philly.
~My cousin Paige has been on multiple short-term mission trips (mostly to Brazil).
~My cousin Mary Grace was in Bangalore, India with proVISION Asia for many years.
~My aunt and uncle are currently serving in Albania. They are in their 3rd year.
~And on Wednesday, my dear cousin Ellen joined the ranks (though not for the first time) and set off for Tanzania. She just graduate from linguistics school through Wycliffe. She will be spending the first few months in language training, and then will be leading adult literacy courses around the Lake Victoria area. I am incredibly proud of her, very excited for her, and slightly jealous of her. If anyone is interested in following Ellen’s journey through her newsletter, let me know and I’ll add you to her list. Also, if anyone wants to add themselves to her prayer and/or support list, let me know!
What an amazing family I have. Seriously, this is just a glimpse at how dedicated and awesome my family really is. I am obviously not trying to compare international to domestic service, and fully believe that both are vital. I just think it is neat and a great blessing to be from a family as international as mine.
Re-immersion
I’ve been back for almost two months now. It is so hard to believe that much time has gone by since I was last in Asia. I don’t need to tell you in 2 or 3 succinct sentences about how my time in Hong Kong really was wonderful and challenging and growing and scary and all of those other things. You’ve been reading (hopefully), and so I don’t have to express to you that of course I am going to miss many aspects of living overseas. It really was an incredible, life-changing experience that I would not trade for anything. At the same time, I am glad to be home. Whatever and wherever home is. Before leaving Hong Kong, I had prepared myself for the inevitable reverse culture shock that would certainly befall me upon landing back in America. I had been through it before, and I know how incredibly difficult that can be.
When I was 16, I took my first major overseas trip, the first without either of my parents. I spent 3 weeks in Uganda, Africa on a mission trip. I absolutely fell in love with everything about my time there. The culture, the food, the people, the land, the music. I didn’t want to leave. In my heart, that was home. In a concrete room without running water or electricity; where we were threatened once by an elephant stampede and drank warm milk directly from the goat – I was home. Coming back to America everything seemed so….grand. Overdone. Trite. To top it off, our church was in the midst of a very serious leadership change that was devastating to many people, and the man who had been our leader in Africa suddenly left without even saying goodbye. That left our little rag-tag Africa group confused and without any leadership for dealing with reverse culture shock. So we each learned to manage on our own. I went through a period where I was angry. I found so many things about my home culture to hate, having seen such immense poverty. The wastefulness I found common in my own life shocked me, remembering how everything was a well-used resource in Uganda. For a long time, it was painful to be in America, and it was hard to call it home. But eventually, I re-immersed myself, and found things to love again. I became a part of my own culture once again. Changed. Redefined.
So, I expected a bit of this same kind of shock upon returning from Hong Kong. After all, I had only be in Uganda for 3 weeks, how much worse would it be after 15 months abroad!? Imagine my confusion when that reverse culture shock never hit. I kept waiting, expecting it to happen. Almost willing it to come, so I could just get it over with and move on with my life. I was waiting in limbo for a transition that just wouldn’t come. I started to become a little worried, and almost disappointed, that it never came. In Atlanta, I listened to my fellow Minterns talk about the difficulties of being home, of the frustrations of not being understood by their families. I empathetically watched them shed tears over feeling displaced in their own culture, of being torn between two homes. I had been there. And though it didn’t happen this time, it doesn’t mean I don’t know that pain. As I began to realize that perhaps RCS wasn’t going to hit, I started to be thankful. A smooth transition (if there is such a thing) is a blessing. Who knows why I didn’t experience many of the same emotions as before. One can only speculate.
I did however, learn something very important. I can be in more than one place at once. In Hong Kong, I was in my element – work wise. With all the traveling, rallying, photography and relationships built. That job was one that will be the measuring stick for all other jobs I ever have. But at the same time, I was out of my element in that I was away from those I loved most. While I created new and beautiful relationships in Hong Kong and other parts of Asia, my heart was back here. And for that reason, I couldn’t wait to get home. Now that I am here, surrounded by family and friends who mean the world to me, I do find myself missing the work environment I left in Hong Kong. I yearn to be productive and active, to be working for an organization that is making a difference. A part of my heart is still there. And that is okay, I left it there on purpose.
My dear friend Abby talked about being afraid of losing “the voices in my head.” The beautiful voices that belonged to the beautiful people she connected with so strongly in Grenada. And Alycia reminded us that “the voices don’t leave us, they just become a part of a bigger and louder chorus.”
So to the voices in Uganda, in Hong Kong, in Kentucky, in Florida and for those I will begin to connect with in Seattle, begin your beautiful harmonies. Sing loud, so I may not forget. Sing strong, so as to be heard. Sing together, so that the strands of my life may continue to become an ever changing sound of pure beauty.
And the winner is….
So Mary is the winner of a free week’s stay on my couch in……Seattle!!! (though if I find out Valerie leaked info to you, you’ll have to bring your own couch, which would actually be helpful, considering I don’t have one…..)
That’s right folks, I’m moving to Seattle! The the land that produces more apples (10-12 billion hand picked apples), cow’s milk and raspberries (57 million pounds) than any other state; that has more coffee bean roasters and college degrees per capita; the state that a gorge deeper than the Grand Canyon (Hell’s Canyon) and more glaciers than any other state save for Alaska. A state where the majority of our nation’s mint is grown; that has the nation’s longest accessible beach (aptly named Long Beach); and is the birthplace of such favorites as Jimi Hendrix, Bing Crosby, Nirvana, Kenny G (okay, maybe he’s not a favorite), Pat Boone (again, just throwing names out here to impress you), the yellow Happy Face, and the Far Side comics. The Evergreen State – the state with the cleanest air quality in the nation. Can you tell I am excited?
I will be working for the Church of Mary Magdalene at their ministry, Mary’s Place (yes, I see the irony in the winner and the name of my placement), a homeless center that offers education and health classes, rehabilitation, and a place to rest during the day. The center is active in city advocacy and women’s empowerment. They offer services to women and children only, and offer a wide variety of services. There is a possibility I could be helping to offer advice and education on the immigration system in the States, as many of the women are also migrants and immigrants who have no idea how to navigate the Immigration system. I have been in contact with the two directors, and they sound like amazing women whom I am thrilled to work with!
This placement will also be 15 months of volunteer service, with my living expenses being taken care of by the UMC. When I am finished with this placement, I will be finished with the Mission Intern program (and no, I don’t know what I am going to do afterward).
When I first found out, I was a little disappointed, because I had honestly had my heart set on Denver. But the more research I do about Mary’s Place and about Seattle, the more I feel this is where I need to be. I start in February and cannot wait!! I expect many visitors, so go ahead and start saving up for your plane tickets!!!
Submission Day
I do not want to cheapen the proceedings of today. Or the past 7 months. I don’t want to cheapen everything by writing about it, trying to spin it elequently enough to be considered a decent post. I don’t want to manipulate words to seek out pity, sorrow, or even justified outrage. Those emotions have been felt, and expressed, despite of and beyond my own efforts to inform. Yet, at the same time, this is a story that needs to be told, that needs to not be forgotten so easily. And inasmuch as I want to do this story justice, as much as I want to properly convey the depth and emotions of this whole situation, I want to be cautious not to make this about the story. It is about Vicky.
How do you hope on a day like today? What form does hope take? A word that the American culture has accepted as its icon. A word so liberally thrown around that it is on the verge of losing its meaning. Yes, I was proud that my nation was reaching out for hope, for change. And I continue to pray that it comes to fruition. But to see a word with such deep and profound meaning used as a campaign slogan was a bit disconcerting. And on a day like today, it makes you wonder, what kind of hope does one ask for in a situation like this? Vicky is already dead. There is no taking that back. After months of fighting, the migrant and concerned communities achieved a piece of justice. This inquest was not something given to the family, but that had to be fought for every step of the way. But even with that goal achieved, that battle won, there was still little good to be hoped for. What ever decision came down today at the submission would not bring Vicky back. It would probably do little to help the loved ones left behind begin to heal. But they were at least hoping for the possibility, the slim hope, of an answer.
There are many things that I could say about the inquest itself. I could criticize the proceedings, point out the obvious faults and the ways that, even as justice was being sought, it was unequal. How this major decision was being decided by a jury that would be the opposite of Vicky’s peers. But instead, I would rather talk about how I was amazed by Irene, Vicky’s sister, who attended the hearing as next of kin. The strength of having to listen to, defend and at times dispute the details of her sister’s life, as well as her death, is a strength that is beyond my imagination. Through the coroner, the former employer, the relatives, the friends and the supposed boyfriend, Irene listened, along with the rest of the court and public, to the details of a sister who had left home 11 years ago to work abroad. Irene listened to women she had only recently met speak of eating meals with her sister every day, or of the walks she would take each afternoon with neighborhood collegues. And sometimes, those details from the witnesses were not pretty. Remembered conversations that did not paint Vicky in the best light. The words of a witness that seemed to hold little truth in comparision to all of the other character witnesses. In fact, that particular woman’s testimony was called hearsay, but because this was coroner’s court, not civil court, it was allowed. Comments and speculations by one woman seemed to overshadow all the other facts and realities of Vicky’s life. Out of 24 witnesses, this one woman had the power to instill doubt as to the stability of Vicky’s mind.
As the verdict was returned this afternoon, we listened, half-astonished, half-numb, as the foreman read out, “Circumstance of injury sustained: Drowning. Consideration as to cause of death: Suicide.” There was hope for an open verdict, which would allow of the possibility of an accidental death. Everyone knew that the ruling of Suicide was a possibility. It was just one we were not willing to entertain. And even now that it has been written in the official records, it is still not one Irene and others are willing to believe.
“They may say it was suicide, but I just don’t believe that can be true. If Vicky really wanted to kill herself, why did she have to travel so far? Why not just do it in her room? Or in the bay near the house. It just doesn’t make sense, and I refuse to believe it.” Irene said after the trial. Tomorrow, the Discovery Bay Community will meet to discuss how far they have come, and what their next steps are. Of everything that has happened, the unity of this community, made up of migrant workers and employers, a true miracle. A blessing that will serve the DB community for years to come.
There is no need to continue to speculate. Further speculation will only serve to take attention away from the person Vicky was. We do not want to focus on who Vicky is in death, but who she was in life.
The new countdown
It is that time again. Where my life is getting ready to shift, and everything boils down to a countdown. My life in constant motion. It is hard to describe, this feeling of leaving, starting over (again) and saying goodbye. It is never easy. No matter how many times I do this, I never seem to learn the trick.
Actually, I never learn any of the tricks. Not just how to make the goodbyes easier, but you would think after more than a decade on the move, I would have gotten better at this packing thing. Or at least learned that it is always better to start early! I’ll admit, my mom packed me up for Hong Kong. And she did a darn good job. 15 months in two suitcases. Impressive. I asked if she’d fly over to help pack me for home. She just laughed. What’s so funny? Because now, I have 15 months, plus 7 countries worth of stuff. Stuff. Goodies for Christmas, treasures and mementos and such. But still, stuff. Sigh. How do I do this every time? Accumulate way more than I meant to?
Kris will be here in 19 days. Not that I’m counting or anything. But seriously – if any one out there is thinking of doing the long distance thing without seeing each other for 15 months, don’t. We made it. But sometimes only barely. And it was not fun. I’m beyond blessed to have an incredibly supportive and patient man. But dude, so would not do that again. I can’t wait to see him, and show him my life in Hong Kong.
In 24 days, I’ll be heading to the Hong Kong airport for the last time. (Why, oh why did I have to book a 7:30am flight?! Seriously, you’d like to think I had learned something in all my years of travel!) I can’t believe it is almost over. While I am beyond ready to get home, to eat my weight in Mexican food, to spend Christmas with my family, to see my dog (Hank! I’m coming!), to drive a car, walk on my favorite beach, see my friends, give hugs to all the church ladies who have been sending me cards and prayers….While I am ready for all of that, I’m not ready for what I’ll have to leave behind to get those things.
The thought of leaving behind the work here, my co-workers, the women in the shelter, my church. Heartbreaking. I just cannot say it enough, but I absolutely love my job. I adore my co-workers. They never cease to keep me laughing. And they are great encouragers and teachers. Dedicated to their work, to the movement, to justice. I am honored to have spent the last 15 months working along side of them. When I am old, this will be one of those experiences I look back on in awe, and that will mostly be because of the people I worked with. And the women. Oh, the Bethune House women. Though they are a migrant bunch, though the faces have changed over my time here, they all have something in common. Hope. Determination. Compassion. And there are a few who have been in the shelter my entire time. They were here before I arrived, and sadly, they will be here long after I leave. Their cases are dragging on, and though their hope wavers from time to time, it never falters. What an inspiration they have been.
As much as I talk about work, I realize that I have not mentioned my church much. Which is a shame. Because my church is just as amazing as my work environment. It is the kind of church that I have searched my whole life for. I cannot imagine finding another one like it. A small, international, ecumenical community, devoted to learning, justice and worship. People who can talk about theology with the same intensity as they use to talk about environmental issues, or issues of justice and peace. Set out of the city, up on a mountain, Sundays are a literal breath of fresh air. Hiking up to services in the cool (or heat) of the afternoon, anticipating a time of quiet and reflection. The services full of candles, prayers, song. The dinners afterward with homemade desserts, delightful company and much laughter. The prayer walk, the unique Chinese architecture of the church, the local art, the union of tradition and nature.
I just cannot believe in 24 days, I will be saying goodbye to the life I have here.
Little Hands
This was written thinking of the children I met in the Sirlawan community, and the street children I saw in Davao.
Little hands. Not like the ones in the community. Both sets were dirty – but a different kind of dirty. The community kids’ hands were covered in pen marks from school, beach dirt from retrieving the volleyball, crumbs of rice and the grease of dried fish. No, these little hands were different. Covered in dirt from standing too close to the street, the exhaust and dust creating a glue between little fingers. Covered in the kind of greasy film that comes from not having a bath for too long. Covered in pieces of trash, wrapper foils and crumbs from empty containers, after scavenging through the trash for food.
Little hands. Both reaching out. The community hands reaching out for a signature from the guests who were friendly and carried no threat. Reaching out for one last touch, one last goodbye. Waving excitedly in the air. But this other set of little hands were cupped, held out, hoping to be filled. These little hands moved along with me, pushing themselves in to my line of sight.
Little feet. Not like the ones in the community. Both sets were dirty. But a different kind of dirty. The community feet had dust and mud caught between the straps of their worn sandals. Sandals that were no doubt hand-me-downs, as evidenced by the mismatched and misfit pairs. Their little feet ran through the muddy grass, led them up the stairs to their bare classrooms, nimbly climbed the cement walls to drop down onto the beach that surrounded their community. But these little feet, the other little feet, were as dirty as their little hands. Shoeless. Covered in scrapes and dried blood and dust. They shuffled along the uneven sidewalk beside me, keeping time to my long strides.
Little eyes. So full of hope. Watching their teacher fill the blackboard, following the lines on the pages of the school books they had to pay for themselves. Little eyes that widened in curiosity at the sight of a white woman. Of men who didn’t carry guns. Of strangers who weren’t there to disturb but learn from their community. These eyes that expressed such joy at the simplicity of my signing my name in their notebooks. Different from these little eyes, who couldn’t hold a direct gaze. These little eyes that gathered crust and dried tears in their corners, only looking at you with their head bent down. Little eyes full of shame, despair, fear, hunger.
These little lives. Being shaped by what is around them. Neither is fully secure, neither is rich or fully fed. But one set of little lives at least has an opportunity, a community, a glimmer of hope. While the other set of little lives has only the community of other hungry children, they only have fear that anything they are given will be violently snatched away.
I thought my heart broke that first day, in the community, when I saw these little hands reaching out. But then, my heart broke again when I saw those other little hands reaching up.
My journey through the Philippines
For the next few weeks, my blogging may be sporadic at best. But I am trying to write as much as possible. There is so much to take in and I want to share as much as possible. So I am writing, even when I don’t have internet. I will try to post things in order, but forgive me if they end up being stacked.
I am currently still in Davao City, until tomorrow morning. After 5 days relaxing, swimming, scuba diving and eating tons of great food with my friend and co-missionary Kerr, I moved on to a Asian Religious Youth Leaders Summit on Peace. For the last 4 days I sat in a room with young adults representing 9 religions and 16 countries, talking about sustainable peace and justice. Tomorrow I fly out to Manila, where I will be preparing for the IAMR.
Ubuntu
It took weeks to score a visa. I had to visit the visa office twice with various sets of paperwork. Then I was sent to Consulate. I had to go through a metal detector (which my hair barrett set off) and wait in a sub-zero tiled room for over 3 hours to fork over more money than any other nationality. A week later, I went back through the same metal detector (sans the barrett), retrieved my passport and eagerly flipped it open to see the pale colored sticker that served as my single entry visa for Mainland China.
For the last two weeks, the Mission hosted a United Methodist Women’s group called Ubuntu. Its a Swahili word that means “I am human, because you are human.” The Women’s Division and Mission Volunteers Division coupled and created this program for UMWs to go out into the world and learn about various Methodist projects, connect with other women, and establish relationships and learning through dialogue. Its an incredible program geared towards justice and learning. Two of my favorite things. Hosting the group here was a challenge and a blessing. The group ranged in ages from 13-80, and for months before they arrived, our small welcoming committee agonized over every detail from bottled water to hired buses, from conversation starters to bug spray. We didn’t exactly know what to expect as we waited in the airport with our brightly colored signs, but needless to say, all expectations were exceeded. I don’t know who I was inspired by more – the faith of the 13 year old girl who wrote songs about justice and beauty, or the 80 year old woman who hiked a 30 minute mountain range to go to a village church in China. It was exhausting, hosting the group. Nearly a year of planning went into this, and every minute of the last two weeks has been spent buying cases of bottled water, acting as tour guide, answering thousands of questions about our work here, praying, listening, traveling. When they flew out early Sunday morning, I was so excited to be able to walk to the bus by myself, not having to look back and do head counts. Yet I could not have been more pleased that they were here. They represented the Church with grace and respect. They connected on a level with the women here that is rare. They stayed two nights in the BH, sleeping on the floor, scrubbing toilets and accompanying clients. They cried when they had to leave. It was beautiful to see the pure elements of this journey truly lived out.
I had the glorious opportunity to join in their journey into Mainland China as an extra observer. We were there visiting projects by the Amity Foundation. (I’ve linked to them before, following the Sichuan earthquake earlier this year.) We saw clean water pipes, bio-gas fueled by pig waste, a new primary school, a church where the villagers stood on a cliff and sang us a welcoming song as we climbed the hill. The roads and doorways were lined with freshly harvested corn and chili peppers, adding beautiful spots of red and yellow and orange against the deep blue sky. The faces of the children we met were shining with dirt and laughter. The women we met spoke as openly about communism as they did bio-diversity and community sustainability. We saw villages, Christian villages, living out the true principles of Communism, and other villages ravaged by the effects of a market economy. We used squat toilets and gallons of hand sanitizer. The food, oh the vasts amounts of food, were laced with chili and odd parts of meat. We spent our last day in China visiting the county’s biggest tourist attraction – a waterfall. It was incredible, as the spray from the power of water drenched me. We drove through mountains that never seemed to end. I was sad at first, thinking my time in Asia would end without me ever seeing the Great Wall, but now I know its okay, because I saw the real parts of China. I saw communities working together. I saw children learning and laughing. I saw what they call 9th world poverty amid a mind-numbingly beautiful land. I saw the results of hard word and faith. And I saw hope. And fear. And trust. These things I saw, these people I met, this dirt I have collected at my heels – this my friends, is China.
(click to enlarge)
The benefit of being a missionary on your birthday…..
The benefit of being a missionary on your birthday, particularly a missionary with the UMC, is that your name is printed on a birthday calender. This calender is then sent out to all of the UMC Women’s Circles, and anywhere as early as 6 weeks prior to said birthday, one begins receiving birthday cards in the mail. The first birthday card I received arrived around mid-February. I didn’t know if it was late or early, until I read, “For your birthday, Sept. 12, 2008.” Well, at least the woman can never be chastised for forgetting. In the past few weeks, I have been overwhelmed with birthday greetings via email and sparkly greeting cards from women and church groups all around America. Some from states I have never even visited!! It is a little amusing, but mostly a great testament to the connectionalism of the Methodist Church (small plug – sorry, couldn’t resist!
Also, when you’re a missionary on your birthday, you get to do cool things like have fried corn for your birthday breakfast in mainland China!! hehe
An anniversary of sorts
Yesterday, as I was heading to work, I passed a girl on the sidewalk who was wearing a bright yellow shirt. In sparkly blue letters the shirt shouted, “I LOVE MY JOB!!” And I thought to myself in subdued, calm green letters, “Me too. Me too.”
Today, September 1st, marks my one year anniversary in Hong Kong. It is hard to believe that one year ago today, I was stepping off a plane, not knowing what to expect. One year ago today, I was stranded in an airport, wondering if it was a sign of what was to come. Thankfully, it was not. Rather, this community has welcomed me in, treated me as part of their family. We have celebrated birthdays, weddings, Christmas, and a myriad of Chinese holidays together. We have mourned the loss of life, and the loss of justice. We have eaten. Oh Lord have we eaten. We have laughed together, danced, and sung together. We have shared stories of our families and friends we’ve all left behind. We are all far from home – bound together in a solidarity of separation. Some are here by choice – here to serve in any capacity possible. Others are here because it was their only choice in sustaining their family. But we are all here. Together.
When I received the phone call, the day before my graduation from seminary, and Lauren said, “So, tell me what you know about Hong Kong.” I have to admit, what I knew could have fit in a thimble. I had never really pictured myself living in Asia, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine anything else. Not necessarily because I love Hong Kong (that’s up for debate), but because I cannot imagine being in any other placement than this one. And that, folks, is when you know you are where you are supposed to be. This season, I know it won’t last much longer, but I sure am thankful for the time I’ve had, and the memories yet to come.
Like wildfire
Ah the age of the internet. Its been less than 24 hours, but by now, Sarah Palin’s face is more well known that the Alaska governor ever thought it would be. Coming out of the clear blue, Palin and McCain have managed to make themselves THE hot topic of Yahoo news, Google reader and bloggers worldwide (political or not). I imagine that CCN, FoxNews and the like are just eating this up as well. Though, luckily, those are a little out of range for me. Within minutes, literally, the news had reached my email box. As I’ve been trying to read up on the 2nd runner up Miss Alaska, I have been floored by how quickly news can spread.
This isn’t a blog about politics, or questioning the motives of McCain. I’m more inclined to read about it than talk about it. But I just cannot get over how quickly this has become world news. I try my best to keep up with the political race back home, as well as other pressing news nationwide and local from my hometown(s). It helps to keep me connected, in a time when everything else in my world right now is so disconnected from home. I’ve mentioned before about how I have to be on my guard, particularly regarding the elections, because people here love to talk about it. They are well informed and if I’m not, well, that just makes me look like a stupid American. The beauty of online news and Google reader, instant email access and online chats, is that I always have the opportunity to stay informed. To stay connected. Through the miracle of Skype, I can see my family and boyfriend. Through the wonders of online photo albums I can keep up with my growing godson. Through a free email account I can keep in constant contact with my class of missionaries, spread everywhere from Nicaragua to Denver to South Africa. Even text messaging crosses the ocean from time to time. The age of internet never ceases to amaze me.
I’ll admit, it is one of those things that quickly crossed over from a need to a want. It is something that I pushed over that line, making it a necessity in my life. I can’t imagine living without instant access to pictures, emails and conversations with friends and family. I can’t imagine waiting a week to read American news headlines. My pastor here talks about how, when he and his wife first moved here over 20 years ago, they waited weeks for hand written letters from home; only called home from special occasions or traumas. And while I cannot imagine going that long without contact, I can also see how it has bonded them to their community. This is their home. When something happens, they turn to their immediate community, not their community back home. When they have a joy to share, they invite their neighbors over, instead of instantly logging on to skype. I complain to myself a good bit about feeling a bit of a disconnect here. I feel like I haven’t given enough of myself to this community. I tried for a couple of months to learn a language, and gave up. I work 6 days a week, and love my job and the people I work with, but the people I turn to first are those I have contact via email, people who are on an opposite time schedule as me. I don’t know if any of you other YAMs out there have experienced this? To say that it is hard would be an understatement. I have no desire to lose my connections with home. But I also see that it has kept me from grounding myself here.
Ah the age of the internet. A blessing and a curse.
In defense of the present
So I realize that my last post makes it seem like possibly I am unhappy here. I also realized that my friends can’t count anymore than I can. (Turns out I’m not quite to the double-digit countdown yet, but at least I’m close!) So I just wanted to post in defense of living in the present. I will admit, it is difficult. There have been parts of me that have had a hard time adjusting to life in Hong Kong. That maybe be highly due to the fact that my amazingly supportive boyfriend still in Kentucky and that all of my friends are having babies and getting married while I’m away. Four weddings and eight babies. Good grief. It is hard to be away for those special moments. But even though I greatly lament missing the baptisms and holy vows, I have to admit, I do love my time here. As anxious as I am to start my next placement (wherever that may be), and to be within a day’s flight home, I am as equally sad to be thinking about my time in Hong Kong drawing to a close. So, as a way to celebrate the good in my life instead of always being overwhelmed with what I may be missing back home, I want to share the joys of life here in Hong Kong.
*My Job. I don’t think it can be said enough, but I absolutely love my job. It is challenging, difficult, even borderline depressing at times. I watch scores of women tossed aside by their governments and employers as if they were a rag doll. I hear countless stories of oppression, abuse and heartache. Needless to say, it is overwhelming. But what I love about my job is that I don’t have to focus on those things. I work in a shelter where I interact daily with women who love to laugh and to sing. I hear mothers tell stories of how proud they are of their children, and listen to young women plan their dream weddings for when they return home. I see the strength that can be found community. I have enjoyed getting to know these brave women who leave their homes in search of the hope being able to provide for their families. I love watching the joy on their faces when they have reached justice, accomplished a goal or are preparing to go home. They love to dance and sing and they compete often, in costume. I’ve seen them dance the Sister Act II dance and they’ve taught me a few smooth Indonesian moves. This is a holistic job. One that embodies education, counseling, rights training, personal involvement and government accountability. We march, we rally, we sing, we pray, we listen, we write, we take a stand and we empower. I could not ask for a better job.
*The Travel. I’ll admit it, I’ve been incredibly blessed to be able to travel as much as I have while I’ve been here. I adore traveling. The uncertainty, the excitement of being somewhere unknown, of discovering new foods, people and places. I’ve stayed in families homes in Semarang, Indonesia; kicked the surf in Bali; played the slots in Macau; ridden elephants in Thailand; and eaten spring rolls in Vietnam. Next month I will be hiking waterfalls and visiting growing medical clinics in Mainland China. In October I will be attending conferences and visiting friends in the Philippines. In December that wonderful boy I keep mentioning and I will be dipping in hot springs in Japan before heading back to the States. Travel is not only easily accessible here, but fairly cheap. (Particularly compared to travel around the States. I can fly to Thailand and book a 3 star hotel for a week for less than the cost for an air ticket from Kentucky to Florida. And let’s face it – Thailand? Way cooler than Florida.) The passport stamp collecting is something I will definitely miss when I’m back Stateside.
*The Food. Its funny. When I was little, I was about the pickiest eater you have ever met. Ask my parents, they’ll tell you how I wouldn’t eat my broccoli unless it was covered in Cheez Wiz (the kind from the jar, not the can!) Even before I moved here, I refused to eat anything with bell peppers or onions in or on it. Now? Bring on the tofu, the liver, the intestines and veggies whose names I can’t pronounce or remember. Just, hold the chicken feet. Tonight, I had pigeon for dinner. You know, those birds that have taken over Manhattan? Roasted and served with rice and boiled lettuce. Tasty. I’ve eaten dishes that I won’t tell you what was in the ingredients, so as not to make you squeamish. And then I had seconds. Call me an Anthony Bourdane convert – but there isn’t much anymore that scares me. I’m willing to try anything (which is good, because I’ve been given lots of opportunity for growth in this area.) Asia food is nothing if not interesting.
*The People. I’m not talking about the people that crowd the sidewalks or run the government. Nah, those I’ll be happy to leave behind. But I talking about the women in the shelter, my co-workers, the international migrant community here that has become a source of community and inspiration for me. I love the guys who work in our office who make my stomach hurt from laughing as they sing “Hey You Guys” from Legally Blonde the musical. My co-workers are full time volunteers who have full-time jobs as well, but still manage to bring in baked goods and fun lunches on occasion. We celebrate successful conferences and spend the holidays celebrating on the beach with BBQ and Karaoke. They have welcomed me whole-heartily to their community, and have taught me so much about the workings of the world, the cost of justice and the beauty of compassion.
*Banche. She gets her own shout-out, cause she’s just so darn cute. Banche is a dog that technically belongs to one of our volunteers, but in all honesty belongs to everyone. We all take turns loving on her, playing with her and feeding her apples (her favorite). Its been incredibly difficult to live without a dog after living with four dogs. Leaving Hank behind, even though I know he’s in a loving home, was almost as hard as leaving my friends and family. I miss the comfort of my furry companion, and Banche has been more than willing to fill in for awhile.
<— I mean, seriously, how cute is she??
*Public Transportation. Who knew that I could love life without a car? As much as I loved (and miss) aimless driving and the independence that comes with having your own car, I have to admit that I love not having to worry about brake pads and oil changes and gas money. I love walking to work or taking the train or the ferry home from the office. I love that I can hop on a train and get just about anywhere in this city. And Hong Kong has really done a great job of offering as many forms of public transportation as possible. Buses, mini-buses, trolleys, trams, the MTR (subway) and ferries. Its more than convenient. Its more than just environmentally conscious. Its a time and money saver that keeps my legs active and my eyes open as I walk the streets.
*The Protests. Valerie made a comment on the last post about how interesting it is that protests and rallies are such a common part of my life now. Four years ago, heck, a year ago, that wasn’t the case. I attended my first protest in New York last summer. Now I average two a month. I love the feeling of getting out there, waving signs, listening to passionate speeches, saying to whoever it is that needs to be told, “We know what you are doing. We don’t like it. And we aren’t going to be quiet about it.” Plus, protests usually make for some GREAT pictures.
Its easy for me to fantasize about how great and wonderful “home” is. And it is, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes while looking for greener pastures, I forget that there is perfectly good grass right under my own feet.
Overseas Missions – part isa
There have been some great thoughts and discussion on the idea of Overseas Missions coming from Valerie and Lane. Seeing as how I have a Master’s in World Missions and am currently employed by the United Methodist Church as an actual-for-real Missionary (that’s my official title), its seems appropriate that I post my own blog of thoughts on overseas missions. Even though 98% of the time I still don’t feel qualified.
When I started writing this post, I realized, I actually have a lot of thoughts on this. (Who knew?) So I’ve decided to break it up into a series post. This will now officially become: Part Isa (we’re gonna count in Tagalog, just to keep me on task to my language lessons!)
Last summer, I joined with 16 other young adults in the Mission Intern and US2 program for a three week training in New York. We talked about issues ranging from poverty to church politics. The underlying, understood, overstated theme was, “We are not working FOR, we are working WITH.” It was important to remember that we were not bringing in anything that the receiving community didn’t already have. Rather, we were going to join in the work that was already being done – to help expand the Church Universal by joining in the struggles in various communities around the world. For some communities, the struggle is in finding identity, finding one’s voice in this world. For others, the struggle is hunger, or fresh water or fighting for a liveable wage. Whatever the struggle, whatever the journey, it is important to know that there are communities around the world, bound together through the Church.
In one of our sessions during training, we sat through a session with self-proclaimed “Meth-o-geek” Rev. Dr. John Nuessle. Dr. Nuessle talked about how Mission should start from the Universal Church and move out to the local church. “The notion that the local church is what is most important, is what is killing the Church Universal. The Church, Scripturally speaking, is connectional.” And that is something that I am discovering more and more every day. I am incredibly blessed to come from a loving and supportive church family in Florida. I grew up in the same church as my father; and while it can be hard for a young girl to find her identity in the midst of tight community, I wouldn’t trade it in for the world. Since arriving in Hong Kong, I have been flooded with emails, cards and even the occasional pound cake from my church back home. And I am always asked the same question, “What can we do here, for your community there?” Prayers, money, manpower and food items have been sent to the shelter here not just from my church, but churches in Sweden, Korea, the Philippines, even Arkansas! The work that is being done here isn’t done by a single, self-enclosed community. The struggle for justice would not be possible without the support of the Church Universal. THAT, to me, is Missions. Working together, for the common good, in all communities. Not just our own.
We see in Acts great growth in the Church. The disciples are constantly on the move. They are growing up new communities everywhere, not just in their hometown. “Then Peter replied, ‘I see very clearly that God doesn’t show partiality. In every nation He accepts those who honor Him and does what is right.’” (Acts 10:34-35) The amazing thing to me through Acts is the way the Church stays connected, even in midst of exponential growth. There is joy when new communities are formed. (Acts 8:14, 11:18, 11:23, 14:27 to name a few) When there is struggle, everyone pitches in. When there is a famine in Judea, other communities sent relief (Acts 11:27-30). When someone was imprisoned, people gathered quickly to pray and work for their release. There are so many examples of the Church growing together, helping one another, praying for each other. When Barnabas and Saul are commissioned, it is with the blessing of the Church, knowing that they were going out to build new communities. They were entrusted with relief supplies for those struggling. Never do we find one church standing alone. Never do we find one missionary taking all of the glory.
Personally, I like the idea of a global community. Of going to new and strange lands, to find God already present. It takes a lot of the pressure off. It is a beautiful feeling to know that, even when I am sleeping, my fellow missionaries in Tennessee and Colorado are working hard in the middle of the day. That when I am getting off from work in the afternoon, I have friends in Germany and Israel struggling for peace in their own ways. When I am waking in the morning, there are friends in Grenada and Chili who are ending their day of work in communities where they both stand out and blend in at the same time. At the risk of re-appropriating a beautiful sentiment shared by a fellow MI, there are times that in our own personal moments of struggle, our little community has surrounded us, singing and marching alongside of us in solidarity and love. And I know that it expands beyond the 17 young adults who merged together for three weeks in New York. It extends to my community here in Hong Kong, to the communities I’ve left behind in Florida, Alabama and Kentucky. When we send missionaries out overseas we are in essence extending the arms of the Church. We are making connections from one foreign land to another.
In the words of the great Meth-o-geek himself, “There is no such thing as foreign mission – all mission is local mission. Where you work is someone’s local community. Mission may be functionally or geographically different; but mission is mission is mission.”
