While riding the water taxi this afternoon into the great metropolis of Siam, I decided to read, rather than meaninglessly sway back and forth to the rocking of the boat. I've been reading this book for...well, almost a year- and yes, I'm still not finished; however, I like to justify my actions by saying that I'm just taking the time to let it all really soak in.
John Piper's insight is fantastic. I know, I know- as I've said before- BUT, hey, I went to school for marketing- So, just look at my support of his literary genius as pro-bono marketing work. In today's reading, Piper addresses how writing has played such a crucial role in his growth mentally and spiritually, he states:
"Writing is a way of slowing us down and opening our eyes to see what we do not otherwise see.
This struck me so forcefully one day that I paused and wrote:
'I know not how the light is shed,
Nor understand this lens.
I only know that there are eyes
In pencils and in pens' "
Writing is soothing and yet so exhausting at times. I find myself frantically writing line after line of thoughts that seem to only snowball into a page full of...well..nothingness at times; but, at times when I later return and reread over that written nothingness, that nothingness becomes somethingness- and, usually, I can gain some sort of insight from my past writings.
Once arriving to my destination and hopping off the river taxi, I headed to the Starbucks to order what has become my "usual".
Yes, it's true- I have "a usual".
I am now one of those- one of those snobs ordering " the usual,"
however, snobbish or not, it's become a little routine that I look forward to sipping on such frequent occasion. As my "usual" Barista was preparing my fine cup of iced coffee, she looked up at me, smiled, and asked me how long I'd be here in Thailand.
I've seen this woman four days a week for almost two months now, and only now did I discover she speaks great English. She ("Jun" is her name,) directed me towards her friend that was waiting for her drink to be made at the pickup counter. Her wide-eyed friend looked up (yes, literally...up- she's about 4 ft tall) at me and began questioning me with the usual- "where do you live?" (which is usually followed with an bitter looking far, a perplexed glare and a "really? that's far"- mostly because many white people don't make it out to where I live in the Latphrao ghetto) questions following regularly include: "how long are you here?" "where are you going?" and "where do you come from?"
Once my friendly interrogation was finished, she laughingly suggested that maybe I could teach her some English. I was astonished. A two minute conversation with this woman and she decides that I'm the one to help her with her English.
I AM SO EXCITED. You see, in my little, lonesome world of teaching, cycling classes and long walk with my boyfriend (yes..that's right. my boyfriend.. Have I told you about him? He's small, black, and always with me..singing sweet songs to me..keeping me company..) I've named him iPod. This world of mine is more like a bubble...a bubble of an American girl surrounded by everything Thai, lacking much interaction on a daily basis. Sometimes, the entire weekend passes without having the opportunity to say more than a "hello" or "thank you" seeing as my Thai vocabulary hasn't really been extended more than the basics; however, I've been praying for opportunities to just TALK.
I was in the line at Subway the other day and there was a woman in front of me that was white. TARGET.
I took out my earphones and thought of just something to ask her..just anything.something...anything I could say just to talk to someone! I think I ended up saying something as foolish and meaningless as "hmm..looks good. Never tried that.." which lead to a speedy introductory conversation where I learned she's lived here for 5 years, she's from Alaska- and, she LOVES it here. I would love it here too if I was from such a frigid, inconvenient ice cap.
Talking felt so good- to both the Subway Eskimo and the friend of my "usual" Barista.
God answered my prayer by bringing me to Starbucks at that moment where I met Nong. I will now be meeting with Nong on Sunday evenings at 6, to enjoy a good coffee and English conversation.
Wow- God is so good. Not only does He answer my prayers- but, He answers prayers and gives me the chance to enjoy coffee.
cheers.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
speechless
This blog has become a sharp pain in my side..a grey cloud hanging over my head..a mother's nag. (haha)-
It's been two weeks now since I've returned here to Bangkok and I am fully aware that I have yet to post the details of my Christmastime escapade. I like to take my time and carefully construct a well-worded blog for your reading pleasure; however, the blinking cursor stares back at my perplexed mind and motionless fingers as I have tried to write this entry several times.
How? How in written reason and ryhme am I to describe what I experienced in Bali? Words cannot explain. Pictures, I've found, were pointless. The first few days I was in Bali, I carried my camera like a small child, close to my side, awaiting any kodak moments that might pop up. Digitally scrapbooking my experiences has been one of the great joys of being here- a hobby I've found enjoyment in; rather, this trip could not be captured on film. In fact, my journey wasn't even captured by my mind. Every morning I woke up at the chidlren's home I would go through the same routine. Wake up, read a bit, shower, breakfast, and then...sit and watch in amazement.
I didn't feel like "myself" while I was there, and, I do believe it's because I truly wasn't myself. It wasn't "me" to go off and do something of this nature. It wasn't me to be sociable with native Indonesian-speaking, foreign orphans. None of it was ME; and, as one of the only things I've ever been positive of in my entire life, is that this trip not being MINE but HIS, is what made this the best experience I've ever had.
God presented this opporutnity, carried me there, and delievered to me the timeless gift of company, wrapped in worn-clothes and dirty flip-flops. Christmas without the trimmings and frills of holiday bliss traded for the naive simplicity found in the faces of these children.
I spent the majority of my time at the home wanting to help with the varied chores and duties of the children; however, rather than lending aid, the children insisted on treating me as a royal guest. The children sleep 3 to a bed, in geco-infested, un-airconditioned rooms- and yet, I was given an air-conditioned room with a small bathroom to enjoy. Never did I imagine I'd have so much privacy in a home crawling with over 60 children. During the daytime I would have to search for the children, as they were busy working in groups performing tasks around the house.
The routine of these children gains nothing but my utmost respect. At 5:30am they wakeup and pray together. Afterwards, the older girls take a shopping list to the local market and buy food for the day as Sandra (the owner,) insists that the children enjoy only fresh food. Meanwhile, some of the younger girls begin folding and ironing the laundry (and believe me, it's a MOUNTAIN of laundry,) while others begin mopping and dusting. This home is run like a well-oiled machine, and yet, no one complains.
5:30am everyday? That would be my first complaint.
Ironing? Complaint number two.
Rice? Again? number three.
Obviously, I'm nowhere near as mature as these children. Their innate love and respect for each other, and their willingness to serve not only guests, but their subordinates, has been a continous challenge to my own heart.
I've learned that obviously, I'm far from the maturity and humility of an orphan.
It's been two weeks now since I've returned here to Bangkok and I am fully aware that I have yet to post the details of my Christmastime escapade. I like to take my time and carefully construct a well-worded blog for your reading pleasure; however, the blinking cursor stares back at my perplexed mind and motionless fingers as I have tried to write this entry several times.
How? How in written reason and ryhme am I to describe what I experienced in Bali? Words cannot explain. Pictures, I've found, were pointless. The first few days I was in Bali, I carried my camera like a small child, close to my side, awaiting any kodak moments that might pop up. Digitally scrapbooking my experiences has been one of the great joys of being here- a hobby I've found enjoyment in; rather, this trip could not be captured on film. In fact, my journey wasn't even captured by my mind. Every morning I woke up at the chidlren's home I would go through the same routine. Wake up, read a bit, shower, breakfast, and then...sit and watch in amazement.
I didn't feel like "myself" while I was there, and, I do believe it's because I truly wasn't myself. It wasn't "me" to go off and do something of this nature. It wasn't me to be sociable with native Indonesian-speaking, foreign orphans. None of it was ME; and, as one of the only things I've ever been positive of in my entire life, is that this trip not being MINE but HIS, is what made this the best experience I've ever had.
God presented this opporutnity, carried me there, and delievered to me the timeless gift of company, wrapped in worn-clothes and dirty flip-flops. Christmas without the trimmings and frills of holiday bliss traded for the naive simplicity found in the faces of these children.
I spent the majority of my time at the home wanting to help with the varied chores and duties of the children; however, rather than lending aid, the children insisted on treating me as a royal guest. The children sleep 3 to a bed, in geco-infested, un-airconditioned rooms- and yet, I was given an air-conditioned room with a small bathroom to enjoy. Never did I imagine I'd have so much privacy in a home crawling with over 60 children. During the daytime I would have to search for the children, as they were busy working in groups performing tasks around the house.
The routine of these children gains nothing but my utmost respect. At 5:30am they wakeup and pray together. Afterwards, the older girls take a shopping list to the local market and buy food for the day as Sandra (the owner,) insists that the children enjoy only fresh food. Meanwhile, some of the younger girls begin folding and ironing the laundry (and believe me, it's a MOUNTAIN of laundry,) while others begin mopping and dusting. This home is run like a well-oiled machine, and yet, no one complains.
5:30am everyday? That would be my first complaint.
Ironing? Complaint number two.
Rice? Again? number three.
Obviously, I'm nowhere near as mature as these children. Their innate love and respect for each other, and their willingness to serve not only guests, but their subordinates, has been a continous challenge to my own heart.
I've learned that obviously, I'm far from the maturity and humility of an orphan.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
On December 21...
“No eye has seen,
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him”- 1 Cor. 2:9
On the plane from Malaysia to Bali- I had somewhat of a rough day; however, I met a girl named Maggie who was traveling with a YWAM group doing various missions-oriented work. After only a few minutes talking with her about my purpose for my trip to Bali, she looked at me, put her hand on my arm and said, “Can I pray for you?”
No words could have sounded any sweeter.
I wanted to cry so badly..to hear such a genuinely loving prayer was so encouraging. She had such a calming voice and I felt God with us as the plane took off. Her voice and her words reminded me of those of my sister.
One of the best sounds my ears ever hear is the voice of my sister. My sister, Taryn, is a singer..a songwriter and a devoted musician. Very rarely do I ever tell her how soothing her voice is to me, and, if “home,” could be heard, her voice brings me home.
Maggie’s voice soothed my anxious mind and her voice comforted me.
After we prayed together, Maggie slipped one of those silly little satin masks to shade her eyes from the bright glare of the sterile environment and fell asleep. For the remainder of the flight I sat in my seat, meditating on why it was God was sending me on this journey- and, why he was sending me…alone.
Once again, I found myself lost in the pages of Mr. Chambers’ lyrical genius-
“When I am born again, the Spirit of God takes me beyond myself and my experiences, and identifies me with Jesus Christ…
My experiences are not worth anything unless they keep me at the source of truth-Jesus Christ”
This was probably one of the most adventurous steps of faith I have ever taken. Coming to Thailand, unsure of the where’s, what’s, who’s, and how’s, was one thing; however, alone with a backpack, a plane ticket and a plan to meet 70 orphans in Indonesia on my own seemed completely out of my league.
I was flattered by the opportunity because God obviously knew it was just the right thing. This trip would come to be the greatest where, what, who, and how I’ve ever experienced and it’s all because of faith.
Chambers continued:
“..be relentless and hard on yourself if you are in the habit of talking about the experiences you have had. Faith based on experience is not faith; faith based on God’s revealed truth is the only faith there is”.
My aim is not just to share my experiences with you, but rather convey to you somewhat of the enormity of God’s ever-revealing truths to me throughout my journeys, where I have undoubtedly felt, seen, and heard Him in my life.
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him”- 1 Cor. 2:9
On the plane from Malaysia to Bali- I had somewhat of a rough day; however, I met a girl named Maggie who was traveling with a YWAM group doing various missions-oriented work. After only a few minutes talking with her about my purpose for my trip to Bali, she looked at me, put her hand on my arm and said, “Can I pray for you?”
No words could have sounded any sweeter.
I wanted to cry so badly..to hear such a genuinely loving prayer was so encouraging. She had such a calming voice and I felt God with us as the plane took off. Her voice and her words reminded me of those of my sister.
One of the best sounds my ears ever hear is the voice of my sister. My sister, Taryn, is a singer..a songwriter and a devoted musician. Very rarely do I ever tell her how soothing her voice is to me, and, if “home,” could be heard, her voice brings me home.
Maggie’s voice soothed my anxious mind and her voice comforted me.
After we prayed together, Maggie slipped one of those silly little satin masks to shade her eyes from the bright glare of the sterile environment and fell asleep. For the remainder of the flight I sat in my seat, meditating on why it was God was sending me on this journey- and, why he was sending me…alone.
Once again, I found myself lost in the pages of Mr. Chambers’ lyrical genius-
“When I am born again, the Spirit of God takes me beyond myself and my experiences, and identifies me with Jesus Christ…
My experiences are not worth anything unless they keep me at the source of truth-Jesus Christ”
This was probably one of the most adventurous steps of faith I have ever taken. Coming to Thailand, unsure of the where’s, what’s, who’s, and how’s, was one thing; however, alone with a backpack, a plane ticket and a plan to meet 70 orphans in Indonesia on my own seemed completely out of my league.
I was flattered by the opportunity because God obviously knew it was just the right thing. This trip would come to be the greatest where, what, who, and how I’ve ever experienced and it’s all because of faith.
Chambers continued:
“..be relentless and hard on yourself if you are in the habit of talking about the experiences you have had. Faith based on experience is not faith; faith based on God’s revealed truth is the only faith there is”.
My aim is not just to share my experiences with you, but rather convey to you somewhat of the enormity of God’s ever-revealing truths to me throughout my journeys, where I have undoubtedly felt, seen, and heard Him in my life.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
over the hills and through the woods..
On the first day of Christmas, my journey gave to me:
A long wait in an airport.
The very weary partridge, wishing she were in a pear tree instead of an airport.
I firmly believe the MOST aggravating song that haunts the radio at Christmastime is undoubtedly “The 12 days of Christmas”; however, this year, my Christmas break is exactly 12 days, therefore, instead of pounding your forehead against the steering wheel the next time that terribly repetitive countdown of a song beckons from the dashboard- I will allow you to vicariously live through my 12 days of Southeast Asian adventure blogs. Whoop-whoop. Here we go!
Finally- the clock struck 3:30pm- AND……I WAS OUTTA THERE!
HARK! No more school for me for 2 weeks! Last night I was so relieved with the fact that I didn’t have to go to school today, that it hardly mattered that I was coming on this trip at all! (somewhat). I have been ridiculously excited for this little journey since the day I bought my ticket-November 6th, to be exact. Note: 1 day after Guy Fox day, therefore, somewhat of a post-holiday day. Second Note: If you know what Guy Fox day is, then we should be friends- GOOD friends. Around 3:34pm (not to be too exact,) I dropped my school bags amidst the disaster of my apartment floor, turned the fan on full blast and somehow managed to watch the majority of Season 2 of The Office. Hours past, I dosed in and out of awareness, and somehow between the Casino Night episode and a little bit of a workout session, the hours flew by and it was 1am.
1am, my apartment was still a mess. I realized not one single article of clothing was clean (and when I say “not clean,” I mean…not even close to clean- rather, something more like “I just found a receipt in the pocket of these pants from a movie I went to see LAST month..and, there’s no evidence the ticket has EVER been through the washing machine”
So, I decided to bid my farewells to the peculiar ways of mr. shrute and the charming grin jim halpert and pack.
What did I pack?
A bag full of dirty clothes, ½ a box of cereal, bug spray and my computer.
Five hours later, I was at the Bangkok airport.
It was there that my journey started to become interesting. As my world-traveling Dad has taught me, BE EARLY FOR FLIGHTS. How early? ANNOYING EARLY.
So, I was early- and, apparently TOO early.
Tell me, how is it at all possible that I could have been TOO early? After waiting for nearly an hour for my boarding pass, I approached the ticket counter at 6:30am and the woman said “oh, no. sorry. Come back at 7:25. Move over.”
Last post I admitted to my tendency to be a bit nosey. Okay, MORE than a bit nosey; however, more than nosey, I am not the most chipper of individuals before….umm..noon. So, I stepped aside and starred at the ticket counter for an hour so I could wait in line again and finally go to my gate.
I was in.
Gate G1. Good, good. I sat there making last minute phone calls to say my goodbyes, and then 10 minutes before my flight had to leave I got a phone call from one of the teachers I work with, Gina (super-cool, well-dressed, trendy, fun, from India,) who frantically told me that I needed to get a re-entry visa in order for my Thai work permit to stay valid upon my return to Thailand. I ran to the immigration desk and asked what I could do to make sure I would not have to get a new work permit when I return, and…well..it was too late (I think…we’ll see).
Needless to say…. I have a multiple entry visa (which SHOULD work,) but- who knows.
Now, I’m in Malaysia. My flight here from Bangkok was enjoyable. I’m flying Thai Air Asia the entire time, and I must say that I’m very impressed by the cleanliness of the planes. The not-so-cool part was the fact that you have to buy water and peanuts if you want anything during the flight. NOT COOL. So, I didn’t drink or eat a thing- instead, I read a bit and drooled all over the window, only to wake up 3 hours later here at the Malaysian airport.
Malaysia (from my 3 minute walk from the gate to the airport,) seems less polluted than Thailand, and actually smells a bit like Florida. Actually, to be precise- it smells exactly like being trapped inside that building for Space Mountain waiting line at Disney World in Orlando- but, then again, the only Malaysia I’ve experienced is this airport.
Moving on-I’m sitting in a cozy corner of a cheap airport coffee shop (once again, alone sipping coffee…) sigh- (might as well just strap on the red suspenders now, eh?) waiting for my next flight. I leave here around 4:30pm and I’ll arrive in Bali around 7:45pm. I’m extremely anxious to get there and meet Sandra and all the children. I’m already preparing myself to be overwhelmed at speechless, all while trying to maintain any kind of “cool,” I might possess. THAT reminds me:: I’ve come to realize that I am Brigit Jones. Yes, that’s me (minus the sleeping around with guys and the occupation part). Everything in those movies- her clumsiness, goofiness, attempts to be casually cool and graceful in public settings….note: “attempt,” yep. That really is me.
So..two hours until my flight leaves, which gives me 2 hours to enjoy my now room-temperature coffee and hopefully find something to settle this rumbling in the ol’ tummy. Actually, I’m quite certain I’m experiencing a bit of a negative reaction to my Malaria medication. After I took my first pill last night I read the list of side effects printed on the side of the bottle, which read: “nausea, vomiting and anorexia”.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. ANOREXIA?
How on earth could anorexia be considered a “side effect”?
In conclusion, here are my life lessons learned on day one of my journey::
1. There IS such a thing as being “too” early
2. You will be thirsty when you fly “Thai”
AND, most importantly::
3.rather than falsely judging the famous Hollywood anorexics, we should first stop and realize it might just be the Malaria meds and not a binge and purge.
..just somethin’ to think about.
A long wait in an airport.
The very weary partridge, wishing she were in a pear tree instead of an airport.
I firmly believe the MOST aggravating song that haunts the radio at Christmastime is undoubtedly “The 12 days of Christmas”; however, this year, my Christmas break is exactly 12 days, therefore, instead of pounding your forehead against the steering wheel the next time that terribly repetitive countdown of a song beckons from the dashboard- I will allow you to vicariously live through my 12 days of Southeast Asian adventure blogs. Whoop-whoop. Here we go!
Finally- the clock struck 3:30pm- AND……I WAS OUTTA THERE!
HARK! No more school for me for 2 weeks! Last night I was so relieved with the fact that I didn’t have to go to school today, that it hardly mattered that I was coming on this trip at all! (somewhat). I have been ridiculously excited for this little journey since the day I bought my ticket-November 6th, to be exact. Note: 1 day after Guy Fox day, therefore, somewhat of a post-holiday day. Second Note: If you know what Guy Fox day is, then we should be friends- GOOD friends. Around 3:34pm (not to be too exact,) I dropped my school bags amidst the disaster of my apartment floor, turned the fan on full blast and somehow managed to watch the majority of Season 2 of The Office. Hours past, I dosed in and out of awareness, and somehow between the Casino Night episode and a little bit of a workout session, the hours flew by and it was 1am.
1am, my apartment was still a mess. I realized not one single article of clothing was clean (and when I say “not clean,” I mean…not even close to clean- rather, something more like “I just found a receipt in the pocket of these pants from a movie I went to see LAST month..and, there’s no evidence the ticket has EVER been through the washing machine”
So, I decided to bid my farewells to the peculiar ways of mr. shrute and the charming grin jim halpert and pack.
What did I pack?
A bag full of dirty clothes, ½ a box of cereal, bug spray and my computer.
Five hours later, I was at the Bangkok airport.
It was there that my journey started to become interesting. As my world-traveling Dad has taught me, BE EARLY FOR FLIGHTS. How early? ANNOYING EARLY.
So, I was early- and, apparently TOO early.
Tell me, how is it at all possible that I could have been TOO early? After waiting for nearly an hour for my boarding pass, I approached the ticket counter at 6:30am and the woman said “oh, no. sorry. Come back at 7:25. Move over.”
Last post I admitted to my tendency to be a bit nosey. Okay, MORE than a bit nosey; however, more than nosey, I am not the most chipper of individuals before….umm..noon. So, I stepped aside and starred at the ticket counter for an hour so I could wait in line again and finally go to my gate.
I was in.
Gate G1. Good, good. I sat there making last minute phone calls to say my goodbyes, and then 10 minutes before my flight had to leave I got a phone call from one of the teachers I work with, Gina (super-cool, well-dressed, trendy, fun, from India,) who frantically told me that I needed to get a re-entry visa in order for my Thai work permit to stay valid upon my return to Thailand. I ran to the immigration desk and asked what I could do to make sure I would not have to get a new work permit when I return, and…well..it was too late (I think…we’ll see).
Needless to say…. I have a multiple entry visa (which SHOULD work,) but- who knows.
Now, I’m in Malaysia. My flight here from Bangkok was enjoyable. I’m flying Thai Air Asia the entire time, and I must say that I’m very impressed by the cleanliness of the planes. The not-so-cool part was the fact that you have to buy water and peanuts if you want anything during the flight. NOT COOL. So, I didn’t drink or eat a thing- instead, I read a bit and drooled all over the window, only to wake up 3 hours later here at the Malaysian airport.
Malaysia (from my 3 minute walk from the gate to the airport,) seems less polluted than Thailand, and actually smells a bit like Florida. Actually, to be precise- it smells exactly like being trapped inside that building for Space Mountain waiting line at Disney World in Orlando- but, then again, the only Malaysia I’ve experienced is this airport.
Moving on-I’m sitting in a cozy corner of a cheap airport coffee shop (once again, alone sipping coffee…) sigh- (might as well just strap on the red suspenders now, eh?) waiting for my next flight. I leave here around 4:30pm and I’ll arrive in Bali around 7:45pm. I’m extremely anxious to get there and meet Sandra and all the children. I’m already preparing myself to be overwhelmed at speechless, all while trying to maintain any kind of “cool,” I might possess. THAT reminds me:: I’ve come to realize that I am Brigit Jones. Yes, that’s me (minus the sleeping around with guys and the occupation part). Everything in those movies- her clumsiness, goofiness, attempts to be casually cool and graceful in public settings….note: “attempt,” yep. That really is me.
So..two hours until my flight leaves, which gives me 2 hours to enjoy my now room-temperature coffee and hopefully find something to settle this rumbling in the ol’ tummy. Actually, I’m quite certain I’m experiencing a bit of a negative reaction to my Malaria medication. After I took my first pill last night I read the list of side effects printed on the side of the bottle, which read: “nausea, vomiting and anorexia”.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. ANOREXIA?
How on earth could anorexia be considered a “side effect”?
In conclusion, here are my life lessons learned on day one of my journey::
1. There IS such a thing as being “too” early
2. You will be thirsty when you fly “Thai”
AND, most importantly::
3.rather than falsely judging the famous Hollywood anorexics, we should first stop and realize it might just be the Malaria meds and not a binge and purge.
..just somethin’ to think about.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
small cup of irony
last winter, a few days past Christmas, I went to the Caribou Coffee shop at Park Plaza just up the street from Taryn's house. I wanted to get away from the noise and dust of the remodeling of Taryn's house, and arrived in the little booth near the frosted window pane, small hazelnut coffee in-hand, around 9am. I had my bible with me and a small notepad for just-in-case notes. Not long after I had settled in my cozy corner did a rather rotund man plow his burly body through the double doors of the shop, scurrying up to the ordering-counter, eventually making his way to the table to my right. His coffee cup was lost in the grasp of his giant, fleshy-pink hands, and began busying himself with papers- so, so many papers. His hair matted with a layer of oil stuck to his forehead and neck. He wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt, charcoal colored sweatpants (2 sizes too small,) red suspenders and hiking boots. I remember thinking to myself "THIS must be what Santa looks like when he goes out for coffee...this is Santa's "down-time" attire.."
Ironically enough, this man had a messenger bag overflowing with newspaper clippings, letters and envelopes. (wait..was this guy really santa? I smirked.) I couldn't help but blankly stare- and, oh, what a daring, courageous stare it was! This man was sitting within 3 feet of me, and I was observing his presence as if I had front row tickets to his life's show. His large frame plopped into the wooden chair and he began shuffeling his papers in a cirular, rythmic motion, now completely covering the surface of the table.
His bag was made of tattered, worn leather- similar to the makings of his boots- slush-covered, tred-worn, loosened laced, boots- santa boots. The paper shuffeling continued- as did my staring- only, now my body was completely repositioned, facing his direction as my presence was absent of all things non-chalant- and STILL, this man didn't look at me...he just continued with those papers, keeping to himself the secrets of their contents..I wanted so badly to sit down at his table and read every single thing written on each one of those darned papers. What were they? Who was he? What was going on over there?
Have I mentioned that I am abnormally nosey? I've always told my mother that I want to have side-view mirrors like those on a car, attached to the side of my head so that I can keep track of what's going on behind and to the sides of me at all times. Only, this time...mirrors wouldn't help. I wanted to know more. Nosey? Yes.
This man captivated my attention..and, eventually, I slightly turned away and continued to read as be carried on with his business. I couldn't help but question this man's existence. Where was he for Christmas? Was he in town visiting family? Does he even have family? What kind of coffee was in his little cup? (I was betting whatever flavor the coffee was, that he ordered it with extra cream and sugar as only Santa would..) and, for goodness sakes, WHAT WAS HE DOING WITH ALL THOSE PAPERS??????!??!?!?!?!?
Just as my mind began to drift back to the contents of my book, he finally spoke.
He spoke to..me.
He said, "A book? It's refreshing to see a girl your age reading a book."
He glanced at my pen in-hand, and notebook and continued on, "And you like to write?..That's even better."
That was all the big man said.
I looked up at him-smiled, let out some sort of awkwardly nervous giggle and continued to read- only, this time, the messiness of that's man's table and hair no longer troubled my thoughts. My mind thought this man mad, strange and different, prior to his spoken words of complimentary worth in my direction- and, with that...I was encouraged.
The irony in this story is that I'm writing this as I sit here... alone, at a coffee shop, surrounded by families and couples- my table hidden by scraps of paper, aimlessly and frantically writing these words to... you. Needless to say, I admit that I have something in common with mr. santa-pants, and that is...I enjoy time to myself.
I stumbled upon this realization over our 3 day weekend we enjoyed last week. After spending 8hrs a day surrounded my students and fellow teachers, I clocked out at precisely 3:30pm on Friday afternoon, and was absent of all English-speaking social interaction from Friday afternoon until Tuesday morning at 7:00am. (oh, excuse me...I did verbally give my address to 3 cab drivers over the weekend,) but, other than that..there was a lot of silence. Prior to my coming here, I would have been strangely bothered by this scenario and feeling nothing short of all things lonely; however, it seems that I've become something similar to that of the greasy mr. santa-paper-pants in that I really do enjoy time alone. I've been to the mall on my own..out for coffee..grocery shopping...dinner..lunch..even breakfast- all alone, and surprisingly enough, I don't mind it!
However, do I prefer it?
All this alone time has led me to wonder if I'll one day find myself rummaging through a bag full of papers on a cool winter's morning, sitting beside a wide-eyed, curious youngster, sipping coffee in my tight sweatpants and red suspenders.
Ironically enough, this man had a messenger bag overflowing with newspaper clippings, letters and envelopes. (wait..was this guy really santa? I smirked.) I couldn't help but blankly stare- and, oh, what a daring, courageous stare it was! This man was sitting within 3 feet of me, and I was observing his presence as if I had front row tickets to his life's show. His large frame plopped into the wooden chair and he began shuffeling his papers in a cirular, rythmic motion, now completely covering the surface of the table.
His bag was made of tattered, worn leather- similar to the makings of his boots- slush-covered, tred-worn, loosened laced, boots- santa boots. The paper shuffeling continued- as did my staring- only, now my body was completely repositioned, facing his direction as my presence was absent of all things non-chalant- and STILL, this man didn't look at me...he just continued with those papers, keeping to himself the secrets of their contents..I wanted so badly to sit down at his table and read every single thing written on each one of those darned papers. What were they? Who was he? What was going on over there?
Have I mentioned that I am abnormally nosey? I've always told my mother that I want to have side-view mirrors like those on a car, attached to the side of my head so that I can keep track of what's going on behind and to the sides of me at all times. Only, this time...mirrors wouldn't help. I wanted to know more. Nosey? Yes.
This man captivated my attention..and, eventually, I slightly turned away and continued to read as be carried on with his business. I couldn't help but question this man's existence. Where was he for Christmas? Was he in town visiting family? Does he even have family? What kind of coffee was in his little cup? (I was betting whatever flavor the coffee was, that he ordered it with extra cream and sugar as only Santa would..) and, for goodness sakes, WHAT WAS HE DOING WITH ALL THOSE PAPERS??????!??!?!?!?!?
Just as my mind began to drift back to the contents of my book, he finally spoke.
He spoke to..me.
He said, "A book? It's refreshing to see a girl your age reading a book."
He glanced at my pen in-hand, and notebook and continued on, "And you like to write?..That's even better."
That was all the big man said.
I looked up at him-smiled, let out some sort of awkwardly nervous giggle and continued to read- only, this time, the messiness of that's man's table and hair no longer troubled my thoughts. My mind thought this man mad, strange and different, prior to his spoken words of complimentary worth in my direction- and, with that...I was encouraged.
The irony in this story is that I'm writing this as I sit here... alone, at a coffee shop, surrounded by families and couples- my table hidden by scraps of paper, aimlessly and frantically writing these words to... you. Needless to say, I admit that I have something in common with mr. santa-pants, and that is...I enjoy time to myself.
I stumbled upon this realization over our 3 day weekend we enjoyed last week. After spending 8hrs a day surrounded my students and fellow teachers, I clocked out at precisely 3:30pm on Friday afternoon, and was absent of all English-speaking social interaction from Friday afternoon until Tuesday morning at 7:00am. (oh, excuse me...I did verbally give my address to 3 cab drivers over the weekend,) but, other than that..there was a lot of silence. Prior to my coming here, I would have been strangely bothered by this scenario and feeling nothing short of all things lonely; however, it seems that I've become something similar to that of the greasy mr. santa-paper-pants in that I really do enjoy time alone. I've been to the mall on my own..out for coffee..grocery shopping...dinner..lunch..even breakfast- all alone, and surprisingly enough, I don't mind it!
However, do I prefer it?
All this alone time has led me to wonder if I'll one day find myself rummaging through a bag full of papers on a cool winter's morning, sitting beside a wide-eyed, curious youngster, sipping coffee in my tight sweatpants and red suspenders.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
the shallow and profound
Besides over-sized handbags, side-swiped bangs and macbooks, the current trend of world seems to be heading down the path of searching for the significant and profound. Most of the people I know are in somewhat of a soul-searching, significance-seeking aspect of life where we long to be wiser, deeper individuals. It seems at times there are things that are too insignificant to do, especially when seeking employment. "I don't want to a be a bag-boy for the rest of my life..." or, "what good is waiting tables? I want to do something profound..I want to go "out into the world," and change the world..."
Yesterday afternoon I was reading what Oswald Chamebers had to say about the "significance" and "profound" we're searching for. Based on 1 Corinthians 10:31- "Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God".Yes, yes..I know- you've heard this verse before; however, this verse got me thinking.
Chambers says "We humans refuse to be shallow, not out of our deep devotion to God but because we wish to impress other people with the fact that we are not shallow."
Oh, how true- how, very true. As a 22 year old, single, female (no, this isn't a personal ad) there seems to be somewhat of an outside pressure to be "more" than who and what I am. Change this. Change that. Fix this. Fix that- so many pressures not to be the typical barbie-doll, mindless female who is interested in nothing more than Paris Hilton's latest fragrance and Britney's latest hair-style (or, lack thereof). I do admit that one of my lifetime goals is to avoid a shallow lifestyle. Avoiding shallow people, shallow books, shallow movies, shallow conversation, shallow, meaningless jobs..etc- avoiding everything and anything that doesn't seem to add some sort of weighty significance to my life; but, why? Why am I (and maybe you, too?) why are we so worried with becoming so "profound"?
Chambers continues on to say:
"Beware of posing as a profound person- God became a baby.
The ocean has a shore. Even the shallow things in life are ordained by God-
Never show the depth of your life to anyone but God. We are so nauseatingly serious, so desperately interested in our own character and reputation, we refuse to behave like Chrsitians in the shallow concerns of life. Make a determination to take no one seriously except God. You may find that the first person you must be most critical with, as being the greatest fraud you have ever known, is yourself"
If we are to do whatever we do all to the glory of God- this too, includes the shallow.
hmmmmmmmm....
Yesterday afternoon I was reading what Oswald Chamebers had to say about the "significance" and "profound" we're searching for. Based on 1 Corinthians 10:31- "Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God".Yes, yes..I know- you've heard this verse before; however, this verse got me thinking.
Chambers says "We humans refuse to be shallow, not out of our deep devotion to God but because we wish to impress other people with the fact that we are not shallow."
Oh, how true- how, very true. As a 22 year old, single, female (no, this isn't a personal ad) there seems to be somewhat of an outside pressure to be "more" than who and what I am. Change this. Change that. Fix this. Fix that- so many pressures not to be the typical barbie-doll, mindless female who is interested in nothing more than Paris Hilton's latest fragrance and Britney's latest hair-style (or, lack thereof). I do admit that one of my lifetime goals is to avoid a shallow lifestyle. Avoiding shallow people, shallow books, shallow movies, shallow conversation, shallow, meaningless jobs..etc- avoiding everything and anything that doesn't seem to add some sort of weighty significance to my life; but, why? Why am I (and maybe you, too?) why are we so worried with becoming so "profound"?
Chambers continues on to say:
"Beware of posing as a profound person- God became a baby.
The ocean has a shore. Even the shallow things in life are ordained by God-
Never show the depth of your life to anyone but God. We are so nauseatingly serious, so desperately interested in our own character and reputation, we refuse to behave like Chrsitians in the shallow concerns of life. Make a determination to take no one seriously except God. You may find that the first person you must be most critical with, as being the greatest fraud you have ever known, is yourself"
If we are to do whatever we do all to the glory of God- this too, includes the shallow.
hmmmmmmmm....
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
khob kun kah
It seems as though I've been living in a manner of Thanksgiving Day defecit, carrying myself in a similar fashion as the unfortunately scheduled grocery store cashiers and bagboys of which, like myself, will be working on the day of American feasting extravaganza.
Thanksgiving- (my favorite holiday as I'm sure I've mentioned,) collects not only family, friends, buttery corn, mashed potatoes, fluffy stuffing, fruity dressings and decetant pies, a restful nap (or two. or..three,) but Thanksgiving Day indeed celebrates my mentally scheduled calendar date of "CHRISTMAS IS THIS MUCH CLOSER!" Thanksgiving, ah yes, how splendid a day. Good people. Good food..and, similar to a birthday, people are overly expressive about how grateful they are for God's blessings.
So, question is- is distance stronger than tradition?
Will 11,000 miles separate me from a lifetime of celebration and thanks?
Will the reality that I'm at school preparing to teach my next class at 9:15am, the Official Thanksgiving Day- Thursday, November 22 2007- rather than sitting around in cordorouy pants and a sweater munching on cheese and pre-meal treats, mean that this Thanksgiving will go uncelebrated?
No.
No.
No.
You see, my dear friends, right now in America it's your Wednesday, 9:15pm. Thanksgiving (for you) isn't for a few more hours. HOWEVER, my first proclaimation of thanks goes to the clever power of a little something I like to call.."time zones". Basically, today, all day, it will be Thanksgiving Day for me in Thailand. Tomorrow morning, it will be Thanksgiving in America- (and, I being the proud American that I am,) will insist that I continue my celebration all day Friday as well; therefore, if I've done my math correctly- I will be celebrating TWICE.
The opportunity for twice the celebration, I must add, is very convenient in that I believe over this past year, I have been blessed with twice as much (if not more,) than I ever should have been- so, having to have squeezed all those thanks into only one day would have been as futile as all the American early-bird shoppers that wake up Friday morning after their gravy-drenched feastings trying to slip into their ol' "skinny" jeans. (Guess the fifth helping of Grandma's sweet potato casserole didn't help..right?)
Reflecting over the last year seems to lead me nowhere but to my knees. God has given me family. God has given me friends. God has given me "things". "Things," that seem to make life less difficult at times- "things" for which I am thankful. Above the who's, the what's and whatever's, God has so graciously given me life. A life that He created and a life that He has given, and all he desires in return is my heart unwaivered by timezone, calendar or clock. He desires my heart because.... He sent me His.
...a love so deep that "thankful" cannot describe even once- or, twice.
Thanksgiving- (my favorite holiday as I'm sure I've mentioned,) collects not only family, friends, buttery corn, mashed potatoes, fluffy stuffing, fruity dressings and decetant pies, a restful nap (or two. or..three,) but Thanksgiving Day indeed celebrates my mentally scheduled calendar date of "CHRISTMAS IS THIS MUCH CLOSER!" Thanksgiving, ah yes, how splendid a day. Good people. Good food..and, similar to a birthday, people are overly expressive about how grateful they are for God's blessings.
So, question is- is distance stronger than tradition?
Will 11,000 miles separate me from a lifetime of celebration and thanks?
Will the reality that I'm at school preparing to teach my next class at 9:15am, the Official Thanksgiving Day- Thursday, November 22 2007- rather than sitting around in cordorouy pants and a sweater munching on cheese and pre-meal treats, mean that this Thanksgiving will go uncelebrated?
No.
No.
No.
You see, my dear friends, right now in America it's your Wednesday, 9:15pm. Thanksgiving (for you) isn't for a few more hours. HOWEVER, my first proclaimation of thanks goes to the clever power of a little something I like to call.."time zones". Basically, today, all day, it will be Thanksgiving Day for me in Thailand. Tomorrow morning, it will be Thanksgiving in America- (and, I being the proud American that I am,) will insist that I continue my celebration all day Friday as well; therefore, if I've done my math correctly- I will be celebrating TWICE.
The opportunity for twice the celebration, I must add, is very convenient in that I believe over this past year, I have been blessed with twice as much (if not more,) than I ever should have been- so, having to have squeezed all those thanks into only one day would have been as futile as all the American early-bird shoppers that wake up Friday morning after their gravy-drenched feastings trying to slip into their ol' "skinny" jeans. (Guess the fifth helping of Grandma's sweet potato casserole didn't help..right?)
Reflecting over the last year seems to lead me nowhere but to my knees. God has given me family. God has given me friends. God has given me "things". "Things," that seem to make life less difficult at times- "things" for which I am thankful. Above the who's, the what's and whatever's, God has so graciously given me life. A life that He created and a life that He has given, and all he desires in return is my heart unwaivered by timezone, calendar or clock. He desires my heart because.... He sent me His.
...a love so deep that "thankful" cannot describe even once- or, twice.
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