I am so thankful for you.
I know I wrote about this in a previous entry, but God definitely had his thinking cap on when creating the world. He could have easily created billions of planets, one person per planet, with just enough distance between each so that no one could peer into someone else's world. We all know what He did instead. All 6-ish billion of us are meant to live in one world. Together.
There's no way I'd be able to go on this trip alone. Although I'm going 'by myself' with reckless abandon (well, maybe not "reckless abandon", but something tamer along those lines), I need you. And your kind words, encouragement, advice, and prayers upon prayers mean the world to me. I am insignificant on my own & am often overwhelmed by my inadequacy, but I pray that God will do something mighty through me. His grace is sufficient for me, and His strength is made perfect when I am weak.
I look back to May 2008 & remember walking into Barnes & Noble, looking for a planner. I finally found one that was just the right size with just the right amount of lines for each day; I marveled at the blank pages. But slowly, and sometimes swiftly, the lines filled up. Each day was such a gift, and these days turned into the most meaningful year of my life. But it was only meaningful because of the people in it. People like you.
It's hard to leave the many homes & families that I love. I wish I could take you with me (in a way, though, this blog allows me to!). But something the speaker said at church today eased my heart. Way back in the day, God's people traveled a lot, so their places of worship were temporary. Once they got to their next destination, they would set up a tent (aka the tabernacle). God always met them there. Always. And He continues to do so, wherever I am. Wherever you are.
In the afternoon, I'm taking a direct flight from NJ to Hong Kong. The next day, I fly to Thailand. I soaked all my clothes in permethrin this afternoon and am fully loaded with vaccines (in my body) and malaria pills/bug & sun protection/everything (in my suitcases). I've got all sorts of wonderful pens and laptops dispersed throughout, and instead of a planner, my carry-on has a Moleskine journal. (This trip became official on Wednesday, as I stopped by Barnes & Noble for this Moleskine after my last round of vaccines.)
Thanks again for being a part of my story. I'll be back on July 27th, 2009. I have you in my heart.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Homeless
I left Chinatown around 1:30am tonight (after a really great night...I'm excited for August!), and as the light at the I-94 ramp turned red, I slowed to a stop. To my left was a man with the typical "homeless, please help, God bless" sign. I observed him for a bit, seeing his relaxed body as he sat on the curb in the breezy night. In a way, the world really is his home. "The World" is his address. If he wants to get a bit more specific, he'd say, "Illinois", or even "South Ruble Street on a beautiful day and under a nearby ramp on a nasty day."
Part of me recognized dejection in his slumped shoulders, a blow to the ego that inevitably happens to those faced with the plight of homelessness. But it was so calm and peaceful outside. A huge difference from the crazy stifling traffic in the daytime. He looked comfortable and untroubled. From the inside looking out, I envied him. Now, I know I just blogged yesterday about the wonders of home--MY home; I still have those sentiments. But wouldn't it be nice to stop paying loans, worrying about house mortgages, filling up the gas tank...
(Yes, it's obviously nice having health insurance and having the security of four walls & a roof. I'm just dwelling on the beauties of homelessness & ignoring the rest (from my point of view).)
After a bit of musing & locating food in Emilio, my Jeep, I rolled my window halfway down (my mom gave me this 1/2way down idea once when I fed Freddy while on the phone with her--I'll save this story for another time) & held out the VBS snack from tonight. Chex Mix, Cocoa Puffs, pretzels and...GUMMY BEARS! Thank God that 1. tonight's VBS snack came in a Ziploc bag (or else I'd have no food to give him) and 2. I didn't eat all the gummy bears.
I said, "Hi! My name is Jessica. Here's some food." He told me his name is John & proceeded to thank me and give me a glimpse into his life. As I drove away, I watched him return to his grassy bed and plop down, relaxed. I still had 40 miles to go & fought back the urge to turn around & find my own plot of grass to call home for a night.
As I drove home, I realized that I felt the same way I did when reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road last summer. Well, parts of it. The happy parts, which just so happen to be my favorite parts. The homeless have always had a special place in my heart, and I have an unhealthy fascination with homelessness. Walking down Michigan Ave as a kid. Feeding the homeless in Nashville. CityLights*. Hanging out with the homeless in Berlin. In fact, I wholeheartedly decided to pursue medicine on a bright summer day on my way to a homeless shelter. I had a map of Berlin in one hand, anxious to amass more research for my project. So inevitably, the word, Homeless, made its way into the first sentence of my med school personal statement.
Somehow, about 10 miles from home, I discovered that the front passenger side window of Emilio was broken. I love Emilio, but the windows have a mind of their own. So by the time I parked him in the garage, the entire window was down. My best judgment told me it's not a good idea to leave it like this for over a month, so now I have to wake up even earlier than planned to take him to the Jeep dealer.
The homeless don't need alarm clocks, right? And I don't think the homeless have to deal with faulty car windows, do they? I find this fascinating. :)
*CityLights. St. Louis. Spring Break. AACF! We watched "The Saint of Fort Washington". Really, really, really awesome movie.
Part of me recognized dejection in his slumped shoulders, a blow to the ego that inevitably happens to those faced with the plight of homelessness. But it was so calm and peaceful outside. A huge difference from the crazy stifling traffic in the daytime. He looked comfortable and untroubled. From the inside looking out, I envied him. Now, I know I just blogged yesterday about the wonders of home--MY home; I still have those sentiments. But wouldn't it be nice to stop paying loans, worrying about house mortgages, filling up the gas tank...
(Yes, it's obviously nice having health insurance and having the security of four walls & a roof. I'm just dwelling on the beauties of homelessness & ignoring the rest (from my point of view).)
After a bit of musing & locating food in Emilio, my Jeep, I rolled my window halfway down (my mom gave me this 1/2way down idea once when I fed Freddy while on the phone with her--I'll save this story for another time) & held out the VBS snack from tonight. Chex Mix, Cocoa Puffs, pretzels and...GUMMY BEARS! Thank God that 1. tonight's VBS snack came in a Ziploc bag (or else I'd have no food to give him) and 2. I didn't eat all the gummy bears.
I said, "Hi! My name is Jessica. Here's some food." He told me his name is John & proceeded to thank me and give me a glimpse into his life. As I drove away, I watched him return to his grassy bed and plop down, relaxed. I still had 40 miles to go & fought back the urge to turn around & find my own plot of grass to call home for a night.
As I drove home, I realized that I felt the same way I did when reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road last summer. Well, parts of it. The happy parts, which just so happen to be my favorite parts. The homeless have always had a special place in my heart, and I have an unhealthy fascination with homelessness. Walking down Michigan Ave as a kid. Feeding the homeless in Nashville. CityLights*. Hanging out with the homeless in Berlin. In fact, I wholeheartedly decided to pursue medicine on a bright summer day on my way to a homeless shelter. I had a map of Berlin in one hand, anxious to amass more research for my project. So inevitably, the word, Homeless, made its way into the first sentence of my med school personal statement.
Somehow, about 10 miles from home, I discovered that the front passenger side window of Emilio was broken. I love Emilio, but the windows have a mind of their own. So by the time I parked him in the garage, the entire window was down. My best judgment told me it's not a good idea to leave it like this for over a month, so now I have to wake up even earlier than planned to take him to the Jeep dealer.
The homeless don't need alarm clocks, right? And I don't think the homeless have to deal with faulty car windows, do they? I find this fascinating. :)
*CityLights. St. Louis. Spring Break. AACF! We watched "The Saint of Fort Washington". Really, really, really awesome movie.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Four days. I'm sitting here in an empty house. I've got a bed, a kitchen table, electricity, running water, a roof over my head. It's perfect. I'm satisfied. It's hard to describe what this feels like. This house. I feel like I owe it something. After all, it provided a venue for the creation of memories.
I'm staring at the place where our Family Room couch used to be. I remember sitting on it, catching up on all the missed 7th Heaven episodes with my family. Lounging on it while listening to Joanna practice violin in the next room. Making my mom sit on it while listening to my piano pieces before rushing to Mr. D's performance class. Sleeping on it with the TV on during those scary nights alone. Hoping for 5 minutes of rest during the exhaustion of senior year only to have a Chicago Tribune reporter choose to do a phone interview in the middle of it. I look back on those newspaper articles--Tribune, Daily Herald, SunTimes, Libertyville Review...--and laugh. I'm pretty sure all those interviews were done sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, an arm draped over my forehead, a leg dangling over the back. Good thing they didn't send the photographers over until a few days later. Yikes.
And I recall similar memories in every place in the house.
Moving out of this house means more than a physical relocation or even the sentimental value. It's my house. And I'm its resident. These walls saw me grow up. I trust these walls with my conversations. I know my friends will have a good time here. And all we do in response is move out? Obviously, houses don't have feelings and aren't composed of living substances (unless you have termites or something), but still. It's hard on the heart.
Copland's Appalachian Spring is playing on my computer right now. I remember hearing this performed at the Aspen Music Festival last summer. I had my eyes closed and kept thinking over & over, "This is life. This is THE life. The life I have to LIVE and not just get through. What more can I ask for?" I didn't want the piece to end.
Life is meant to have these moments in it where you just close your eyes and listen to Appalachian Spring at your kitchen table in an empty house where your fondest memories were created. A couch would be nice, but this is already perfect. I'm satisfied.
I'm staring at the place where our Family Room couch used to be. I remember sitting on it, catching up on all the missed 7th Heaven episodes with my family. Lounging on it while listening to Joanna practice violin in the next room. Making my mom sit on it while listening to my piano pieces before rushing to Mr. D's performance class. Sleeping on it with the TV on during those scary nights alone. Hoping for 5 minutes of rest during the exhaustion of senior year only to have a Chicago Tribune reporter choose to do a phone interview in the middle of it. I look back on those newspaper articles--Tribune, Daily Herald, SunTimes, Libertyville Review...--and laugh. I'm pretty sure all those interviews were done sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, an arm draped over my forehead, a leg dangling over the back. Good thing they didn't send the photographers over until a few days later. Yikes.
And I recall similar memories in every place in the house.
Moving out of this house means more than a physical relocation or even the sentimental value. It's my house. And I'm its resident. These walls saw me grow up. I trust these walls with my conversations. I know my friends will have a good time here. And all we do in response is move out? Obviously, houses don't have feelings and aren't composed of living substances (unless you have termites or something), but still. It's hard on the heart.
Copland's Appalachian Spring is playing on my computer right now. I remember hearing this performed at the Aspen Music Festival last summer. I had my eyes closed and kept thinking over & over, "This is life. This is THE life. The life I have to LIVE and not just get through. What more can I ask for?" I didn't want the piece to end.
Life is meant to have these moments in it where you just close your eyes and listen to Appalachian Spring at your kitchen table in an empty house where your fondest memories were created. A couch would be nice, but this is already perfect. I'm satisfied.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The S.F.
Rarely do I ever learn from my mistakes. I’m always the person who cuts her bangs (for those of you who don’t know what ‘bangs’ are, they’re the pieces of hair right above your forehead) and ends up mortified by the results. And I spend the rest of the night wishing I had just spent money to get a proper haircut. “WHY did I do that??” This phrase often comes out of my mouth.
I cut my bangs tonight.*
So as I’m six days away from this trip, I’m scared that I’ll be quarantined right as I walk off the plane. I’ve had this fear for a few weeks now, and when I found out today that one of my best friends got the Swine Flu on her honeymoon, this fear skyrocketed. My sister, Joanna, is always careful about washing her hands, figuring out the people in the room who are sick & subsequently avoiding them for a week, etc etc. In fact, the lady sitting next to her at church last week coughed a few times (nothing spectacular). Joanna then pushed her chair right up against mine (where it stayed the rest of the service) and loudly whispered, “SWINE FLU!” I’m pretty sure our whole row heard it. This illness was later dubbed “The S.F.”
Joanna never gets sick.
Now, I’d like to think that I’m pretty good about washing my hands and getting proper nutrition, but every time I get sick, I could have avoided it. The week before all my illnesses, I slack on the antibacterial stuff, eat junk, and actively know in my thoughts that I should be taking better care of myself. Or else.
This week, I’m eating junk. We don’t have any perishables (aka healthy food), the painters tracked their dirt all over & there’s too much going on to really care…This morning, I provided chips & cookies for my
I don’t want the S.F. I think it’s time to eat an apple.
*One of the good things about growing up, though, is that things like haircuts don’t mean as much to you anymore. Thank God.
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Great Tragedy of Life
"The great tragedy of life is not that things are broken, but that things are not put back together."**
I found a little notecard today with this quote on it. I remember coming across the quote a few years ago. Brokenness is good stuff. (Thanks, AACF, for the realization.)
Right now, I'm looking forward to Thailand. I'm most looking forward to having some semblance of home. And by home, I mean a place to stay for more than 2 weeks. Oh, life. You just roll with the punches & make your best attempt at giving all you've got.
Tonight, Joanna helped me put up an Uppercase Living expression on my wall. I have this glass table with red chairs (I'll post a picture soon...when I figure out how) and have a few decorative pieces. The UL expression says, "For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." Big theme of this past year. I'd love to get a piece of modern art to put on my wall as well, simulating a coffee shop feel. I dream about having friends over, sitting at that table (which is within 10 feet of bookshelves--books, yes!), drinking coffee, and just musing. Some of my favorite moments were created at Fido, Starbucks, Caribou...so why not home?
The next time I'm here in Jersey will be the evening of the VBS Closing Ceremony and two evenings before my Thai excursion begins. I guess that's also the day I start taking malaria pills (Oh, I'll need to tell you great news about that)...and pack up a storm!
In some short hours, we're headed to Cleveland for the weekend. Gotta get packing. :)
**This quote also reminds me of Jon & Kate Gosselin. I'm so out of sorts with this family's situation and don't wish to discuss them right now. But I do very much wish (& pray) that they'll put things back together.
I found a little notecard today with this quote on it. I remember coming across the quote a few years ago. Brokenness is good stuff. (Thanks, AACF, for the realization.)
Right now, I'm looking forward to Thailand. I'm most looking forward to having some semblance of home. And by home, I mean a place to stay for more than 2 weeks. Oh, life. You just roll with the punches & make your best attempt at giving all you've got.
Tonight, Joanna helped me put up an Uppercase Living expression on my wall. I have this glass table with red chairs (I'll post a picture soon...when I figure out how) and have a few decorative pieces. The UL expression says, "For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." Big theme of this past year. I'd love to get a piece of modern art to put on my wall as well, simulating a coffee shop feel. I dream about having friends over, sitting at that table (which is within 10 feet of bookshelves--books, yes!), drinking coffee, and just musing. Some of my favorite moments were created at Fido, Starbucks, Caribou...so why not home?
The next time I'm here in Jersey will be the evening of the VBS Closing Ceremony and two evenings before my Thai excursion begins. I guess that's also the day I start taking malaria pills (Oh, I'll need to tell you great news about that)...and pack up a storm!
In some short hours, we're headed to Cleveland for the weekend. Gotta get packing. :)
**This quote also reminds me of Jon & Kate Gosselin. I'm so out of sorts with this family's situation and don't wish to discuss them right now. But I do very much wish (& pray) that they'll put things back together.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Preparing for Thailand?
When May hit, I thought, "I just need to get to June; it'll be a breeze compared to this." Then June came crashing forward. Now we're halfway through, and I'm still picking up the pieces of this June crash. Goodness. (I could write pages about this past month, but I'll spare my cyberspace audience. I'll try to keep everything here relevant to my Thailand trip.)
I can't even process it all because there's no pause option. Not yet at least. And the scary part is, when I think, "I just need to get to..."
Well, let's see. There's all the music that we need to unearth from boxes for a wedding, there's all the VBS songs + VBS week, there's Thailand, there's camp, there's med school...Hmm.
"I just need to get...through med school??"
But there's no time to worry. And no need for it, really. It's been beyond wonderful being home. New home, yes. But home. Family. Boxes everywhere, but hey, we're together. That's what being a family is all about. Relationships (of any kind) aren't meant to be long distance (although circumstances sometimes require that), so everything feels right with the four of us. It's perfect. God tied our heartstrings together, and they play so well when they're not stretched across the country.
And in the midst of it all, I've been enjoying the pleasures of The Cell Phone. Thank God for [most] technology. Talking to friends has lifted the occasional bouts of anxiety about the rest of summer, especially Thailand. Community is a blessing. I keep telling people that there's a reason why God didn't just give us each our own planet to cultivate; He gave the Earth billions of people instead. And it's great how people's words just root themselves straight in the heart.
But Thailand still seems so...foreign. I've got this picture in my head of me living in the woods eating bugs. Which reminds me...
We went to Short Hills Mall tonight to get Dad a gift (his birthday always lands on or near Father's Day) and get some needed items. I've been searching for dry shampoo for Thailand. It's especially needed with my Asian hair, sadly. I finally realized that the easiest way to acquire it is from Sephora. $20 for a tiny, tiny tube. Okay, that's not a fortune, but still. I buy makeup at Wal-Mart.
I've been feeling this big disconnect between my reality and reality from one step back. When I take a step back I see that tonight, I bought expensive shampoo just so I can use it in a poverty-stricken place where $20 goes a long way. It's tough to reconcile.
But I'm glad God's making me aware of things, even the small things like shampoo.
I don't think we're ever meant to be comfortable.
I can't even process it all because there's no pause option. Not yet at least. And the scary part is, when I think, "I just need to get to..."
Well, let's see. There's all the music that we need to unearth from boxes for a wedding, there's all the VBS songs + VBS week, there's Thailand, there's camp, there's med school...Hmm.
"I just need to get...through med school??"
But there's no time to worry. And no need for it, really. It's been beyond wonderful being home. New home, yes. But home. Family. Boxes everywhere, but hey, we're together. That's what being a family is all about. Relationships (of any kind) aren't meant to be long distance (although circumstances sometimes require that), so everything feels right with the four of us. It's perfect. God tied our heartstrings together, and they play so well when they're not stretched across the country.
And in the midst of it all, I've been enjoying the pleasures of The Cell Phone. Thank God for [most] technology. Talking to friends has lifted the occasional bouts of anxiety about the rest of summer, especially Thailand. Community is a blessing. I keep telling people that there's a reason why God didn't just give us each our own planet to cultivate; He gave the Earth billions of people instead. And it's great how people's words just root themselves straight in the heart.
But Thailand still seems so...foreign. I've got this picture in my head of me living in the woods eating bugs. Which reminds me...
We went to Short Hills Mall tonight to get Dad a gift (his birthday always lands on or near Father's Day) and get some needed items. I've been searching for dry shampoo for Thailand. It's especially needed with my Asian hair, sadly. I finally realized that the easiest way to acquire it is from Sephora. $20 for a tiny, tiny tube. Okay, that's not a fortune, but still. I buy makeup at Wal-Mart.
I've been feeling this big disconnect between my reality and reality from one step back. When I take a step back I see that tonight, I bought expensive shampoo just so I can use it in a poverty-stricken place where $20 goes a long way. It's tough to reconcile.
But I'm glad God's making me aware of things, even the small things like shampoo.
I don't think we're ever meant to be comfortable.
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