A Processional

Tonight the thoughts won't let me ignore them.  Tonight the words demand to be written, the feelings demand to be felt, the thoughts demand to be heard.

I've never been good at handling my emotions.  It turns out I only have two settings concerning emotions- Feel EVERYTHING deeply, or Feel NOTHING at all. I recognize that's not healthy.  I'm working on it.

When I left Malawi, There was too much to just feel nothing, but I also didn't have the capacity to handle everything.  So I stuffed a lot of things away somewhere and planned to come back to them when I was in a slightly less terrible state of mind. I do understand that processing is important, and I really did intend to come back and work through some things.  But my state of mind took a real long time to stabilize (as in, it still hasn't) and free time lasted too long and then not long enough, and...well, I still haven't found all those things I stuffed away.  Sometimes they find me.

This week, they're everywhere.  Emotions popping up out of nowhere, with a ferocity I am not accustomed to. One I do not appreciate.  (ha)  

This week, I'm hurting.  And I don't know how to process it all.  And some things I don't have the liberty of sharing. But tonight, I'm processing.  Just a little.

So tonight, I choose to feel. Tonight, I hurt.

I hurt for a friend who lost a job, a friend, and nearly her daughter.

I hurt for a mother whose son was shot and killed by a Ferguson police officer.

I hurt for the family of a Ferguson police officer whose life was destroyed by his work.

I hurt for a community who sees no hope.

I hurt for friends whose newly adopted child cannot yet love them.

I hurt for a child who has been without a family for so long.

I hurt for the woman who wants friends so desperately she chases them all away.

I hurt for the wife and 5 children of a man who was killed for illegally selling cigarettes.

I hurt for a nation who is at a loss.

I hurt because texts between continents cannot adequately express love.

I hurt because my dearest friends are spread between continents and countries and states.

I hurt because hurting is okay.  Because Jesus also hurts.  Because he is near to the brokenhearted. Because so many others around the world are hurting.  Because children are hungry and orphaned. Because mothers cannot support their children.  Because fathers don't know how to father.  Because families are broken, and nations are divided.  Because the color of a man's skin is still more weighty than his character. Because people are mean. Because hearts are dark. Because we are fallen.

Tonight on my way home, I saw Christmas lights.  And I was reminded that even though it doesn't look a lot like Christmas in my heart right now, Christmas has come. A Saviour is born.  God with us. Immanuel.

So tonight, I hope.

Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus!

born to set thy people free

from our fears and sins release us,

let us find our rest in thee. 

Israel's strength and consolation,

hope of all the earth thou art;

dear desire of every nation,

joy of every longing heart. 

Counting

August 4, 2011, I saw my African home for the first time.

October 8, 2011 there was a rat in our toilet.  Some nice college guys came to rescue us from the rat, and on my way back up campus, I met them. Ndaba, Zach, Owen, and Andrew. ("I don't think that's the same Andrew.") (It wasn't.)

Invitations were extended.

5 hours later, a pizza party.

1053 days ago.

About 600 days later, we said goodbye, desperately hoping it wasn't for long, but not quite sure what the future held.

178 days after that, I watched him walk off a plane in Columbus, MS.

Our story is one full of numbers.  Ironic, for such a lover of language.


14 days ago he asked me to be his wife.

4 days ago he got back on a plane to Malawi.

110 days til I see him again.

226 days til we meet in Malawi again.

4 excruciating goodbyes down, one to go.

3 Visa Applications.

7 time zones.

Countless plane rides.

Innumerable text messages.

Thousands of dollars.

339 days until the goodbyes stop, and we get to be a family.

339 days until we actual live in the same place.

339 days...

IF the paperwork goes through.  IF the government says it's okay.  IF we don't have any typos.  IF we can afford all the fees.  IF we have the timing right.  IF the wait isn't longer than planned.  IF the interviews go well.  IF....IF....IF.

The if's are killing me right now.

I know there are lots of happy things to be said about trusting God and His timing and I just want to ask, when was the last time you planned a wedding with no guarantee you'll even be in the same country for it? Knowing you'll only get 6 weeks together, 6 months before-hand.  Knowing you can go see him, but he can't come see you after that.  Praying he'll be on the flight back with you, 2 months before the wedding, but knowing that won't be a given until it actually happens.  Spending money on "Save-the-dates" and Invitations hoping there will be a groom present!  Wondering if you should reserve two dates, just in case?

Anxiety threatens to overcome me at any moment.  It's a new feeling for me.  It doesn't reconcile so nicely with this new ring on my finger.

And sometimes, you don't need advice.  Sometimes you don't need well-meaning reassurances. Sometimes, you just need a hug.  Or a cry.  Or a coke.  Or a friend.  Sometimes you just need to turn the numbers into words, so that they aren't so strange and scary.  So sometimes, you write.

Do I know anyone who can?

I read an article today about teaching, and about how there's always something else to be done- there's never a feeling at the end of a week/month/semester/year of "Man, I did a great job. We did everything we needed to do, and I gave everyone what they needed to succeed." Boy, can I relate to that.  And it came on the tail of a message from one of my students, asking if I could help his older brother (another of my students).

So there's this one thing that's been a continuous burden to me since I returned home from teaching in Malawi.  I know that I did a lot of great things, but I know that there were a lot of gaping holes in my self-designed curriculum and impartation of knowledge.  I also know that since I've come home, I haven't been nearly as involved in the lives of these young friends/family whom I love dearly and helped along their way.

To elaborate, I'd like to tell you a story.

Imagine for a moment, that you're a 17 year old guy, who is a citizen of a little-known African country.  You spent some time growing up in some first world nations, and most of your friends are wealthy.  Many of them are American, but some of them are from the same country as you, or a number of other European, African, or Asian nations.  Your family is well educated, and spent years working hard to ensure that they allowed you the privilege of a great education, knowing how important it is.  As a result, you don't get to see your parents as much as you'd like, but you recognize their sacrifice is for your sake.  You're the oldest of your family, so you feel responsible for your younger siblings.  In fact, you're one of those rare children- wise beyond your years- who is burdened by your duty to your family and friends.  You love deeply, and know that you need to do well in school to ensure you can get into a good college and return that support, as well as fulfil your own dreams.  You've grown up in a world that encourages you to dream big- you can do anything if you work hard enough!  Your English is perfect.  You're at the top of your class.  All of your friends are receiving their acceptance letters to universities, planning to move to other countries to live with family and pursue a college degree, and the future they've been promised.  You apply to some big schools in several countries, and slowly the acceptance letters roll in.  You've even qualified for a few scholarships!  Graduation day comes, and you're awarded top honors in your class.  You know at this point, that the only path forward that will honor your family's sacrifice, that will fulfil your potential, that will be true to who you are, is college in America.  It's your only goal, your only dream.  And then the reality of your financial situation hits you.  You have no family in the states willing to sign affidavits of support, or sponsor student visas, or let you live in their garage for a while.  Your best hope is the help of your friends and teachers who are back in the states, who have moved into a new phase of life already.  You know you can't ask them to pay for your schooling.  You recognize college is expensive, and you recognize you can't ask someone random to support you through this.
What do you do?
Where do you turn?
What happens when your world is crumbling and you're powerless to change it.
You see the time slipping away.
You feel the weight of expectations falling on you.
You can't really remember anymore exactly what you thought would happen, but this isn't it.
What do you do?

This is where I am.  I get emails, I get messages, I get pleas from younger siblings to help their big brother accomplish his dream.
"What if everyone in your church gave like $10, Miss O? Could that at least help him pay for a year of community college?"
"Miss O, couldn't you ask people to help?"
"What can we do, Miss O?"

I've told people for years that I believe in the power of words.  I believe that words can change things.  If you know me, you know I'm a cynic. You know I have a hard time holding up hope when circumstances look dismal. I'm a realist. I tell him I can't help, because my own finances are shambles, and that I don't know who can.

But is that true?  I mean, can I not do something?  Do I really not know ANYONE who would be willing to take a little risk for an amazing kid who definitely deserves this chance?  Do I not know ANYONE who works for a college who could help make things happen?  Do I not know ANYONE who cares?

Well... you tell me.  Do I know someone who can help?

Shaming No

I read this wonderful lady's blog on how it's okay to say no, (she wrote it a year ago, but somehow I stumbled upon it today) and it brought me back to a question I've mulled over for the past 6 years or so.  See, I know it's okay to say no.  I'm actually pretty good at saying no.  I'm even better at telling other people to say no.  But in a Southern society that is really really good at shaming you while smiling and pretending they're concerned, I'm constantly battling to balance the "just say no" and the "make people happy" battles raging within me.

So here's my question for you:  Is it REALLY okay to say no?  And if so, why do I feel so much judgement when I do?

I'm gonna give you a couple scenarios to help explain what I mean.

1. When I first came back from Malawi, I wasn't attending a Sunday School class, because I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment, social event, depth, etc.  But when people asked if I wanted to come to Sunday School with them and I said "No," I was often met with some very confused and offended people.  Even though I tried very hard to say no politely.

2. I agreed to teach a class that I didn't really want to teach, because there was no one else to do it.  Now that I'm attending a different church, and another capable leader has stepped in, I'd like to relinquish those responsibilities and serve at the church I'm attending in ways that suit my personality/gifts better.  I'll admit that I haven't had the chance to sit down and explain this entire situation to everyone involved, but when I mention leaving, the response is all about guilt and shame.

3. I'm invited to a church-related party.  I'd rather have a date night with my boyfriend. If I simply choose the more appealing option, is that okay?

4. I HATE how busy I stay on Sundays.  If I don't attend church on Sunday nights, is that wrong?  Is it okay to want time to myself or with my family or my significant other, instead of having another time of corporate worship?  Is it okay to attend a mid-week Bible Study instead of Sunday night church?

5.  Is it okay to say "No, I don't want to serve in that way" if I AM serving in other needed ways?

6. Is it okay that I don't really have high ambitions for my life?  Okay, this is a little unrelated. But it does involve saying no.  Because people always want to know if I want to move up in my job, take on more responsibilities, become more important, etc.  What if I don't?  What if I really do just want the job that involves answering phones?  Who are you to tell me that's unambitious?  Who are you to tell me I should want more?  Why should I be ashamed of my current lack of work-related ambitions, when I have high ambitions for my relationships, spiritual life, etc?

 Is it okay to say "no" even if it's church? Even if it's good stuff happening?  When presented with two options, is it okay to choose the one that makes ME happy, rather than the one I know I'll be shamed for if I skip?  Do I have to explain these choices?  Is it okay to remain misunderstood?  Is it okay to know people are going to be upset and do nothing about it?  Where are the lines in saying "no"?

I want input on this.  Seriously.  Discuss, please. Give me thoughts and answers.  Argue with me.  Agree with me.  Shame me so I can use you as an example! ;)  Just kidding.

identity

I'm not sure whether to entitle this "words", or "lazy".  I haven't yet filled in the title box. probably when I do, i'll choose something else altogether.  But those are the words that bring me here tonight.
Since I've been home, I've done a lot of reading.  I say "a lot", but really I've managed about 8 books since I've returned.  And they're not anything special.  I'm not reading the classics, and I'm not reading good Christian inspiring literature (as if literature can have a soul and join the ranks of the Redeemed...but that's another rant...)  I've mostly been reading young adult literature.  I stumbled upon another friend recently who loves this genre and it made my day.  I love finding a kindred spirit in my silly quirks. But that's not really what I'm intending to write about either.  Just felt it was worthy of mentioning. Anyway, I read this young adult lit for a variety of reasons- it's mindless, it's unassuming, it's thought-provoking, (yes, mindless AND though-provoking).  I guess what I mean to say is that it allows me to think without forcing me to think.  And we all know I don't like being forced to do anything.
And that brings me to the issue of laziness.
When I read certain ones of these books, I'm reminded of how much I love words.  See, I've found most authors do one of two things, usually.  They create characters that love words, or the create characters that HATE academics.  There's rarely an in-between.  They tend to create a character they understand, and most authors understand what it means to love language.  They've danced with words in moments of intense passion, soaked in them like a luxurious bath after a long day.  And as I read the characters, I realize I'm one of them.  I do this.  I love this.  I LOVE language.  I can totally geek out talking about words, or the history of words, or the origin of words, or the theories behind words.  Some days I want to abandon the head knowledge of them and just experience them, but a lot of days I can really enjoy all the academic stuff behind language.  And yes, I still use words like "stuff."
I'm so self-conscious about my writing.  I think it's because I realize how many people there are who are better than me.  See, for a long time I didn't. In high school, I was pretty much the best.  I realize that sounds arrogant, but it's true.  I wrote well, I had perfect grammar, I never proofed my own work, I always proofed everyone else's.  Then I went to college and everyone was good, and I was just one of many good writers.  In fact, I was a good amongst greats in a lot of cases.  I know I'm good, but I now know there are MANY out there who are MUCH better.  This does not diminish my talent, it simply acknowledges that there are those with more.  That's simply a fact of life.  A fact I enjoy, because it means I get to relish in the words of others.  I get to read this blog and enjoy that I had the privilege of being in class with such a beautiful writer, thinker, and girl.  Or I get to read this blog and find one of those kindred spirits I mentioned before, whom I've hardly met yet feel like I know so well.
But here's the difference- I am incurably lazy.  I say "incurably", though I'm sure it's not true.  I'm sure there's a cure for my sloth.  But I've had professors and teachers and friends and family assure me at some time or another that I've reached only a tad bit of my potential, and that is because of my lack of dedication to the task at hand.  If I had a dollar for every time my piano teacher laughed in frustration (probably to keep from crying) at how much I could accomplish on basically no practice time, I'd have been a rich little girl...and a rich teenager.
If I had a dollar for every knowing look from my favoritest might-as-well-be-british professor, upon realizing that the B level paper I just turned in would've been so much better if I'd begun working more than 48 hours in advance...
If I had a dollar for every time Aly and Amber laughed and/or stressed at my habits...
I should've capitalized on this long ago.
Or perhaps learned from it, at least.
So here's my big confession- here's the big problem I have:
I am so afraid that I'll put in the work and still not be good enough.
I'm terrified that if I finally buckle down and do something I feel is excellent, it will still only be considered good.
I am scared that my assessment of my abilities is larger than reality.
I'm afraid of failing, and being so hurt I never try again.
Is this a pride problem? Probably.
But it's a matter of identity for me.  It's who I am.  If I try hard and fail at something I thought I was capable of, then who am I?  Then what do I do?  How can I trust anything then?
Is this extreme and silly? Somewhat.
Is it still an issue for me, however ? Most definitely.
Is my current job search and (subsequent rejection) bringing me dangerously close to the feelings I just described?  YES.
Am I afraid?  YES.
Am I angry? yes.
Am I bitter? not yet
Am I desperate? soon...
Right now the afraid part wins out though.
What if I'm not good enough?  What if I can't find a job?  What if no one wants me?  What if I find a job and can't do it well?  What if I'm miserable(r)?  What if I never make any money and can't afford a family and never have a stable life again?
What if I just want normalcy, despite the fact that I realize normal will never feel normal again?
And now I don't even know what this post is about.
But because I love the words, I come back here and write it all out for everyone to see.  Because the words have power, even over me.  And when I name something, I know it.  When I name it, I begin to master it.  Then it's less scary.  Less overwhelming.  Less foreign.  When it has a name, I can do with it what I do with other words. Write it, feel it, soak in it, and perhaps begin to understand it. And eventually, use it... for good. 

wait

Well, I haven't blogged in months.
Sometimes emotions are bigger than me.  Sometimes my capacity for handling them is insufficient, and writing, though it is often helpful, sometimes just hurts too much.
So there's your reason why.
A lot has happened, and perhaps I'll talk about all of it some day.  There are things I long to share with someone else, and things I'm still not ready to share.
I am intensely lonely at times.  Which drove me to buy a kitten, against the wishes of my parents.  I really do try to respect them- I realize they're supporting me completely right now in my state of unemployed unsettledness. But I needed someone...something... And along came Eliot.  That's her name today. I've been switching it out every few minutes/hours/days.  Tonight she's El, Ellie, Eliot. We'll see how it lasts.  I suppose ultimately her name, or lack thereof has been a bi-product of my inability to commit.
Another biproduct would the shortage of clothing in my closet.  Followed closely by how often I say "I don't know."
And this conversation:

"What are you up to these days, Allison?"
Nothing
"........Do you have a job yet?"
Nope. Still Searching.
"Oh, well...what do you want to do?
Anything that makes money...
"So, you'll be teaching, then?"
Guess I should've said, 'Anything that makes money and isn't teaching'
".........Oh.  You don't want to teach?"
I'm not certified to teach. (this is my attempt to not say "I HATE TEACHING" because people react poorly to that)
"Well...what about working as an assistant teacher? Or in a private school? Or tutoring? Or some other teaching-related job?"
Well, see...I really don't want to teach...at least not right now.
"Oh, I see.  So...what do you want to do?"
Anything that makes money....
"Well, what skills do you have?"
I'm an English major with 2 years of international experience
"Have you thought about teaching?"
*Explodes*

I attempt to keep the exploding part internal. But one day it's gonna come out.  Well, I guess that's what's currently happening.  Don't get me wrong- I KNOW people want to help.  I KNOW they're just trying to be nice.  I know every time they tell me that it will all be okay and God will provide and something will come up and my random pointless job experience and degree aren't actually useless... I KNOW they mean well.
And I KNOW that God WILL provide for me.
But good heavens, would it hurt us to sometimes just give people a hug and not ask them the same 18 questions every week? Or at least listen to the answers they give??
Again, I do truly realize no one is trying to upset me, or offend me, or be unkind.
I guess you just don't realize how empty words can be sometimes until you're on the receiving end of them in the midst of a tough time.
One dear woman told me she realizes that this is a hard thing to go through and that I'm at a bit of a disadvantage, but she'll be praying for me.
THAT. That is the most helpful thing I've heard since returning from Malawi.

And so I wait.
Patiently or impatiently, I wait.
I cuddle with my kitten, I visit friends, I enjoy family, I eat and get fat...
And wait.
And fill out applications.
And wait.
wait.



Wait on the Lord;
Be of good courage,
And He shall strengthen your heart;
Wait, I say, on the Lord!
Psalm 27:14

Realizations and Reality Checks

"When are you leaving?"  "Do you have a plane ticket yet?" "What are your plans for when you get home?"
If I had 100 kwacha (roughly 25 cents) for every time I've heard (and dreaded answering) these questions in the past few months, I think I would have enough money to buy that ticket I don't yet have.

"Why don't you just write a letter?" Aly keeps asking me.  I'm the expert with words around here.  I write and edit support letters and updates and newsletters for us and for others.  I enjoy it.  Words come easily for me.  I've had to handle the money a lot more around here, and that's something I'm terrible at. Any of several men around campus can testify to that, when I've shown up at their door begging to exchange a little money because I didn't save enough kwacha to do any number of random things that come up here- doctor bills for staff, school fees for their children, trips to the tailor (not necessary, I know...but...a week at home leaves a girl too much time to plan wardrobes!)

So, when it came time to buy that plane ticket home, Aly made a reasonable suggestion I've made to her quite a few times in the past two years.  "Write a letter/email/facebook message home asking people to help out!"  And for some reason, this time, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I kept saying it was because I feel bad because we were so recently asking for money for the December Christmas surprise trip home.  "I forgot."  "I'll do it later."  "Yeah, I'll think about it."  I have no end of excuses. (I know, I know...me? excuses? shocker!)  Today, though, I sat down and thought about writing that letter.  After all, she's right.  I could use a little extra help this time.  My support is way down from what it used to be, and even with a little help from ABC, I don't have enough money to live life here, pay my taxes, and buy a plane ticket.

And then I realized that there's a little more than a slightly shameful lack of humility preventing me from writing this letter.

What would I say?  How would I begin?  There's no way to sum up the past 2 years.  There's no way to explain that my spring break 2 years ago began the most terrifying and wonderful experience of my life.  How do I begin to bring to a close the thrill that 2 years in Africa has been?  How do I say goodbye?

Writing that letter would be the first step.  Writing that letter would be admitting that the "4 months" we insist we have left really is much less than 4 months.  Writing that letter would involve admitting, to myself and to you, that this is ending, and I am totally, completely, 100% clueless about what that means for me.

Well, this is my letter.  This is me telling you I'd appreciate any money (or job offers) that you can give, but that I'd equally appreciate any prayers you can give.  I can temporarily hide from the IRS (though I realize it's not a great idea), but I can't hide from the reality of the change that's ahead of me. It's coming quickly, and I am quite unsure of how to handle it.  Two years ago, two years seemed a long time.  Today, two years is disappearing before my eyes.

There's a link at the top left of the page that tells you how you can donate money.  Or you can message me, or talk to my parents about that.
As for prayer, well...
I think you know how to pray.  :)

So thanks. Thanks for two years.