101

Well folks, this it is. My 101st posting. I meant to celebrate the 100th entry, but it came and went and I didn't notice until now. It's hard to believe that over 100 days have past since I left home. It's even harder considering the fact that in those 100 plus days I've made a home in such a different place and now wish not to return. While I would love to see family and friends again, I'd rather see them here, sharing in my experiences, having similar adventures of their own, and most of all, developing the same passion I am for serving Him. My departure date is arriving all too quickly and I'm beginning to think that the next time I say goodbye I'll be counting to 100 in months, not days.

What's For Dinner?

It's been over a week since these animals have been waiting outside two adjacent restaurants; waiting for death.



I wonder, if we were more aware of our imminent deaths, would we too lounge around lazy and helpless like these animals? Or would we make our lives count?

The Sports Dance

I made up another song. And this time I created the melody too. At least I think I did. How do you copyright a song? How do you know you're not stealing the melody from some long lost tune that your soul can remember without your brain knowing? With so many songs created in the history of this world, I have to wonder, is it even possible to create something new? Are we not by now simply just rearranging the works of past inspirations? Watching Mona Lisa's Smile twice in only a few days leaves me to wonder: What is art? How do we know something is real and not a copy? And can a copy of the original still be art?

Whether it's an original or not, the students at the camp may be rocking out to my Sports Dance song, if only I could accurately write down the rhythm and melody...

On My Own

The Carlsons have left Hailar to return to the States for their son's graduation party. Until John's return on May 12th, I'll be the only American in this city. I'm trying not to let this thought scare me. I'm attempting to remind myself that I don't see them that often anyway. I'm forcing myself to not be lonely. I'm struggling with the idea that even when I return to the states I'll be alone. I'm failing as I sing this song.

On My Own
Les Miserables

On my own, pretending he's beside me
All alone I walk with him 'til morning
Without him, I feel his arms around me
And when I loose my way, I close my eyes and he has found me

In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me forever and forever

And I know it's only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to him
And although I know that he is blind
Still I say there's a way for us

I love him but when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Without him, the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers

I love him but every day I'm lerning
All my life I've only been pretending
Without me his world will go on turning
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known

I love him, I love him, I love him
But only on my own

Where Is Your Treasure Stored?

Tuesday morning I awoke to more snow again! It thankfully stopped some time in the night, unfortunately heralding in the sun. The sun began shining at about 5:30 this morning, becoming strong enough to wake me by 5:56 AM. I need to invest in some thicker curtains. I fear I may return to the states with the schedule of a senior citizen: in bed by nine, up at five!


Having woken so early, I had time today for some more photos. On the fifth of April (Thursday) Chinese celebrate a traditional holiday to commemorate the deceased. Entire classes of students will visit the tombs to sweep them clean. Families will burn piles of money for their ancestors to use in heaven. In preparation for this holiday, there are carts everywhere piled high with imitation paper money.


These pictures cause me to consider all the possessions I'm meticulously storing up, spending piles of money on, which will only turn to dust in the end along with my own flesh. Why are eternal treasures not so easily seen and urgently sought after?

Palm Sunday

I had an opportunity to visit a friend's home today. Pollyanna works for Shamineau and has become a close friend of mine. She accompanied me this morning, helping translate lyrics and such. After our meeting Anna invited me to lunch at a nearby restaurant and then to view the room where she stays. She lives is a dormitory style building near the college campus. Although she recently had two roommates, she now is living in a room alone. This room is adjacent to three other rooms, the tenants of which share a bathroom with her. Anna has no access to a stove, so she must eat all her meals outside of her home.


As the picture portrays, the furnishings are minimal and unadorned. The photo fails, however, to depict the enormous amount of mold visibly growing from floor to ceiling on the right wall. My lungs begged for fresh air as my eyes surveyed the sight of such a health hazard.

I am always flooded with conflicting emotions when I view such drastic living situations. I despise the pride in me that considers, even in an attitude of helpfulness, other's homes substandard. I try to control the longing in my heart for superficial comforts that festers from nanny jobs in Minnetonka. I fight the urge to demand justice and equality between these two extremes.


A friend recently reminded me that although many Americans wonder how people in China and other countries can live such poor lives, we fail to notice that the majority of the population is happy and content. I am often blessed by Anna's happiness. I pray that I too can develop such an attitude of contentment and find my joy in eternal things rather than those of this world.

Puddle, Puddle, On The Ground: Who's The Fairest One Around?

I went swimming today. Well, my shoes did anyway. My poor Diesels swam through lakes of melting snow, turned from treacherous ice to puddles of slush by the warmth of the sun. Because of this, my perspective of the city has recently been narrowed to a view of my feet as I navigate the slippery streets.



As I voyaged through and around the reflective surfaces of such puddles, I became more attentive of the architecture in the surrounding roofs. These puddle images made me wonder: what would a reflection of my soul show?

Would it be possible to see beyond the ripples started by my tears? Would there be sunshine of joy streaming through my sorrow, from my saving source of sacrificial love? Does a soul even reflect one's mood and feelings? Furthermore, are the connections of relationships, in which we place so much importance and value, visible in our souls?

I'd like to believe that others have made a deep enough impact in my life to be seen in my reflected soul. I regret that some have left scars. How would such scars visually effect one's soul? Are they a Do Not Enter sign? I'd hope that I have affected other's lives in a positive manner so as not to leave scars of pain but rather shimmers of hope and love upon their reflected souls.

At first I visualized these relational reflections as separate doors along a hallway of time. Each door displaying a name plaque; some covered in dust, some proudly polished to shine, and others gouged beyond recognition with intentions of forgetting. But then I realized that even in reflections, relationships cannot be categorized into rooms contained with a door. For I have often tried to close and lock a door, to forget the existence of the soul concealed beyond that destroyed nameplate, only to have that soul, that memory, that mistake haunt me as a ghost.

Since souls are so intricately interconnected, I soon replaced my door analogy for another. Just as the puddles I waded through all day reflect the buildings which have windows which reflect people, so too I think would a reflection of our souls contain other reflected images. Images of other's souls. And now I'm lead to imagine a fun house of mirrors which lead one through a maze often paralleled with life in which there are dark corners reflecting reminders of our darkest fears - our mistakes, amusing distractions reflecting this fallen world in which we live, and the unmistakable sunlight signaling the fun house exit reflecting the hope of the light of the world carried always in my soul.

Faith Restored

Have you ever had a relationship where you are constantly thinking about the other person, daily supplying them with words of encouragement and love, generously offering them simple gifts to remind them of your adoration, only to receive nothing in return but complaints, requests for more sacrifices, and worse yet – neglect. This is pretty much how my relationship with my Father appears. Yesterday, although receiving many personal reminders of His presence, I still trudged through the day with ungratefulness for what I’ve been given, with bitterness over not receiving what I selfishly felt entitled to, and with a general negative outlook on my life.

When I finally committed to correcting my attitude and attempted to recognize His blessings given that day, I realized all the moments in which he was present, trying to demonstrate His everlasting love for me. His provision was in the package, which finally arrived from my parents after about 6 weeks of fraternization with foreign postmen. His beauty arrived in a soft morning snowfall, generating giddiness in my weary soul. His joy was illuminated in the sheer delight of my coworkers as they received my gift of motivational stickers (which were included in the mysteriously late package from my parents.)

Father's mercy was also given through a musical miracle. After a few hours of trying to figure out how to make my CDs (which thankfully arrived from Tim on Saturday) work in my computer, (I unknowingly burned them as protected files) a patient friend appeared online to talk me though the steps towards melodic success. I can now listen to any music that I have ever bought, owned, or ‘borrowed'. More importantly, I can finally offer some gifts of worship music to thirsty friends.

I am learning to look towards Father for the attention, adoration and affection that I desire and have previously found in other relationships and conversations with friends. And whenever I finally remember to turn towards Him, He never disappoints me, welcoming me with open arms and restoring my endurance for this temporary life and renewing my hope in His promise of an eternal future.

Left, right, left

Despite logical belief, I am finding through experience that it is actually safer to cross the street against the light here in Hailar. It is the habitual assumption of safety and trust placed in the 'green-means-go' light that increases danger and brings a response of utter shock as cars continue their paths, fully intending to maintain their speed, straight towards me.

I sometimes wonder if breaks even exist in Chinese cars. While the lack of breaking usually results in a smoother ride, it also means I am wincing every 50 feet as we come inches from hitting a passing biker, slow much too slowly for a light, or swerve around helpless pedestrians. Although the lack of breaking may be an adaption to the icy roads, I remember similar driving this summer so I am not convinced by such theories. Such avoidance of the left pedal also creates a noisier environment as cars clear a path for themselves with their horns as if to remind the world "I have no breaks or refuse to use them but unless you want to find out which, you'd better move!"

As I daily cross these intersections I wonder how our spiritual lives may be similar to the dangerous streets I cross. Although I have been raised with the belief that I will be kept from harm as a follower of Christ, such ignorance threatens to hinder me from fully serving the surrounding community on the streets I daily walk. As C.S. Lewis so simply explained in his classic children's Narnia novels "Safe! Aslan is not safe, but he is good." Just because the world has given me the go signal, assuring me I will be safe if I am moving forward to Him, crossing the road is never safe (especially when there is a chicken involved.) Although God wants every good thing for me, He does not promise a life without danger. I am reminded of Jesus' example of prayer as He thanked the Father for being with Him in the valley of the shadow of death. He wasn't kept from harm! The dangers weren't eliminated for Him! He simply did not go through danger alone.

Although the thought that we are not alone in times of struggle is a familiar message that is heard often, I think we are less likely to ponder the origin of those struggles and dangerous roads. I would much rather think of danger and discipline as evil attacks, however, it is actually the most loving Father who will ruin His child's pleasure and comfort for a brief moment so that he or she may find true and everlasting joy and peace.

So how do we eliminate some of the dangers in the intersections of life? Look left and right, recognize evil for what it is, and keep walking towards the beaconing light (even if the world is screaming at you that it is red.)

Covergirl

When I was asked a few days ago if I would mind having a picture of myself in the new advertisement for work I didn't realize I would have the whole front page to myself!

I arrived at work today to seen an enormous stack of fliers with my face plastered on the front. My first thought was "Yes, I completed something from my list!" (Later I realized that modeling wasn't on there but it should have been and I seriously debated adding it so I could then cross it off.)

After that diva moment, however, I became more pensive. While I understand that an American's presence is great P.R. I felt a bit awkward about it all, especially after I searched the rest of the flier only to find three more pictures of me working and an absence of anyone else. So although I work with six other amazing people who have dedicated themselves at this job for many years and will continue to work here long after I have left, I am the sole representative of this group.

And with that humble realization I began to think about all the potential instances when I may have been the sole image of Christ or the particular representative remembered in regards to a religious experience. It's one thing to be responsible for how an organization looks and is remembered, but the immense responsibility needed for representing Him is more than I want. And yet, I have committed to His P.R. project. I, along with many others, daily claim to be followers, but I wonder, are we intentionally aware of the examples we're giving others to follow?

Honor for Estrogen

Yesterday I enjoyed potentially the best holiday after Christmas and Easter. The international holiday celebrating women was such a positive, refreshing experience. Unlike Valentine's Day, where the social pressures make you feel as though you've failed if you are single yet again, Women's Day does not require you to have a man in your life to feel loved. Unlike New Year's Eve, where the expectation is an evening of new beginnings (again with a significant other), Women's Day is a pleasant reminder of the glories and struggles of women alone that have indirectly influenced all of us today. And, unlike Mother's Day, during which I yearn for the joy of such responsibility, Women's day only requires me to be that which I was at birth: female.

Such simple acceptance is not easily found so I caught myself thinking often yesterday of God's abundant grace as He invited everyone to enjoy His holiday gift. Although I know this international day of recognition for women was not created to give glory to God, isn't it wonderful how it can?

I chose to honor the women here in my life with flowers and phone messages. I was blessed in return with gifts, an amazing dinner and much fellowship. I am beginning to appreciate so much more the power and importance of female friendships!

Wash Me And I Shall Be Whiter Than Snow

As I walked to work this morning, I became suddenly aware of how black everything had become. I was blessed with two days of snowfall upon my arrival in January and although I know it has been occurring over two months, I was surprised by the coal dust that had settled everywhere, ruining the purity of this blanket of white.

Reflective thoughts led me to then compare my own life to a snowfall. The daily dirt that enters my life is not seen immediately. It is only when many days and months of such filth collect that I begin to notice the dingy color of my soul. I am thankful and grateful and awed when a new coat of snow arrives, transforming my world and my soul into a sparkling purity again. Why, then, am I not concerned with the potential pollutants? Why have I not done everything possible to keep out the coal; to identify and destroy each piece of dirt that attempts to ruin this clean canvas? Is it out of laziness and the trust that there will always be another snowstorm?

What if the weatherman refused to forecast a renewal through snow for any city who did not use all their efforts to preserve the snow given to them? What if He was so smart that he could tell which citizens gave all their efforts in destroying the dirt (even if they mistakingly let some taint their lawns), and which people pretended to care? What if He even knew about the people who swept more dirt into their neighbor's yards so as to make their own gray snow seem whiter? If our motives and actions concerning such tainting dirt mattered, would we be more concerned, would we then pay attention?

Peace like a speed bump?

Despite the road of rocks which remains a reality, there is peace in a decision well made.

Ruined

Do you ever have those moments when you're completely happy; only to be disrupted by a foreshadowing doom. Pay attention to the warning.

I came prepared for so many struggles, being halfway around the world from everyone I care about and love. But until now, things have come with ease. I have enjoyed my time here, and still felt connected with life at home.

Now there is pain. Now I am struggling.

Perhaps I am meant to sever ties completely for then I may learn more. Perhaps the sacrifice I was debating on for lent will come in the form of electronic communication. Or, perhaps I am just meant to learn to lean on Him for comfort, friendship and security rather than others back home.

Either way, things have definitely changed.

Drudging up Dust from the Depths of Darkness

It takes years of successes and failures
to truly and accurately find one’s voice.
~There Are No Shortcuts

As I remained bored again today I started sifting through my computer's old files. Organizing folders, deleting things and reminiscing over past pearls worthy of my hard drive space started me thinking. How much are our souls like a computer? Although we generally only have a dozen or so priorities demanding our affections (recent documents), we can easily recall old memories, dreams, guys who stole all our attention, and moments of saving grace. But how often do we? How often do we scour our hard drives, searching for an old memory that will shine light on our present? Why are we reluctant to take time to learn from the moments of darkness; to relive the pain so that we can remember and relish in the joy of the healing?

Under twenty thousand tons of brick and stone,
She carries all the weight of her own world,
and somewhere deep inside,
Beneath the cartilage and bone,
Beats the battered heart of one little girl alone.
She is sweet, like sugar,
But she is bitter like the broken sugar pot.
I say that, she could be anything she wants to be,
She only sees what she is not.

I don't like the valleys. I avoid them when I can. But I don't want to forget them. I don't want to hide them either. I want to rejoice with thankfulness that I didn't stay there; in the dust and dark, feeling all alone. Reading old files today reminded me of how I actually felt in the valley, which then filled me with a fresh awe for the Grace given unto me.

Hope is rising…on the wings of the morning
Hope is rising…in the shadows of the night.
Hope is rising…from the hands that have made us
And are holding us tight....

Dusty files from 2004:

We watched as the storm swallowed the light. The sky turned from blue to black, night descended in an instant and the dust was on us. Brown earth rained down from sky.
~Out of the Dust

I am dirt

The wind
tosses
me
about
a tiny insignificant
spec
lost in a powerful torrent.
But how can I be wind-
blown
dust
when I am going

nowhere?

Perhaps I am a jagged
ROCK
Stuck In The Ground
Immovable
yet slowly being
withered
away
by the
Crashing Waves
and
Howling Storms.

I long to be dust again
Moldable with a little
water and
Strong caring hands.
A rock can not be molded.
It is
ignored
especially when it is
plain.
Carvers callously chip
chip
chip
away at it’s crack-
ing sur-
face.
What is left is
ART
But what of that which is
destroyed?

Why can I not just be
unchanged
still desired
unbroken
still loved
just me?

Embracing Questions and the Answers Found

Do you think that so much of the busyness that occurs in our lives is to keep us from asking questions? Is it possible that we intrinsically know that if we ask questions we will inevitably find answers; answers to which we will then have to give a response? And since we've learned that a response eventually must be defended and fought for, are we avoiding creating such a core and consistent frame of mind that would demand we fight; fight for our beliefs and for the answers we hold dear? When did we start to question? When will we stop questioning? When will we allow our questions to turn into convictions that we will stand up for?

Streaming thoughts and tears

Emotions were on high alert today. Am I the only one who experiences times when all day long the littlest things will make me tear up and cry? Perhaps it's because I miss friends the most on Sundays, where I'm usually fellowshipping with the most amazing people, enjoying music, teaching, dinner at a restaurant, and evenings of winning Risk. (As long as I can hold Madagascar....)

This morning started out with much difficultly as I reluctantly crawled out of bed, angry over having less than 9 total hours of sleep in the past two days. I checked my mail (Yay for fast internet again!), dressed and left for Sunday fellowship. While there I contemplated many things, including the greatness of a being that has so many disciplined and devout followers that they will sit in a cold building perpetually decorated for Christmas, on hard and uncomfortable benches, listening to an amazing choir that sadly sounds terrible due to the primitive sound system. I then sickened myself with thoughts of a particular fellowship in Edina that spends more on tea -light candles in a week than we would here in a year. When did my father become a media experience? How soon will it take our generation to strip down this sugar coated advertisement of a convenient and comfortable savior to the bare truth? Am I even ready for such an enlightenment?

After such tiring thoughts and emotional swings during this morning's fellowship, I joined John and Mary back at their apartment for lunch. I had anticipated a nap, but instead chose to run to the store for some snacks I had been craving for days. Two snickers and some peanut milk later, I returned to John's apartment for an English study.

Typically, I will be spending Sunday afternoons working, but due to the lovely Spring Festival (when will we develop a month-long holiday in the US!?!) I was able to ponder a passage with these students. I am continually surprised at how much I can learn from a similar story. Among other things, we discussed the symbolism of black clouds. In China, just as in America, a dark cloud often evokes feelings of depression and difficulty. Amazingly though, in this passage and throughout the rest of the books, any time a cloud appears (dark or otherwise) it is the presence of the Father. Therefore, clouds should evoke feelings of safety and support. Such a revelation reminds me of the footprints story where, in our moments of greatest weakness and despair, we were not left alone as the footprints in the sand suggest, but rather we were then carried. I am challenged to change my perspective of the 'black clouds' which threaten to cause difficulties and steal my joy from an outlook of despair to that of appreciation with the knowledge that my Father is present and dwelling among me, trying to teach me and mold me to His will. I am quite intrigued with this whole cloud concept so I think I will start a word study focusing on clouds.

I postponed my Sunday nap even longer when, after the study, John needed to go shopping downtown. I'm not one for passing up shopping opportunities (especially when dependent upon a translator) so I headed out again with John and our translator, Lydia. We ordered some tables and carpet for the camp and then proceeded to look for a converter for me. I ignorantly used my hair dryer in my first converter that wasn't quite strong enough for the power of hot air, so I was in need of a new one. After first looking for the correct conversion, John advised me to simply buy a new dryer and straightener since they'd be cheaper and easier to find. So, we switched our target and began looking again.

I don't know how to accurately describe my shopping experiences and the utter chaos and inconvenience of shopping here. Nothing seems organized and each counter is run by a different person causing paying to be a chore. We finally found something suitable and left that mall in search of yarn and a crochet hook. While at the camp, I noticed a wife of one of the worker's crocheting. The affirmation that China did indeed have crochet hooks made me giddy. Finding the yarn was quite simple, but it seems that knitting is much more popular and if any crocheting is done, it's for projects such as doilies since the only hooks were small ones. I purchased the largest hook I could find, which will hopefully satisfy me until my beloved Bates arrives in my mother's care package. By this time all the shops were closing so we headed back home.

Although I really just wanted to crash and sleep when I returned to my apartment at 7 pm, I remained responsible by putting away my purchases, starting some laundry, checking my email, and creating this post. But now the lack of sleep is really starting to wear on me so I'm going to bed. I have noticed that my post times are being registered as if I were still within the US, so as not to confuse you, it's 11 pm on Sunday night and I'm signing out.



***Apologies for the possibly disconnected thoughts of this post. I was recently encouraged to write in steams of thoughts with less corrections and perfections. And I'm sure you're confused, thinking I've been doing this all along...

Can Old Dogs Learn New Tricks?

After two days of relaxing and playing games with the American staff and Chinese friends here at Camp Shamineau, we have finally arrived at a plan for the remaining days before students arrive for the third camp on January 7th.

Sherry and Woody (a retired American couple that I'm sharing an apartment with in Hailar) will be headed to Manzhouli, a city on the border of Russia, to visit with a friend and recruit students in a few schools for summer camps.

I'll be returning to Hailar tomorrow morning with John and his wife Mary (owners of the camp) where I hope to spend a few days plastered in front of my computer screen, making this blog more like home with pictures and some style, finally composing worthy email responses, organizing pictures and song files, and continuing the journaling I've recently started.

I found a book today while organizing the storage room here at the camp that I'll discuss in detail in a later post, which has inspired me to journal. Granted, finding the inspiration to journal has never been my difficulty, rather lacking the discipline to continue after a few days is my failure. We shall see if old dogs can learn new tricks. My Chinese symbol is a dog and in China, because of how they count one's age, I am 25! So it seems as if I really am an old dog! Hopefully I won't become lazy and fat.....