Wage peace with your breath
Breathe in firemen and rubble
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.
Breathe in terrorists
and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.
Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.
Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.
Make soup.
Play music, memorize the words for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.
Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief
as the outbreath of beauty
or the gesture of fish.
Swim for the other side.
Wage peace.
Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:
Have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Celebrate today.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
am I?
I am a hunter of beauty and I move slow and I keep the eyes wide, every fiber of every muscle sensing all wonder and this is the thrill of the hunt and I could be an expert on the life full, the beauty meat that lurks in every moment.
I hunger to taste life.
God.
~Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
I hunger to taste life.
God.
~Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
an end-of-summer reflection
Though I'm mostly looking forward these days, I still have to take some time to look back. This was written Friday morning, my last day at Highland for the summer, after what has become a traditional good-bye/prayer walk.
I went on my usual walk early this morning to say goodbye. It was unbelievably clear, with the sun poking through the trees, the air crisp, and a shadow of moon lingering. I thought into the cool morning air, Highland, you have a giant piece of my heart.
Whether true or not, this doesn't feel like the end of my time at Highland. My time as a counselor is closing, that is for certain, and I'm fine with that. But whether it's self-preservation, idiotic hope, or a real sign, my mind refuses to disallow the possibility of returning. It's the wholehearted fun, enthusiasm for God and people, submerging in nature, living with arms wide open that I can't let go of. This has become my summer home, in a way, and perhaps my spirit's truest home.
I know that the end of a summer is not the right time for me to make any decisions about the future. In the words of our Fireside speaker this week, I'm telling God to be in the driver's seat. It might be impossible or totally wrong. But if it's right, God will lead us back here. Maybe I will feel differently in a few months, about coming back. But I will always love the things I love about working here, and I want so badly for them to be true year-round. Right now I'm content to wait and see what the future holds.
Just before returning to my cabin, I stopped on the familiar wooden bridge that's just on the verge of being too steep. As I watched the sparkling water tumbling down the creek, I thought,
You have lifted my heart into song, and I am thankful.
I went on my usual walk early this morning to say goodbye. It was unbelievably clear, with the sun poking through the trees, the air crisp, and a shadow of moon lingering. I thought into the cool morning air, Highland, you have a giant piece of my heart.
Whether true or not, this doesn't feel like the end of my time at Highland. My time as a counselor is closing, that is for certain, and I'm fine with that. But whether it's self-preservation, idiotic hope, or a real sign, my mind refuses to disallow the possibility of returning. It's the wholehearted fun, enthusiasm for God and people, submerging in nature, living with arms wide open that I can't let go of. This has become my summer home, in a way, and perhaps my spirit's truest home.
I know that the end of a summer is not the right time for me to make any decisions about the future. In the words of our Fireside speaker this week, I'm telling God to be in the driver's seat. It might be impossible or totally wrong. But if it's right, God will lead us back here. Maybe I will feel differently in a few months, about coming back. But I will always love the things I love about working here, and I want so badly for them to be true year-round. Right now I'm content to wait and see what the future holds.
Just before returning to my cabin, I stopped on the familiar wooden bridge that's just on the verge of being too steep. As I watched the sparkling water tumbling down the creek, I thought,
You have lifted my heart into song, and I am thankful.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Call me anything: The name-changing crisis
After August 10, 2013, my full name will be Margaret Elaine Smeltzer Miller.
I've thought about this for a long time. While some people have always known what they will do, the name change decision was, for me, a big deal.
Let me say this now: My name does not make me who I am.
I am not less of a feminist for adding my fiance's last name to my own, nor would our marriage and future family have been less united had I decided not to add his name.
The question of whether or not I would change my name has been fraught with indecision (not the norm for me) and many bigger questions of identity, family, and experience. "What's in a name" is, in fact, a lot. As strange as it might sound, it actually has been a bit of a journey to arrive at this decision. Along the way, I asked many others for their thoughts on the matter. My grandmother, wise soul, told me that her own decision to change her name (over fifty years ago) resulted from the realization that either way, she would have a man's name: her father's, or her husband's. In that light, it made more sense to share a name with her husband than to share one with her father, given her family dynamics and life circumstances. While my situation is different, the story caused me to ask what I might be saying or implying by keeping my name. Is it simply a statement against the patriarchal tradition of women as property? (Which, in my opinion, is a valid reason to keep one's name.) Is it a strong connection to my family of origin? Perhaps, but I've always felt most similar to my maternal grandmother's family. Other than halfheartedly considering changing my last name to Brenneman, this line of thinking didn't get me far.
I also talked to my violin instructor, who legally took her husband's name but uses her name entirely in all her professional life. In her case it makes sense, because she completed her master's degree in violin performance and travelled around Europe performing music before getting married. I have nowhere near that degree of name recognition as a musician, so I won't use my name professionally for that reason. However, I might use my name professionally simply because I have accumulated my own series of memories, accomplishments, and recognitions as Meg Smeltzer. They may not be notable to the musical world as a whole, but they are significant to me.
Another way to say it is this: I am not overly attached to my last name, but I have collected my twenty years' worth of identity under this name. Having four names feels the most right, out of all the options, because it acknowledges my past identity while preparing for the future identity that is implicit in forming a new family.
I also want to refute some aspects of the name-changing conversation that have been stifling, unhelpful, or just plain wrong to me. First of all, some of the pressure stems from a belief that a shared name somehow represents your family unity, or lack thereof.
A quote from Scrubs illustrates it with humor.
Carla: "I've been thinking, I might not change my name after we get married. It's part of my identity, you know?"
Turk: "That's fine, honey, we'll just be one of those couples where the husband and wife don't love each other."
In all seriousness, though, I believe this mindset is actually very prevalent in some circles (in some cases, perhaps subconsciously). And it just is not true. My marriage will not be more or less loving, protected, and cherished because of our shared names.
Let me also say this: I do not in any way look down upon or undermine other women's decisions regarding this topic. What is right for me should not be interpreted as automatically right for anyone else (and vice versa). Although, to be honest, I do sometimes feel a little twinge of disappointment when I see other women changing their names on facebook following their weddings. I'll always give a little cheer for those who love their name enough to take a stand and keep it.
Recently, another point that came to light for me relates to the history of name-changing. I have long understood that this tradition comes from a time when women were owned, dependent, subordinate. The idea of dedicating to this tradition something so personal as my name was abhorrent. However, I realized that all cultures have customs relating to names and how they evolve, and a big reason for this is simplicity. We have to have a way to organize ourselves as a society, or else nobody would know who was related to whom. So maybe, just maybe, I can allow myself to see my own name-addition as a natural way to be associated with my families, and less connected to a past assumption that my husband will hold the position as head of our household, controller of my time and resources, ultimate decision-maker, and divine liaison.
In summary, my plan for the future: I'll add another name to my original three. I'll call myself whatever I want. You can call me whatever you want. Just not Mrs. Daniel Miller.
I've thought about this for a long time. While some people have always known what they will do, the name change decision was, for me, a big deal.
Let me say this now: My name does not make me who I am.
I am not less of a feminist for adding my fiance's last name to my own, nor would our marriage and future family have been less united had I decided not to add his name.
The question of whether or not I would change my name has been fraught with indecision (not the norm for me) and many bigger questions of identity, family, and experience. "What's in a name" is, in fact, a lot. As strange as it might sound, it actually has been a bit of a journey to arrive at this decision. Along the way, I asked many others for their thoughts on the matter. My grandmother, wise soul, told me that her own decision to change her name (over fifty years ago) resulted from the realization that either way, she would have a man's name: her father's, or her husband's. In that light, it made more sense to share a name with her husband than to share one with her father, given her family dynamics and life circumstances. While my situation is different, the story caused me to ask what I might be saying or implying by keeping my name. Is it simply a statement against the patriarchal tradition of women as property? (Which, in my opinion, is a valid reason to keep one's name.) Is it a strong connection to my family of origin? Perhaps, but I've always felt most similar to my maternal grandmother's family. Other than halfheartedly considering changing my last name to Brenneman, this line of thinking didn't get me far.
I also talked to my violin instructor, who legally took her husband's name but uses her name entirely in all her professional life. In her case it makes sense, because she completed her master's degree in violin performance and travelled around Europe performing music before getting married. I have nowhere near that degree of name recognition as a musician, so I won't use my name professionally for that reason. However, I might use my name professionally simply because I have accumulated my own series of memories, accomplishments, and recognitions as Meg Smeltzer. They may not be notable to the musical world as a whole, but they are significant to me.
Another way to say it is this: I am not overly attached to my last name, but I have collected my twenty years' worth of identity under this name. Having four names feels the most right, out of all the options, because it acknowledges my past identity while preparing for the future identity that is implicit in forming a new family.
I also want to refute some aspects of the name-changing conversation that have been stifling, unhelpful, or just plain wrong to me. First of all, some of the pressure stems from a belief that a shared name somehow represents your family unity, or lack thereof.
A quote from Scrubs illustrates it with humor.
Carla: "I've been thinking, I might not change my name after we get married. It's part of my identity, you know?"
Turk: "That's fine, honey, we'll just be one of those couples where the husband and wife don't love each other."
In all seriousness, though, I believe this mindset is actually very prevalent in some circles (in some cases, perhaps subconsciously). And it just is not true. My marriage will not be more or less loving, protected, and cherished because of our shared names.
Let me also say this: I do not in any way look down upon or undermine other women's decisions regarding this topic. What is right for me should not be interpreted as automatically right for anyone else (and vice versa). Although, to be honest, I do sometimes feel a little twinge of disappointment when I see other women changing their names on facebook following their weddings. I'll always give a little cheer for those who love their name enough to take a stand and keep it.
Recently, another point that came to light for me relates to the history of name-changing. I have long understood that this tradition comes from a time when women were owned, dependent, subordinate. The idea of dedicating to this tradition something so personal as my name was abhorrent. However, I realized that all cultures have customs relating to names and how they evolve, and a big reason for this is simplicity. We have to have a way to organize ourselves as a society, or else nobody would know who was related to whom. So maybe, just maybe, I can allow myself to see my own name-addition as a natural way to be associated with my families, and less connected to a past assumption that my husband will hold the position as head of our household, controller of my time and resources, ultimate decision-maker, and divine liaison.
In summary, my plan for the future: I'll add another name to my original three. I'll call myself whatever I want. You can call me whatever you want. Just not Mrs. Daniel Miller.
Friday, May 24, 2013
source unknown
It was a chilly, overcast day when the horseman spied a little sparrow lying on its back in the middle of the road. Reining in his mount, he looked down and inquired of the fragile creature,
"Why are you lying upside down like that?"
"I heard the heavens are going to fall today," replied the bird.
The horseman laughed. "And I suppose your spindly legs can hold up the heavens?"
"One does what one can," said the little sparrow.
"Why are you lying upside down like that?"
"I heard the heavens are going to fall today," replied the bird.
The horseman laughed. "And I suppose your spindly legs can hold up the heavens?"
"One does what one can," said the little sparrow.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
EMU Highlights: Adventures
One of my Worldview classes this semester involved a discussion about adventure, and I was inspired to make a list of my own adventures while at EMU. Of course almost anything can be an adventure if you make it one, so the list could be much longer, but these are the ones that came to mind right away.
-Sleeping in Solidarity on the EMU hill (sometimes in near-freezing temperatures)
-Interrupting a Disney movie marathon to go dumpster diving in the hippie van before spring break
-Getting caught dumpster diving by four police cars
-camping at Byron & Deanna's farm over graduation weekend sophomore year (making popcorn over the fire, playing Truth, almost freezing during the night)
-Mountain Justice Spring Break (ecology tour, being part of a protest outside Bank of America)
-Camping at Byron & Deanna's farm again over grad weekend junior year (biking there and back, trying to cook a chicken over a fire)
-Being part of a make-it-up-ourselves triathlon with my family and some friends
-Bungee jumping in Western Cape
-Riding an ostrich in Oudtshoorn
-hiking & exploring in Lesotho (especially the waterfall hike)
There have been many more memorable moments, and there will be many more to come. :) What is your favorite adventure memory?
-Sleeping in Solidarity on the EMU hill (sometimes in near-freezing temperatures)
-Interrupting a Disney movie marathon to go dumpster diving in the hippie van before spring break
-Getting caught dumpster diving by four police cars
-camping at Byron & Deanna's farm over graduation weekend sophomore year (making popcorn over the fire, playing Truth, almost freezing during the night)
-Mountain Justice Spring Break (ecology tour, being part of a protest outside Bank of America)
-Camping at Byron & Deanna's farm again over grad weekend junior year (biking there and back, trying to cook a chicken over a fire)
-Being part of a make-it-up-ourselves triathlon with my family and some friends
-Bungee jumping in Western Cape
-Riding an ostrich in Oudtshoorn
-hiking & exploring in Lesotho (especially the waterfall hike)
There have been many more memorable moments, and there will be many more to come. :) What is your favorite adventure memory?
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
EMU Highlights: Experiments
I want to be the kind of person who consistently strives to make herself more aware of the world, and more engaged in conscious and generous living. Since my first year at EMU, there have been many "experiments" I've done, usually in an attempt to change myself, sometimes in an attempt to change the people around me (often both). Not all of them have been successful, but I've learned something from each one.
- Two weeks of eating only local foods (for first-year Ruling Ideas project)
- Spending 10 weeks not using shampoo
Supposedly, if you stop washing your hair, your hair eventually adjusts and you don't need shampoo anymore. Mine definitely improved, but it never got totally clean without washing, so now I just wash it less frequently than I once did.
- Three weeks of eating only local foods
- Writing a letter every day for a month (self-titled the Letter Revolution)
For most of the letters I sent, I asked the recipient to pay it forward by writing a letter of their own. I have no idea if they actually did, but hopefully the world got a little more snail-mail love.
- Wearing the same outfit for 5 days straight to see if people noticed
This was interesting because people actually did NOT notice. Of course, it's totally possible that people in my classes noticed but didn't say anything. But of my close friends and intentional community members, plus my now-fiance, all of them were surprised when I clued them in on Friday of that week.
- Wearing makeup every day for a week (failed: gave up after 2 days)
It turns out this isn't the sort of thing that people really comment on (at least to me). It just made me feel weird and fake, so I stopped.
- Screen-free Sabbaths
For my own well-being, but they also allowed for extra roommie time, which was usually spent doing a puzzle on the living room floor. And who can regret extra time spent doing something relaxing and non-essential with friends?
Monday, April 22, 2013
EMU Highlights: Classes
As part of my reflecting on my time at EMU, I started making lists of notable aspects of the past four years. So, to start, here are the classes that I currently consider to be the best ones I've taken.
1. Social Psychology (Judy Mullet)
This is one of the few classes whose key concepts still come back to me regularly. If you ever do anything with people, this class will be helpful to you.
2. Creative Writing (Kirsten Beachy)
So much imagination, philosophizing, and hilarity contained in one class. Words are a vessel, and this group of writers carried some interesting things.
3. Worldview Seminar (Ken J. Nafziger)
We get to choose what we do each class period. We get to talk about interesting ideas and experiences and worldviews in a group of honors students. We get to laugh and be serious. We get to wonder about life.
4. Native American Lit (Andrew White)
I've liked most of my lit classes, but this one was especially fascinating to me. I loved the ideas immediately, and soaked in this new understanding of oppression and disadvantage. The Native American philosophy seemed so right to me, and I was inspired by the emphasis on circularity and balance between all living things. If I believed in reincarnation, I would say I was a Native American in a past life.
5. Chamber Singers (Ken J. Nafziger)
A constant of my college experience, and yet different every semester. I've learned to appreciate many, many styles of singing, and it feels like we've done a bit of almost everything.
Our concert last night was bittersweet, but absolutely beautiful, as always. As we sang "No ways tired" (with the words "I don't believe he's brought me this far just to leave me"), I looked out at the audience, at so many faces with smiles and tears, and I felt tears beginning in my own eyes as I realized, We are all a part of each other. This is my community, which I love.
1. Social Psychology (Judy Mullet)
This is one of the few classes whose key concepts still come back to me regularly. If you ever do anything with people, this class will be helpful to you.
2. Creative Writing (Kirsten Beachy)
So much imagination, philosophizing, and hilarity contained in one class. Words are a vessel, and this group of writers carried some interesting things.
3. Worldview Seminar (Ken J. Nafziger)
We get to choose what we do each class period. We get to talk about interesting ideas and experiences and worldviews in a group of honors students. We get to laugh and be serious. We get to wonder about life.
4. Native American Lit (Andrew White)
I've liked most of my lit classes, but this one was especially fascinating to me. I loved the ideas immediately, and soaked in this new understanding of oppression and disadvantage. The Native American philosophy seemed so right to me, and I was inspired by the emphasis on circularity and balance between all living things. If I believed in reincarnation, I would say I was a Native American in a past life.
5. Chamber Singers (Ken J. Nafziger)
A constant of my college experience, and yet different every semester. I've learned to appreciate many, many styles of singing, and it feels like we've done a bit of almost everything.
Our concert last night was bittersweet, but absolutely beautiful, as always. As we sang "No ways tired" (with the words "I don't believe he's brought me this far just to leave me"), I looked out at the audience, at so many faces with smiles and tears, and I felt tears beginning in my own eyes as I realized, We are all a part of each other. This is my community, which I love.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Lesotho reflections: #3
October 1, 2012
I wish you could see what I see now. I'm sitting in front of my two-room house in Malealea village. It's been warm today, but it's late afternoon and the sun is just starting to cool. On my right, there is a row of huge aloe plants separating our house from the neighbors'. A group of three small children, one with a baby on her back, just ran by and we talked a little in Sesotho. They laughed gleefully in their four-year-old voices; the youngest one jumped up and down when she told me her name. At the end of the aloe row, I can just barely see the pump where we draw our water. There are women gathered there with brightly colored plastic buckets to carry water.
I can see three buildings ahead of me, round brick homes with straw roofs. Straight ahead there are trees in a row, but to the left the trees and bushes are lower and I can see the mountains. They are massive, a jagged ridge against the blue expanse of sky without a single cloud. The mountains here are not covered with trees; instead they are a gray-brown color from a distance, like rock chiseled into slopes and pyramids and dusted with a light cover of grass.
Everyplace with grass is covered with the same yellow flowers. The soil is richly clay-colored, but dusty. Sometimes you can see a faint sheen of dust on the air. The entire village is connected by small dirt paths, so people often walk past, sometimes wrapped in a seana marena, the traditional blanket of the Basotho people. I see a horse grazing, and I would only have to walk a few steps to see chickens, pigs, and dogs. Any direction you look gives you a view of the mountains rising taller than anything, far above the plateau of our village. When the sun sets behind the mountains, their ridges turn dark in a stunning clarity against the still-blue sky. I wish you could see what I see.
I wish you could see what I see now. I'm sitting in front of my two-room house in Malealea village. It's been warm today, but it's late afternoon and the sun is just starting to cool. On my right, there is a row of huge aloe plants separating our house from the neighbors'. A group of three small children, one with a baby on her back, just ran by and we talked a little in Sesotho. They laughed gleefully in their four-year-old voices; the youngest one jumped up and down when she told me her name. At the end of the aloe row, I can just barely see the pump where we draw our water. There are women gathered there with brightly colored plastic buckets to carry water.
I can see three buildings ahead of me, round brick homes with straw roofs. Straight ahead there are trees in a row, but to the left the trees and bushes are lower and I can see the mountains. They are massive, a jagged ridge against the blue expanse of sky without a single cloud. The mountains here are not covered with trees; instead they are a gray-brown color from a distance, like rock chiseled into slopes and pyramids and dusted with a light cover of grass.
Everyplace with grass is covered with the same yellow flowers. The soil is richly clay-colored, but dusty. Sometimes you can see a faint sheen of dust on the air. The entire village is connected by small dirt paths, so people often walk past, sometimes wrapped in a seana marena, the traditional blanket of the Basotho people. I see a horse grazing, and I would only have to walk a few steps to see chickens, pigs, and dogs. Any direction you look gives you a view of the mountains rising taller than anything, far above the plateau of our village. When the sun sets behind the mountains, their ridges turn dark in a stunning clarity against the still-blue sky. I wish you could see what I see.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Changing perspectives
Bad luck: having a gigantic splinter rip itself into my left hand, right where it touches the neck of my violin, and then having to teach a violin lesson before I could take it out.
Optimism: feeling thankful that it didn't happen five hours earlier, when I was about to walk onstage to perform.
Cynicism: griping because of the new sign stating that students aren't allowed to use the microwave in the music office.
Humbling: getting an email that there's now a new microwave for student use in the music lab.
I feel like my perspective is changing a lot these days, as I'm reflecting on the parts of my identity that will need to be relinquished in the next few months...and the new parts that will be added in the months after that. I have no idea what some of these changes will be, but I know they're inevitable. Ambiguity is not the most comfortable house to live in, but it's a house that everyone visits. At least I'm not alone.
Optimism: feeling thankful that it didn't happen five hours earlier, when I was about to walk onstage to perform.
Cynicism: griping because of the new sign stating that students aren't allowed to use the microwave in the music office.
Humbling: getting an email that there's now a new microwave for student use in the music lab.
I feel like my perspective is changing a lot these days, as I'm reflecting on the parts of my identity that will need to be relinquished in the next few months...and the new parts that will be added in the months after that. I have no idea what some of these changes will be, but I know they're inevitable. Ambiguity is not the most comfortable house to live in, but it's a house that everyone visits. At least I'm not alone.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
peacemaking day by day
Instead of loving what you think is peace, love other men and women and love God above all else. Instead of hating all the people you think are war mongers, hate the appetites and disorders in your own soul which are the causes of war.
-Thomas Merton
-Thomas Merton
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Lesotho reflections: #2
A poem of sorts, which I wrote as a reflection the day before we left Lesotho.
Lesotho:
Children, and orphans
dirty, poor, neglected --
and beautiful.
not many opportunities --
but will they be happy?
Poverty: can I understand it?
Lesotho: development
the complexities of "helping"
teaching independence
"We don't give anything for nothing."
Dignity.
Lesotho: What does it mean for me?
simplicity
life without technology, electricity,
running water, cars --
and I was happy.
How can our world be different?
interconnectedness
between the privileged and the disadvantaged
an end to oppression?
Constructive confusion.
Thoughts about living overseas
less fear of the unknown.
I might not believe in "strangers" anymore
only people I don't know yet.
Lesotho:
Children, and orphans
dirty, poor, neglected --
and beautiful.
not many opportunities --
but will they be happy?
Poverty: can I understand it?
Lesotho: development
the complexities of "helping"
teaching independence
"We don't give anything for nothing."
Dignity.
Lesotho: What does it mean for me?
simplicity
life without technology, electricity,
running water, cars --
and I was happy.
How can our world be different?
interconnectedness
between the privileged and the disadvantaged
an end to oppression?
Constructive confusion.
Thoughts about living overseas
less fear of the unknown.
I might not believe in "strangers" anymore
only people I don't know yet.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Lesotho reflections: #1
While living in Malealea, Lesotho (the mountain kingdom), I wanted to capture my surroundings in some way, but found pictures to be inadequate. These words may not do it justice either, but it was the most fulfilling way I had of helping myself to remember how we were steeped in beauty.
October 13, 2012
I wish you could see what I see. I'm sitting on a rock on the northwest side of the plateau of Malealea village, our home this month. In front of me, the ground falls away steeply in a rocky mountainside; far below, it reaches a stream gorge hollowed out over time by water erosion. The stream curves all around the plateau and also branches out straight in front of me, carving into the vast mountains. These mountains surround the plateau completely, forming layers as far as you can see. The nearest ones are dizzyingly enormous and so close I can see the details of the sides: bare rock some places, small shrubs dotting the green of short, prickly grasses. Though I'm only a few minutes' walk from the village, the only sounds I can hear are a distant rush of water, bird caws and chirps, and a faint clink of cowbells -- probably a flock of sheep grazing on the mountainside, tended by a herd-boy.
The sun is still bright in the late afternoon sky, but it is nearing the tallest ridgeline. Entire mountains cast shadows hundreds of feet long on their neighbors; other places the landscape is dappled with shadow and warm golden light. The air is thick with peace; the breeze carries it to you and you breathe it in. I wish you could feel it.
October 13, 2012
I wish you could see what I see. I'm sitting on a rock on the northwest side of the plateau of Malealea village, our home this month. In front of me, the ground falls away steeply in a rocky mountainside; far below, it reaches a stream gorge hollowed out over time by water erosion. The stream curves all around the plateau and also branches out straight in front of me, carving into the vast mountains. These mountains surround the plateau completely, forming layers as far as you can see. The nearest ones are dizzyingly enormous and so close I can see the details of the sides: bare rock some places, small shrubs dotting the green of short, prickly grasses. Though I'm only a few minutes' walk from the village, the only sounds I can hear are a distant rush of water, bird caws and chirps, and a faint clink of cowbells -- probably a flock of sheep grazing on the mountainside, tended by a herd-boy.
The sun is still bright in the late afternoon sky, but it is nearing the tallest ridgeline. Entire mountains cast shadows hundreds of feet long on their neighbors; other places the landscape is dappled with shadow and warm golden light. The air is thick with peace; the breeze carries it to you and you breathe it in. I wish you could feel it.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
South Africa Itinerary
Please pray for us now and throughout the semester!
Aug. 29 Chapel, departure for Dulles Airport
Aug. 29 Chapel, departure for Dulles Airport
Aug 30 –
Sept. 2 St. Benedict's Retreat Center – Rosettenville
Cultural history lectures, language study
Sept. 3-22 Homestays - Soweto
Field trips, history/cultural lectures and discussion,
language study, involvement in community.
Sept. 23 St. Benedict’s Retreat Center
Sept. 24-27 Malealea Lodge – Lesotho
Language study, history and CC lectures, hiking
Sept 28-
Oct. 19 Homestays – Malealea Village, Lesotho
Immersion in local villages
Oct. 20 Malealea lodge: rest, skits and dramas
Oct. 21-28 Royal Hotel – Bethulie, S.A.
Lectures on politics, history and culture, Boer war
Oct. 24-26 Homestays – Bethulie
Immersion in community
Oct. 29 Addo Elephant Park – Addo, S.A.
Oct. 30-31 Albergo Lodge – Plettenberg Bay, S.A.
Reflection, discussion, drama groups
Nov. 1-6 Free travel
Nov. 7-8 Banghoek Lodge – Stellenbosh, S.A.
Reflection /discussion small groups
Nov. 9, 10 Ashanti Lodge – Capetown
Nov. 11-
Dec. 2 Homestays – Capetown
Series of lectures at University of Cape Town
Immersion in community
Dec. 3-6 Banghoek Lodge, S.A.
Dec. 7 Leave from Capetown International Airport
Dec. 8 Arrive at Dulles Airport
Sunday, August 5, 2012
anti-senioritis?
Here's the thing: Once you hit a certain point in the summer (like, August, for example), it becomes odd to keep saying, "I just finished my junior year." So then you find yourself saying, naturally, "I'll be a senior this year." Which is the cue for the other person to exclaim, "Oh! What will you do after you graduate?"
Laughing uncomfortably is not really an adequate response, it turns out.
So I now know that I need to somehow formulate a response that does not either take an in-depth, lengthy conversation to explain, or sound like I'm going to be living in a cardboard box. My extended family (who I was with at the beach last week) is pretty great, so they've seemed to understand when I babble for a while about my various options after graduation...and they've encouraged me that it's okay to have a lot of ideas and not very many plans. But I'm already doubting my stamina when it comes to explaining this to every single person who will ask me this question.
The interesting thing is, it doesn't scare me at all to have so many possibilities. There are many directions I could see myself going within the next year, and I'm okay with that. I might not be ready to leave EMU yet, but that's okay, too, because I still have another year.
For now, I can use the excuse of going to South Africa this fall (in 24 days!), and not have to think about it too much. But eventually I'll have to come up with some sort of creatively framed answer. At the beginning of the summer, I panicked while filling out a staff bio and wrote "follower of Jesus" under "Career path". Maybe that can be my fallback answer. In truth, it's much more than a fallback -- it is a way of living, and maybe we all need to be a little more okay with ambiguity when it comes to seeking out Christ's path.
Laughing uncomfortably is not really an adequate response, it turns out.
So I now know that I need to somehow formulate a response that does not either take an in-depth, lengthy conversation to explain, or sound like I'm going to be living in a cardboard box. My extended family (who I was with at the beach last week) is pretty great, so they've seemed to understand when I babble for a while about my various options after graduation...and they've encouraged me that it's okay to have a lot of ideas and not very many plans. But I'm already doubting my stamina when it comes to explaining this to every single person who will ask me this question.
The interesting thing is, it doesn't scare me at all to have so many possibilities. There are many directions I could see myself going within the next year, and I'm okay with that. I might not be ready to leave EMU yet, but that's okay, too, because I still have another year.
For now, I can use the excuse of going to South Africa this fall (in 24 days!), and not have to think about it too much. But eventually I'll have to come up with some sort of creatively framed answer. At the beginning of the summer, I panicked while filling out a staff bio and wrote "follower of Jesus" under "Career path". Maybe that can be my fallback answer. In truth, it's much more than a fallback -- it is a way of living, and maybe we all need to be a little more okay with ambiguity when it comes to seeking out Christ's path.
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