Houston - we are a go.

Residency is accomplished. Now what am I supposed to do?

Realised what my problem is- lack of distance.

To be a good journalist, I think, you have to maintain a certain distance from the subject.
You have to be able to present the people with a relative amount of outside or overhead perspective. And you have to be able to show the events in a way that relates to the viewers/listeners.

The best kind of journalist, then, is someone who is both an insider and an outsider. An insider to the extent of understanding at least a little of what's going on; an outsider to the extent of relaying the story to other outsiders so they can understand it too. An insider has more understanding, but more responsibility to stay and contribute smoothly. An outsider has carte blanche freedom to ask questions, to be awkward, to come and go as needed.

And while this job - on paper - needed exactly the kind of insider/outsider I am - in person - in real life so far there has not been enough *distance*. Which seems a little counterintuitive, since common logic says a person should move to their place of assignment and settle in. I actually think I might have done better, job-wise, if I had never settled in. I no longer have the edge of 'newness' all around me, and, possibly more dangerous, have no sense of urgency for most of my assignments. A time deadline is knowing today will soon be gone. But a *space* deadline is knowing that *here* will soon be gone. Multitasking is simple. Multi-spacing is not, or not until teleportation is invented.

I'm dependent on events and scheduling for the unconscious moments of life that I can translate back to others. And in the everyday life that I'm slipping into, it's way easier to watch the fireworks on tv than to hunt them down with my own camera. Besides, they'll be there next holiday, right? So will these people, along with the seasons. Once I'm anchored, I can always capture them later. I am getting so comfortable here that it is hard to tell the city's stories. I am getting so close to the people that it is hard to tell their stories.

Because stories wait somewhere between the first handshakes and the last hugs.

"We travellers are in very hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull and have observed nothing. If we tell anything new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic."
- Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

cliche


hi, i'm lost, confused, and blinded
standing two steps from your door
but i stop to ask directions
like everyone who's gone before

i'm a cliche
you invite me in
anyway

i'm too short to see the street signs
i'm too tall too see the curb
until i trip all over
everything that i deserve

then i ask why you're not at eye-level
but i'd push you away if you were
i want to know why you're not here at my side
when i look for you round the next curve

i'm a cliche
you invite me in
anyway

one of these times i'll get it right
i'll learn to bring you the questions first
before i work them out myself
and bask in all the sunrise burst
of what i didn't need to know at all...

and one part just hit too close to home, as it were.

"Do not be afraid, Abram,
I am your shield,
your very great reward."

how awesome of a conversation-beginner is that? God comes to you and says, "you have no home, you've been wandering for decades, and you just survived a war. do not be afraid. I'm protecting you. I will be worth it all for you, what you've been working through is not meaningless."

and what does Abram do? exactly what I do, over and over. exactly what i think and what i *say*, over and over.

"O Lord God, what can you give me since...."

nice way to start a reply. with yourself, right? 'since' becomes the issue, not God or His promises. in Abram's case, it's his lack of children that's stressing him. so they have a whole conversation on that issue, and God promises him heirs, and (finally) "Abram believed the Lord, and He counted it to him as righteousness." dot dot dot.

point being, God promised Abram protection and, more than that, Himself. "I am your reward". trophy at a tournament, princess in the tower, acceptance to ivy league schools or promotion in the military. "I am your reward." who gets God as a prize?

and, more frustrating, why is Abram- why am i- so dense about saying, "never mind about that- WHAT CAN YOU GIVE ME, SINCE..." ???

Today this is my country.

Maybe it has been for a while... maybe it will be more mine later.

But today, through the sunshine, the blizzard, hours exploring, and unpacking bags at the end, it was mine.

Got chased by tractors. Barked at by dogs. Waved at by farmers during kilometres of back road biking and gulping in the beauty and freedom and SPACE. Avoided riding through the puddles (mostly) and came home so tired, but oh so content. New favourite place to escape to, as much as I'm fond of our city.

Hills, real hills- did you grow up in them? Did you ever forget the comfort of not seeing more than a few bends ahead, and then suddenly a whole valley dropping at your feet? Did you round a bend to be surprised by a wayside crucifix with small candles still burning? I spoke out loud before I thought about it- "He's not *dead*! He's not dead anymore, y'all, He's *alive*!" Do you think Jesus objects to tiny quiet places in a northern countryside, to small quiet corners where He's remembered with devotion and delicate purple flowered vines? I think He'd like it. But remember why we remember Him! "Why do you look for Him among the dead? He is not here, HE IS ALIVE!" as the angel said on Easter.

Life, she decided, was settling into a comfortable soundtrack.

The days each had their own arrangement of music, varying from morning to afternoon and sometimes from hour to hour, between the classical orderliness of meetings, easygoing R&B and jazz for working at home, and random outbreaks of hiphop or rock during city adventures.

She had thought- oh so mistakenly- that sometime after her arrival in the country life would settle into a pattern. But there was no rhythm to these days whatsoever. The only solidity at all was that (generally) she and her roommates were asleep between 3 and 7 am. Thanks to the invention of laptops, she could do her work at any hour and at any location (top picks? 11pm while away babysitting, 9am next to the kitchen radiator, and 4pm at the coffeeshop.) Meals were eaten whenever and wherever hunger struck (top picks? a 5pm gyro while riding a bike home, 3am cold cornbread with a book, an orange on the way to volleyball, and noon-ish espressos and crepes on a weekend.)

Food, though, had maintained the magic of community in a shifting life. Some mornings, after long weeks or late nights, the only words spoken were, "Do you want coffee?" Some evenings, "Do you want soup?" was an innocent beginning to hours of hanging out. Inviting friends over for meals - and the subsequent preparation and cleanup - made the often-empty apartment suddenly feel like a home.

The only thing was, she learned... not to expect more than there was. To be content with the serendipity of hot coffee, the occasional hug, and spontaneous adventure offers. And to adopt the motto she found inscribed on an old building - "faber est suae quisque fortunae," Latin for "each man is the maker of his own fortune"....

"Revelation" - Third Day

My life has led me down the road that’s so uncertain
And now I am left alone and I am broken,
Tryin’ to find my way, tryin’ to find the faith that’s gone

This time, I know that you are holding all the answers
I’m tired of losing hope and taking chances,
On roads that never seem,
To be the ones that bring me home

Give me a revelation,
Show me what to do
Cause I’ve been tryin’ to find my way,
I haven’t got a clue
Tell me should I stay here,
Or do I need to move
Give me a revelation
I’ve got nothing without You
I’ve got nothing without You

My life has led me down this path that’s ever winding
Through every twist and turn I’m always finding,
That I am lost again (I am lost again)
Tell me when this road will ever end

I don’t know where I can turn
Tell me when will I learn
Won’t You show me where I need to go
Oh oh
Let me follow Your lead,
I know that it’s the only way that I can get back home

Give me a revelation,
Show me what to do
Cause I’ve been trying to find my way,
I haven’t got a clue
Tell me should I stay here,
Or do I need to move
Give me a revelation
I’ve got nothing without You
I’ve got nothing without You

I have cried three times since I've been here, all in the last thirty days. Normally I can go for months, so I'm going to blame on circumstances. Or lack of. For example, I made it through saying dear goodbyes back in the States without melting down, ditto for a month of intense language school here (in a totally random, slavic language, fyi). Hard but surviveable.

However, when I was told I couldn't have a video camera till later, if at all, I lost it. Cried my eyes out for half an hour, then survived into my sixth or seventh week and was rewarded with a love of a camera. Two, three weeks of happiness... and then my grandfather passed away. That, at least, is a good excuse to cry, mourning the loss of someone who was had such a loving impact on life.

And tonight, I lost it again. But this time, it was not in the privacy of my room, and not for family or work reasons. Out on the evening street, snow falling and mixing with the tears, walking the last bit home so I wouldn't climb on the tram all red-eyed. Or maybe just so they wouldn't think I was drunk, since I was definitely crying and definitely *laughing* out loud.

I found volleyball. Right up the road.

You probably don't want all the details, and unless you're one of a rare few, you likely think that, if a camera's a bad excuse to cry, volleyball's a worse one. But there were guys playing- good ones- and they invited me to come back next week and play. There are womens' volleyball and basketball teams too, but I'm not sure if they're college or club.

Point being, there is nothing on earth like telling God you'll trust Him for friendships and activities in a new culture, working with what you're given, and then suddenly having Him drop something like this in your lap. Amazingness. Even if it does involve tears.

3/2/08

This is home. Ergo, I'm gone.
Up before you, out the door
You left unlocked once more - it sees
A new adventure every day
And anyway, I have my keys

I wipe m feet and come in quiet
Not for me your friendly riot
People grouping, hula hooping
I'll be back some time, no hurry
Out again or in, don't worry.

This my home turf you've adopted
I pick up right where I dropped it
Fancy that- I'm fancy free
Staying here where there you see
Much delighted, less surprised
I'm home
I hope you've realised....

Walking home one day this week, I was thinking about some story I read when I was 11 or 12. A friend accuses an artist of being cold-blooded, throws out the statement, "If someone you loved died, the first thing you'd do would be start sculpting." She doesn't reply. A month or so later, one of her close friends- maybe boyfriend- dies. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and starts sculpting....

So I'm thinking about this story, realising that I'd probably do the same thing. Start looking at old photos, at videos, writing poetry and memories down. My grandfather's been in poor health for a long while, but we've had some last great memories this past year and a half in the States, between my old home in west europe and my new-as-of-january home in east europe.

Really God-timing, because I just got a call from my mom- today he went home, to Heaven. And I know he walked (or flew, or whatever spirits do) up to God with the hugest smile on his face and said, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith!!!" And God said, "Well, done, good and faithful servant, enter into your Master's joy."

I've never known anyone as consistently faithful. I've met some awesome guys on fire for God, and that was definitely an attraction for me, because I've seen firsthand what it looks like to grow old in that. To share Jesus with total strangers, whether it's a friendly conversation or just a kind word. To interupt and accidentally (or on purpose!) annoy your wife while she's cooking Thanksgiving dinner for sixty three relatives- and then humbly apologise before she can even say anything. To still love that wife enough to pull her aside for a kiss or brag on her after fifty years of marriage. To have time to tease and talk seriously with each grandkid, no matter if they're 22 or 1. To wave your kids off on the plane for overseas, time and time again. To travel overseas to see those kids and your grandkids, and not complain about traveling expenses or annoyances but be honestly excited for them. To help as you can in the community, write letters to the governors and president about political issues you feel strongly about. To be a patriot, and believe in your country, and yet study issues and act in them.

And there's so much more my grandfather was. And I'm not there with my family- all of it- to *celebrate* his life and what we've gained from knowing him, but he knows I loved him, and he was proud of me for coming overseas on my own path. Which is the better for having seen him walk his.

So what do you do when you roll over in bed on a beautiful sunny morning, look out the window on your adopted city, and the first thought that drifts through the glass is, "This is too big for me. What am I *doing* here?"

And what's a wee bit unnerving is that this is happening to me more frequently (not the sunshine, mind you, the question). I hoped that longer I was here and the more I got to know my city, the more ready I'd be to answer that. Because I know I'm here for a reason. It just happens to be Father-sized, and while it's abstractly comforting to know it's not about me, a lot more faith is required. A whole lot. *Reckless faith.* I've started writing that on my wrist (without the period, b/c there are rarely periods after faith) to remind me what's going on. Or at least what should be going on.

I have my job, and I love it, but in some puzzling way it's giving me more questions than it's answering. The more I have permission to bounce in my fun bubble of warm apartment, hilarious roommates, video editing on my computer, and friends at gym and fellowship... the more I look out my window and say, "Today's not going to be enough if I stay in that safety."

Ever heard the song "I AM" by Ginny Owens? "How can I understand/This thing You're gonna do?"/"That's not your problem," God replied/"There's a bigger picture/ And you don't have to change the world /I'm your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them ... I AM"

And I think faith is just going to have to be enough, even on sunny days.

Both promised imperfect neighbors. Both boasted emphatic leadership, zealous disciples, and hearty opposition. It wasn't a question of faith or no faith. It was a decision to put his faith in God or man."

- "Echoes", Heitzmann

"She had challenged his whole life plan-- to find God's will and do it-- said he was fixated on finding the one thing God had intended for him, when every moment was an opportunity.
What if she was right?
Could one choice be God's will, and another as well?
It might not be about finding the one right answer as much as knowing the heart of God and choosing from the possibilities."


- "Secrets", Kristen Heitzmann

Just had a definite craving for the UAE.

I miss the plumeria tree booming over the gate, my grubby-curled, favourite 1yrold charge and his creative family, our camping nights under the Arabian stars surrounded by sand dunes and curious lizards, and South African braai- barbecues. I miss my rough-blackwood bunk and bringing baby Petite up there with me to coo as I proofread documents on my computer. I miss sleeping with the windows open and deliberately not turning the aircon on, and walkking down dust-thick roads to the pool. I miss palm trees.

I miss being somewhere and aching for what I left behind. Here and now, I miss what I left behind, but I won't go back for a year or two and that doesn't hurt me. I didn't belong there anyway, and the belonging that there was, was in preparation for *this*.

I know I'll miss this, but right now I miss three years ago.

Rags and Sequins


This last week was interesting. Still stressed about lack of camera (i.e., lack of work/freedom/fun/usefulness) on Monday, I headed to language school on another (unsurprisingly) grey day. I'd spent the night before alternating between depression and trying to regain perspective. 'Be careful what you wish for,' right? Sitting down on the tram, still consoling myself with "Just be patient", "Just give the whole thing over to God and don't be so dependent," and "It's just a camera, other people have real problems." And then I hear a voice, and saw a man walking pleadingly down the tram aisle.

"Does the lady have any change? Does the gentleman have any change?"

I'd wondered the other day why, unlike other cities, I hadn't seen people asking for money on public transport. Pretty interesting timing. I gave him some change, and a smile. And he moved on.

A few hours later, out of language class, I headed back home the same way. No panhandler (is there a politer word, btw?) but was still struck by the irony of city life and economics. Off at the tram stop, you walk through the sub-zero weather past old, bundled up women at little 30 cent pretzel stands into a heated mall. Down the escalator to the subway, you walk past stores like Dolce&Gabbana where the cheapest handbag might be $100 on a good day. Going over a bridge, you see self-important city trains headed off to Milan, Paris, Prague... and tucked under a corner of a bridge there's a pile of blankets where some homeless person made a bed. Once in my neighborhood, you're passed by gleaming silver Nissans as you walk past a dumpster with a withered shabby gentleman pulling out a half-eaten pizza.

All that. And days when I've got my iPod playing, studying language lists, or looking at train tickets for media work, I blank out the rags as well as the sequins. Which is- full circle- why I want a camera. So I- and you- can really see what I see.




(Good post on the subject from another city blogger -"Gentlemen, you give me hope!"

no wifi for us
you see you see
it's gone
and we're home
without even tv
are we sad?
do we care?
no, we just hit the road
there's way to much out of doors to explode


(hence the lack of updates. no wifi. apologies and we hope to soon return to our regularly scheduled sporadic updates. have a nice day.)

Not going to lie today....

Not that I normally lie, but I don't always tell all the truth. Generally because all the truth involves good and bad, and I'd rather just tell the good, because that's much more fun and there seem to be abundant people who like to just tell the bad.

And there's been so much good here. I've loved language class, and according to my teacher have done really well. Since all I have to go by is whether I understand a little more each day, I'm more focused on whether I can finish our workbook by the end of the next two weeks, which will finish off language class for me.

Adjusting to the culture here... total non-issue so far. It's Europe, where I grew up. Ergo, it's home. Obviously, there are small blips of surprise, like the evening I found liquid milk in small plastic *bags* in the grocery store. Or the time I went to apply for residency and found out passport photos are taken left-profile, not straight on. For the most part, though, it's been an easy transition and a fun one.

This weekend was hard, though. Exhausted from a long week of class, applying for residency, life in general, and getting one roommate fully moved in and another safely packed off for a week. Told the leaving Ragazza that hopefully I'd be getting my new video camera for work this week and could follow her down and catch some of the work on film...

Which leads to the whole 'not lying' issue. If this weekend was 'hard', tonight topped it. My supervisor, having talked with our other supervisor, told me that I'm probably going to have to wait till the beginning of February and our work meeting to figure out my work details. Like my camera, or lack of. And from the beginning I'd been told (and nicely accepting of) the fact that my job this first month was just to focus on language, adjusting, and getting a feel for what's needed.

But it's been three weeks, and tonight I can't handle it. Language is fine, people are fine, and I *need* my media. I am not okay with not having my job for the next two weeks. I know there's stuff I can do around the edges. I know there are good reasons. I know I obviously need to learn patience. And - even worse- I know there are people all around with way more important problems and bigger problems, which makes me feel like a total jerk for being upset about this, thanks. And explaining, "Separation from media and communication is slow *death* for me..." is not going to change the situation.

Two more weeks. I can deal with that. Especially if there are no more weekends like this.

another beautiful day!!

well, beautiful being a relative term... it started cloudy and stayed cold, but the sun came out, language school went great (my teacher and i have pushed and laughed our way through most of seven lessons by now!) and then there was this ('there was a, there was a') ladies get-together at a wee cosy cafe... and then, having had dessert/hot chocolate, me and two of my people made polite goodbyes and headed away from femininity and promptly found a doner shop.

walking down ancient cobbled streets, surrounded by graceful buildings and slavic sounds... mouths/forks buried in shwaerma meat and sla and sauce and burbling away about life and language study. sweeeeeetness. then back to the apt to work on language. this is my life these days, in between periods of depressed boredom and excited exploration.... it's so good.