Once upon a time...

There was a giving-up place. It had a small door with a lock on the inside, and two small eight-sided windows toward the path. And there was a stone wall inside the giving up place, right in the middle, so no one looking in the windows could see the people when they came to give up. And some days the door was locked, and when a giver-up pulled the handle, the door wouldn't open. And the giver-up would rest a hand on the door and think peace-thoughts for the giver-up inside, then leave quietly. But some days the handle would open, and the giver-up could walk inside and around the wall. And the giver-up might see another giver-up, or two, or three... and maybe they would share hugs and quiet help-thoughts. Or maybe they would read from the life-book together. Or sing quiet openness-songs. Sometimes they would do everything for a short time, and then leave, with a little more life in them from the book and a little more help in them from the thoughts and a little more openness in them from the songs.

But some early mornings, when there was frozen mist hanging between the mountains and the sky, a giver-up would walk down the path to the giving-up place. And the giver-up would try the door, and it would open. And the giver-up would walk inside, and there would be no one else there. And the giver-up would sit on the floor and watch as the sun pushed between the icy trees through the glass wall of the giving-up place.

And the giver-up would give it all up. And that would be enough for a heart for one day.

Once upon a time

There was a big girl who moved to the Middle East.
Her first day there, she could hardly pay attention to anything her friends said.
Because she used to live in the Middle East.
And it felt like home again.

The night before she flew there, she stayed up too late
She sat in the living room in her family's home, and she looked around at her brothers and sister and parents
And she wondered when she'd be back

It was a little after christmas
And it was so cold outside
But so warm inside
They had taken extra photos by the tree
Extra photos of fireworks and sparklers
Extra photos of extra cookies they baked

And the big girl wondered where she would be for the next holidays

At the airport, she handed her heavy jacket to her mom as she hugged and kissed her family goodbye
The plane was the same chilly that planes always seem to be
But when she touched down at the airport by the desert, she started feeling warmer

And the air smelled like it used to- loquat tree blossoms
And the air felt like it used to - a little salt, a little sand
And the air sounded like it used to- rolling syllables and rough laughs and haunting prayer calls from the mosque

And the big girl was content
But sleepy
It had been a late night
And a long travel day
And several time zones
And a plane ride full of quiet excitement

So just as the girl was looking wistfully at her quiet room with a small gecko on the wall...
Her friend tapped her on the shoulder
"Pack your backpack", she said
And the girl was surprised
She wondered if she had heard wrong

But she hadn't
And when she looked in the kitchen, she saw kebabs marinating
And when she looked in the hall, she saw folding chairs
So she asked some questions, and packed her backpack, again

And that night she sat by a campfire, surrounded by the desert dunes
And she looked up at the stars
And she wondered if they were the same ones she had seen as a little girl
And she reached out and hugged her friends
And went to sleep content
Because there was still a whole life ahead to explore

And whether she spent the next set of holidays back with her family in the cold weather
Or here with her friends in the hot weather
She was held in the palm of God's hand
And that was precisely where she was meant to be


The End

I wish I had something worth the telling. I am home. I'm not going anywhere. But my stories are getting smaller and smaller, and I think my own story is getting smaller, even as it's getting re-dimensioned. Smaller can be okay as long as it goes with faster, but what about when it's just a little swallow with dusty wings? Still tracing the telephone wires, still feeling the hum of the life-tracks, half wishing there was a migration south waiting. Wondering, though, if its flight pattern is simply to fly along other birds and bring them to the waiting warmth, chirp them into the nests of parent birds who know the wind currents better.

Once upon a time...

There was a song about stolen hearts. And it played through the house. Was hummed in the kitchen. Was guitarred on the balconey under the stars.

But there was no stolen heart in the house. The heart in the house was fine, more than fine if less than wonderful. What would being stolen feel like, it wondered?

And the song kept playing. It reminded the heart of beaches by afternoon... of mountains under pine tree mornings... of foggy unfamiliar noons. The heart knew where it was now, safe in the city, no where wild. It had taken vacations into uncertainties under the stars and tuggings by lamplight before, but never been stolen. Where would a stealing take place, anyway? Outside, inside, or standing in a doorway? Would it be pulled in from freedom, pulled out of security, or told to pause in the doorway of both, like instructions during an earthquake?

And would a heart know until later that it had been stolen? The song kept playing. Maybe it was giving hints of what was around the corner, like the door creaking open, like a warning to the strong that a thief was coming. Or maybe it was like one more dusk before the end of the end, too far away to worry or start packing. Take your time... take your sweet time.

Once upon a time...

There was a little girl who moved with her family to the Middle East.
And she was soooooo excited.
And her little brother was soooooo excited.
And their daddy was sooooooo excited.
But their mommy was sooooooo stressed.

And they had several months of happy explorations.

And then... culture shock.
And the little girl was just learning to read, so she escaped into books.
And the little boy was just learning to play legos and duplos, so he escaped into that.
And the daddy... he loved it there.

So when he did want to escape, he went to the market.
Or the airport.
Or the streets.

But the poor mommy had just had a baby.
And the poor mommy had two small kids at home.
So the mommy couldn't escape the house for long.

And Christmas was coming.
So she had an idea.

And she told the little girl to pull out the flour.
And she told the little boy to pull out the sugar.
And she put the baby in the bassinet to watch the party.
And they turned on music and started baking.

And when the daddy came home, the house smelled sooooo good.
And the daddy was happy that day, because there were gingersnaps on the counter.

But the next day when he came home, the house didn't smell like gingersnaps any more.
It smelled like peppermint.
Because the mommy had baked peppermint shortbread.

And the next day the house smelled different.
Again.

And years later, the mommy would give other new mommies hugs when they were overseas and stressed.
And she would say, "after a while, life will get better, dear.
And then she would grin.
And she would look at all her grown up, well adjusted children.

And she would say, "One of MY first Christmases overseas....
I baked 15 kinds of cookies."

And all the children would smile.
And kind of wish their mom would get stressed again....

we're not friends, or so i gather.
we're not family, so you say
(shake hands we'll say goodbye this way)

companions on the road that was
in and out a northern day
(shake hands we'll say goodbye this way)

thanks for all you did and were
lovely time, a pleasant stay
(shake hands we'll say goodbye this way)

grace to you, good landing too
go with God, go as you may
(shake hands we'll say goodbye this way)

Busy trains
And railway track
Me and my
Abandoned pack

Lonely me while
Benches empty
No more tickets.
No one sent me.

Work to do
I'm told there's plenty
Here to do
To be contenting

Here I am
Till evening sunshine
Brings perspective
Slowly unwinds

Waiting people
Dirty tiles
Time announcements
Calling miles

Blending in
Grey trekker shoes
"Platform 5,
Non-travel blues."

Not down to obedience at the moment. It's direction...

"It's not about losing faith, it's not about trust. It's all about *comfortable*, when I move so much." (Sara Groves). Even a step beyond that song, a step beyond that simple dichotomy of motion or no. I'm not there any more. A month ago, at meeting, instead of finding out where I was going... I found out where I was. Not in the waiting any more, but not in the motion either.

I had a chance then to share my heart, say, "I'm a great loose cannon. I can go anywhere, do anything, without any warning-- and turn it into media. So give me a travel pass and USE me." And since then, I have been used, and have enjoyed it... but have no travel pass. Which means the question becomes, do I accept that or no? I can go back to living in waiting. Or I can 'push that door', knowing that there is no travel budget for work and I'll have to mostly solo it.

Or... I can settle down. "This place is many things, but I'd never call it home..." (TFK). I can get past that, move into a new apartment, join sports teams, help homeschool kids, keep working and brainstorming with media friends via Skype. I can save money for the future, dive more into language, make this a sweet home of my own, see how God grows me and friendships in the process.

Settling down like that... it wouldn't be a bad life. But do you really think two years of 'not bad' is worth it? Waiting, growing times are useful. We know this. But God grew me up with so much else, *soaked* me with so much different, and it seems so strange to waste that. A house is a house, and I am one of the expatriate, believing, community around the world. And you can add Persian carpets and Swedish bookshelves, Chinese teapots and African wall hangings, and make a welcoming haven, wherever you are.

But a treehouse stands out among magnolia mansions and glass highrises all the same.

i just never thought i'd grow up like this. i neglected to add in emotions when i painted the picture of who i wanted to be. i am nearly everything i ever wanted to be; i have nearly everything i ever wanted. i am a photojournalist in europe with a funky room, spiked hair and sunglasses, a bike, an ipod, a phone, and *freedom*. i can get by in six sports and five languages; i have acquaintances in thirty to forty countries.

and i'm sitting here in a coffeeshop on my own with my computer, skyping with one of my best friends and watching people walk by. if i could have seen five different snapshots of who i'd be at this age, i'd have wanted this life. and yet could i have looked at the snapshot and seen the uncertainty in my eyes? that when i walk back into my apartment tonight, it'll be quietly, because i won't know what moods or discussions my roommates will be in. (if i were to ask, i'd probably be told that it didn't matter- that i can be my own person and not react off them.) could you see the after-snapshot, when i carry my bike up the flights of stairs and wonder how far i can escape the next day. (escape with my computer, naturally, to find a new adventure and a new place to work, somewhere outside of this seven-month city.) rewind the snapshot a few hours to when the youth group and summer interns are hanging out at my apartment, and i'm hugging them and baking cookies and sharing stories. what is not to like about that? especially if you can't tell that i'm tired from too many late night soul-searching talks with a friend who's 7 time zones away and somehow is better at calming me down than any one else. do i look like i'm calm in all the snapshots, like i'm having fun, like i'm not going crazy inside because i've been in the same city for seven months and with the same people for seven months and both have essentially told me to get a life?

and most days, most snapshots, i am good. i am really good. but there was too much i didn't read between the lines when i scripted out this life. the prices for all those adventures and the process of building a life like this. and the person i've become while creating and maintaining it all. it wasn't a waste- it wasn't one big loss. it's been something incredible, but "in-credible" - 'un-believeable' tends to cover all areas, not just the moments when the grins are everywhere and the flash goes off.

check the fine print when you buy a life... blow up the photo and see if the resolution holds true, if the hidden pixels point out what you get to brush into every day.

ruins

rebuild a roof, sweep out the sand
ruin follows saving steps
move the rubble, make a plan
sweat and shift the rocks by hand
turn round to see them crumble down
was born to need to understand

i can't see the ground for all the dust
i can't see the stars for the dirt i stirred up
finally left alone on a rock
to lean back and look at my failures
to sit on a stone and have nothing to come

but more scratches on my skin
yesterday's burns i wouldn't share
or let you in, see me fail again
too little left of me already
to be enough as my shadow grows thin

and then the morning glory vines
start growing on the wall
and a song starts welling up
and soaks me like a waterfall
the walls - they come down for a reason
why rebuild? why rebuild?
despair is for a purpose
a blossom for each hope i killed
a star behind each hole i filled

why rebuild?

why rebuild?



(Lamentations 2:8, 19)

The LORD determined to destroy
The wall of the daughter of Zion.
He has stretched out a line,
He has not restrained His hand from destroying,
And He has caused rampart and wall to lament...
Pour out your heart like water
Before the presence of the Lord;

“At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us. You can love completely without complete understanding. - A River Runs Through it”

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in an ancient northern city. In the winter, the snow hurled its fury at the walls, and only the inhabitants dared brave the streets. But in the summer- oh, the summer! Then the city was so beautiful and gracious that people came from the ends of the earth to marvel at the palaces and rest in the fragrant gardens. One day the girl was out on a walk with three friends. Oh, the sight these girls made as they wandered. One watched the sunset with melting brown eyes; another smiled through her long lashes at the birds in the trees. One tossed her glossy chestnut curls in the evening wind and the fourth laughed through cherry lips at the freedom of such an evening.

Suddenly, there arose an obstacle in their path. No longer could the four happy maidens walk side by side and converse sweetly. They must needs walk around two laborers and a carriage in the path. They carefully began moving to the side to pass, and as their bubbling speech paused, one of the men spoke to the other. The girl who lived in the city had learned some of the tongue when she moved there, and caught the word 'Touristka.'
"Ah," she thought to herself wisely, "They think we are tourists. To be sure, we are not blonde, and are not tall, and are not dressed in tall slippers, as are their maidens. But even were we clothed the same, they might have known we are not of their kind. Because- alas!- they can hardly ignore how our Anglo-Saxon words fall at a quicker, more lively pace than those of their Slavic graciousness...."

And while she pondered in this manner, it was as if one of the laborers had heard her very thoughts. And, indeed, were it not so, he must have noted their bonnie dark looks and warm nature. And he spoke to them.

"Buona sera."

"do you know what would make you happy though?"

Chatting with one of my best friends. She has the bright idea to ask this simple, pointed question when I am at a simple, pointed, crossroads in life here. Other people have asked me equally good questions, others have asked me at equally good times. But to combine both while it's almost 2am, I'm still awake, and my room is in a state of deconstruction because square furniture and halfpacked duffels are driving me crazy.... yeah.
reply.

"what would make me happy, in 450 words or less
a rail pass for the next 2-3 months
a small apartment, mine or someone else's, to dump my two duffels and two boxes of books and guitar in
and the good [digital] camera, my vidcam, and macbook in a maroon trekker backpack
and an iphone with continual work suggestions and contact numbers for our people across europe
and connections to shoot articles, photos, and videos to on a regular basis so my work would stay quality and in motion too
*spreads hands
that's what i want
maybe a hammock too"


funny how stepping back puts things in perspective. all i have to do now is pray about it, then talk all this through with my bosses and get approval, step by step... right?

“Is life so wretched? Isn't it rather your hands which are too small, your vision which is muddled? You are the one who must grow up.” - Dag Hammarskjold

nu ik alles kan bekennen
moet jij er nog aan wennen
dat het waar is wat ik zeg
streep mijn naam maar weg
- blof

roughly translates to
'now that i can admit everything/ you'll have to get used to/that it's true what i say/mark my name away'.

learning to mark my name away on any number of things. will admit honestly that a lot of what i do, what i say, isn't honest. it's learned behaviour, a coping mechanism. and to some degree, we all have to live with that. we learn to walk a little slower when walking with a toddler; we learn to cram two-year goodbyes into half an hour at the airport. but that doesn't mean we normally hold hands when stepping off curbs. it doesn't mean we normally talk 120 km an hour and memorise every details of eachother's faces. maybe we should.

but maybe we should learn to distinguish between reality and coping mechanisms. had a semi-shock moment this afternoon, realised how different my life would be if i had my own apartment. i'd known from near the beginning that i'd have roommates, so there was never really a time when i thought, "would i live differently if i didn't have built-in sisters/friends?"

not to say i've held their hands. they've held mine some, having been in this city longer. and we've had moments of memorising faces, or at least of savouring laughing and hanging out together. would we have had so many if we didn't room together, though? interesting to think that through.

Got my residency card.

Now what?

Work meeting in a few days, formal or informal, don't know yet - hopefully will get to do more of the journalism I came here for!

This, I could get used to.

Long good busy day... workmovegosinghelpwalksing. Almost fell asleep on the bus home, my one holdout-against-depressing-tourist-places friend is caving tomorrow and I'll be the loner. Leaning on a friend here to get pierced, and her mom's all for it. One of my best friends in the States had dinner with my family last night after I coaxed them into it, and now I'm jealous of them all. More residency bureaucracy tomorrow- how my luck would it be if they finally kicked me out now I'm not so hungry for escape?

Got annoyed at forgetting footage, started complaining to myself in Slavic without having to think about it. Finished one video, built another ground-up in the last 24 hours, rave reviews. Have to rewrite an article with more info. Doing a photo shoot tomorrow for friends. Love my job.

Helped moving friends clean their place, spent a sweet hour out with their Tesoro who is currently my favourite one-year-old on the planet. Walked where we normally walk, and then some, carried him on my shoulders, taught him birdcalls, took photos. Come July, I'm not gonna see him again for a long while. He's not even gonna remember my name by then....

Learning the song "What Do We Know" and learning it on the guitar. Slung its case on my back yesterday and jetted the house to play by the train tracks yesterday, surprised the commuters and ticked off a German shepherd. Haven't broken anything all week, started packing for vacation a week ahead. Be very proud. Put a pause to overprocessing thinking and stayed out of the kitchen (related?) and haven't been OCD about cleaning, been highly productive and charmingly distracted.

And- wrap thy head around this- I'm quoting less. Still singing at every turn, but the need to sum it all up, spin it over, is lessening... then again, I'm writing more poetry lately. Words and word again.

huge fan of being busy, of being tired and content, grabbing tiny moments of silence and soaking up the shades of cloud edges in the sunset, soaking up the notes and tones in my roommates voices.'

tons of work this week. easiest way to deal with it is to back off from normality, stop all other busy-ness and activity and watching. it's just me and my music and my computer, and hugs to those who want them, laughs and a helping hand to those that need them.

for the rest- especially when i'm running on very few hours of sleep- i just stop wondering, stop feeling. stop trying to figure out what's going on in my friends and roommates heads, stop caring what they think of me. all my emotion, all my energy, is wrapped up in turning pressure into presentation. in taking lifeless dv tapes and memory cards and crafting out living stories.

there's pressure, and the moments of, "o... am i worrying you by deliberate absence?" but there's also a definite freedom in blocking out everything around me. tap me on the shoulder and i'll tell you how i've been- if i remember. and i'll ask you how you've been, and listen. but in a minute or two, i'm gonna walk away and back to work, and, for once, not replay the conversation over and over in my head, feel through it all.

the whole processing process? dramatically different or deleted these days...

Connecting...

Watched 'Terminator Salvation' yesterday, enthralled. The last movie I watched in a cinema was 'Quantum of Solace', last year - I'm not a huge cinema person, but for explosion-movies it helps to have the surround sound and utter silence and blackness surrounding....

What really hit me in both movies was the level of trust in crazy, life-or-death, worlds. In 'Quantum of Solace', it was 'M' letting Bond have free reign to go his missions solo, against all common sense, no matter the consequences. "He's my agent!" In 'Terminator Salvation' it was the resistance everywhere standing down against orders because they trusted John Connor. Without trust, Bond and Connor would have been on their own, flamed out, and then probably died. But they took that extra step to stay connected with others and that made the difference.

I tend to connect when it suits me, when I have time, when I think it's worth it. A certain level of trust floats around, but not nearly what it could be. If it came down to life or death, and it was my voice over the cell phone or shortwave radio- would others listen?

Surreal, random, happy day... and one of the best here yet. Connected much?

Incorrect sunny weather. Lolcats. Outspoken Aussies.

Personal tour by a white monk.

Confused waitress who didn't know whether to speak to us in English or Slavic.

Freshly painted room, but no glitter.

Heart-sharing with a friend, no, two friends, one online and one here with me.

New piercing, a long-promised birthday treat with a friend.

Tons of coffee. Tikka masala. Gerbils. A tram that went the wrong route.

Random parade... random concert... random speed-walking race... random military/redcross/greenpeace recruitment event.

Skyped. Chatted. Sang. Texted. Threw pennies in a fountain.

Electric sunset, blood and hugs, wishes.


Deep content.