Home

Uncomfortable

1 Comment

{ October 28 }

Our caravan of two vans is humming down the Iowa highway, the cornfields that were thick and green when I arrived in June now brown and brittle on both sides and shushed by dusk. Half of the horizon that circles us is filled with a rainbow bleeding up into the night sky, steadily growing in vibrancy. Whispered fanfare for the sun that is on its way, eternal encore.

The members in front of me chatter and play 20 questions, while Darlingside plays, a fitting soundtrack to the coming sunrise.

We’ve just begun our road trip to Panama City, with a stop this night in Nashville. Because we’re bringing down another team’s van – as they flew straight from Puerto Rico to Florida to respond to Hurricane Michael – there are only five people on each fifteen-passenger van, so we each get our own row to nap and relax as we rumble south.

I should be relaxed. I should be excited. Yet instead, my entire body is humming. When I close my eyes, my mind jumps in to run through everything I need to do, everything that needs to be said. I seek ways to resolve and suppress my frustrations, and tell myself to move from the “yellow zone” into the “green zone,” as we term it. And yet the moment I see another member not following simple policies, not managing their time, not thinking… I become a person I don’t want to be.

Welcome to managing a team of nine people.

This program has challenged me in so many areas. It’s asked me to think ahead, to make decisions well, to be vocal, to address things head-on, to plan and yet be flexible, to listen better, to communicate better. I’ve adjusted to viewing 6 hours of sleep as normal. I am responsible for my members in every aspect – their work projects, hours, our team’s weekly meetings and thrice weekly exercise. I oversee supplies, our funds and budget for everything, and lodging and transportation depending on the project. I am responsible for checking in on them not only as their boss, but also as a sort of life counselor.

After the month of team leader training back in July, when the members first arrived and their month of training kicked off, I found myself in a space where 100% of my thoughts and actions, from the moment I woke until I feel asleep, were focused on my team. That percentage has dropped to about 93% now, but it’s become my new normal. I don’t know how to think about anything else, how to be Sarah outside of being the Pine 8 Team Leader.

And yet the Sarah I am as a team leader is someone I don’t always recognize. This Sarah is uptight, disappointed, frustrated, sometimes passive-aggressive, and annoyed with humans. Annoyed with humans!! That rarely happened to me even in all my years of food service, despite being surrounded my fellow coworkers’ complaints about guests. I rarely found myself annoyed by either parties at work, which is quite a singular thing. Now, I find myself in a mood I can’t remember being in since I was a little kid and running around with three brothers that got on my nerves.

This Sarah is constantly contemplating how to nicely say “get over it,” “stop whining,” or “get some perspective” or “act like an adult.” Part of this Sarah tells me to just chuck out the nice approach and drop my filter.

My life as a TL can very, very easily be compared to becoming a parent of nine overnight. True, these children are 18-24 years old, come from a variety of lifestyles and experiences, and can tie their own shoes – or in this case, steel toe boots. And yet my life now revolves around taking care of them, in part, and in part enacting policies and consequences that makes them squirm and scowl. Some days we laugh, some days we clash. It can go back and forth depending on the hour.

Yet again I find myself in a place where who I think I am is challenged. Kind? Patient? Ha! God laughs, in His own patience and grace willing to concentrate on the Potter’s wheel and intimately engage with my journey, with clay beneath his fingertips and smearing up to his elbows.

My members have asked me whether I enjoy this program, and we all have jokes about leaving. They mean it sometimes, but it’s never really an option I actually consider.

It’s true it is no pleasant thing, giving up the ability to do what I want, when and where I want. Over the last few years before I joined this program, the word that kept coming to my mind to describe my life was “comfort.” Not necessarily because my life was easy, as I was often juggling jobs, school, and internships. But I think because I had so much control over everything I did, and was surrounded by such a life-giving group of people.

Now, “uncomfortable” is certainly a main word I would use to describe these last four months.

This is the most challenging thing I’ve ever done. I am leaning more about organization, being on time, being accountable and trustworthy, building relationships with people very different from I, addressing things directly, delegating and mentoring, responding to toxic behaviors, taking in feedback – and the list goes on. I learn more everyday. The growth is a challenge, to be sure. Yet I’m not sure of many other Goldilocks opportunities where I could find such a combination of what I am excited about, what I excel at, and what I can learn (despite the accompanying, uncomfortable growing pains), mixed together into this journey.

There’s no place I’d rather be.

Besides, sometimes I get a moment like this – where despite the persistent buzzing of thoughts in my mind, I can take in my members’ cheerful chatter with a smile, lean my head against the window, and watch a new morning come.

Advertisements

A Million Brave Decisions

Leave a comment

Hello world.

It has been a lifetime since we last spoke. It has been years crammed full of days unfolding never-ending moments of thought and movement and laughter and feelings in the heart. Hope that sums it up for you.

So here I am again, not quite the same person I was three years ago, and most certainly not the same young girl that began this blog ten (10!) years ago. I think I can now say I am an “old hat” at blogging. Still I hesitate to write, because this world is so saturated with words and thoughts. But y’all have been so encouraging and insistent for blog posts, so here we go!

As a little WD-40 to oil my rusty writer, I wanted to share an experience I had in Peru earlier this year. Just a few days after my college graduation, I flew to Peru with two dear friends. We did a few of the gems the country had to offer: hiking the “Camino Inka” to Machu Picchu, huffing through the streets of Cusco and buying an extra duffel bag just to fit all the alpaca sweaters we wanted to bring back, traveling to a lodge in the Amazon jungle where we saw everything from tarantulas to monkeys, and hiking several miles being soaked in a rainforest downpour. But one of the experiences that was so new and thrilling to me was when we surfed in Huanchaco, a surfing town north of Lima.

IMG_20180522_115341

Just in case you expect me to whip out my mad skills whenever we’re on the beach, let me clarify we tried surfing – for a whole 1.5 hour lesson by a local teacher. And took the boards out on our own the next day, only to find more laughter than “standing success,” as we found ourselves a bit clueless on the waves and board without experts swimming along helping us.

IMG_20180524_175430.jpg

But it was so much FUN. We almost chickened out before the lesson and opted to continue lazying at our AirBnB home, where we had wifi and books and a hammock and were very comfortably warm and dry. It was one of those moments where anyone in our party could have suggested taking the easy route, and we might have all agreed. But we went!

So here are the thoughts I jotted down the day after, when I was still replaying the memory in all its glorious feelings.

Thanks for reading, as always.

Sometimes courage looks like waking up, getting out of bed and hearing the waves. Watching heads and wet suits bob and disappear in the frothy curls.

It looks like facing cloudy skies and temperatures barely warm, a cold in one amiga and overall trepidation, yet still walking down the street. Still walking. All the way to the place where we’d signed our names for surfing lessons, starting at 11 am. Starting now.

It looks like letting the assistant teacher pull out wetsuits that match our size, taking them and changing into them. Feeling the odd bunches and rubber band-like tension, sliding on boots to match with worn-through holes from the predecessors’ big toes.

Courage can look like taking the board they select, struggling but finding a way to hold it, walking down the street in the odd blubber suit and blue “Student” shirt, feeling cool already for holding a surfboard near the ocean.

It looks like your feet getting wet, salt water and sand slipping in through the shoe’s hole.

It looks like copying the instructor’s stretches, learning the 1-2-3 poses to move from hugging the board up to crouched legs and fingers out to feel the air.

Courage. It looks like leashing yourself to a strange object, then setting that item afloat and going with it.

Your instructor waving to you as he goes ankle-knee-waist deep in the charging waves and says “Let’s go!”

We are floating together now, each centered on our board, getting introduced. We paddle like energetic turtles until we are bobbing where the instructors want us. The main instructor, Kane, takes us one by one and holds us until the right wave comes. Are you ready? When I push you, I say “go!” and you up!

Go!

Push up so my shoulders lift, holding onto the board low by my waist.

Left foot slides up, the sole perpendicular to my body.

My right foot comes forward as I push myself higher. Both soles flatten against the board as my legs now engage – their moment to shine. Every part of me works for balance even as my mind thinks but does not think – asks “what are you doing?” and “you can’t do this.”

I find balance for a moment before falling- failing – releasing myself to be lost now in the wave. The moving power gathers me, but gentler than expected. Here it is shallow, so I find ‘up’ soon and have not swallowed sea water.

Here is more courage. My surfboard fairly readily lets me back on, like a docile mare, but the waves do not relent.

Stronger here by the shore, they pummel in rhythm.

I hurry to have the board the right way, to be centered, but even still the force can turn the board over my head, my dolphin-skinned body a surge towards shore, and the seconds count down again as I emerge and the next wave is coming.

When I am beyond those waves closest to shore, now I simply have to paddle. My arms grow tired easily but I push away franticness from the shore battle moments ago, as it will not help this turtle. The instructor’s helper dives through the surf and it takes him a moment to be there, giving my board a tug or a push to help this landlubber move.

Waiting for my turn, waiting for a wave, telling my mind to tell my body to stand well. Another “Go!” – 1-2-3 – over and spilling down into a wave before I comprehend it had begun to swell.

Still in the water – here comes the next rolling wave – no time to rest, not here.

Courage is a million brave decisions: in the dream, the sign-up, the follow-through, the preparation, the wait, the “go!”, the forever-blink, and the battle to begin again. And again.

Nanowrimo Pep(?) Talk

4 Comments

Toย you brave souls that are doing Nanowrimo this year, I thought I would resurrect my favorite pep talk from five years ago – a year when I was in college and competing with a friend and somehow, despite a full class load, managed to reach 30k. Ah those magical, nostalgic Nanowrimo times.

To all of you other people who are not doing Nanowrimo or don’t even know what it is, disregard this post. Perhaps next time I will write something for the general populace.

Without further ado, a pep talk from Lemony Snicket:

Dear Cohort,

Struggling with your novel? Paralyzed by the fear that it’s nowhere near good enough? Feeling caught in a trap of your own devising? You should probably give up.

For one thing, writing is a dying form. One reads of this every day. Every magazine and newspaper, every hardcover and paperback, every website and most walls near the freeway trumpet the news that nobody reads anymore, and everyone has read these statements and felt their powerful effects. The authors of all those articles and editorials, all those manifestos and essays, all those exclamations and eulogies – what would they say if they knew you were writing something? They would urge you, in bold-faced print, to stop.

Clearly, the future is moving us proudly and zippily away from the written word, so writing a novel is actually interfering with the natural progress of modern society. It is old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, a relic of a time when people took artistic expression seriously and found solace in a good story told well. We are in the process of disentangling ourselves from that kind of peace of mind, so it is rude for you to hinder the world by insisting on adhering to the beloved paradigms of the past. It is like sitting in a gondola, listening to the water carry you across the water, while everyone else is zooming over you in jetpacks, belching smoke into the sky. Stop it, is what the jet-packers would say to you. Stop it this instant, you in that beautiful craft of intricately-carved wood that is giving you such a pleasant journey.

Besides, there are already plenty of novels. There is no need for a new one. One could devote one’s entire life to reading the work of Henry James, for instance, and never touch another novel by any other author, and never be hungry for anything else, the way one could live on nothing but multivitamin tablets and pureed root vegetables and never find oneself craving wild mushroom soup or linguini with clam sauce or a plain roasted chicken with lemon-zested dandelion greens or strong black coffee or a perfectly ripe peach or chips and salsa or caramel ice cream on top of poppyseed cake or smoked salmon with capers or aged goat cheese or a gin gimlet or some other startling item sprung from the imagination of some unknown cook. In fact, think of the world of literature as an enormous meal, and your novel as some small piddling ingredient – the drawn butter, for example, served next to a large, boiled lobster. Who wants that? If it were brought to the table, surely most people would ask that it be removed post-haste.

Even if you insisted on finishing your novel, what for? Novels sit unpublished, or published but unsold, or sold but unread, or read but unreread, lonely on shelves and in drawers and under the legs of wobbly tables. They are like seashells on the beach. Not enough people marvel over them. They pick them up and put them down. Even your friends and associates will never appreciate your novel the way you want them to. In fact, there are likely just a handful of readers out in the world who are perfect for your book, who will take it to heart and feel its mighty ripples throughout their lives, and you will likely never meet them, at least under the proper circumstances. So who cares? Think of that secret favorite book of yours – not the one you tell people you like best, but that book so good that you refuse to share it with people because they’d never understand it. Perhaps it’s not even a whole book, just a tiny portion that you’ll never forget as long as you live. Nobody knows you feel this way about that tiny portion of literature, so what does it matter? The author of that small bright thing, that treasured whisper deep in your heart, never should have bothered.

Of course, it may well be that you are writing not for some perfect reader someplace, but for yourself, and that is the biggest folly of them all, because it will not work. You will not be happy all of the time. Unlike most things that most people make, your novel will not be perfect. It may well be considerably less than one-fourth perfect, and this will frustrate you and sadden you. This is why you should stop. Most people are not writing novels which is why there is so little frustration and sadness in the world, particularly as we zoom on past the novel in our smoky jet packs soon to be equipped with pureed food. The next time you find yourself in a group of people, stop and think to yourself, probably no one here is writing a novel. This is why everyone is so content, here at this bus stop or in line at the supermarket or standing around this baggage carousel or sitting around in this doctor’s waiting room or in seventh grade or in Johannesburg. Give up your n ovel, and join the crowd. Think of all the things you could do with your time instead of participating in a noble and storied art form. There are things in your cupboards that likely need to be moved around.

In short, quit. Writing a novel is a tiny candle in a dark, swirling world. It brings light and warmth and hope to the lucky few who, against insufferable odds and despite a juggernaut of irritations, find themselves in the right place to hold it. Blow it out, so our eyes will not be drawn to its power. Extinguish it so we can get some sleep. I plan to quit writing novels myself, sometime in the next hundred years.

Lemony Snicket

Lemony Snicket is the author ofย  A Series of Unfortunate Events.

… you’re welcome.

This Looks Familar// Two Hands

Leave a comment

I am sitting in the Bangkok airport for the 4th time this trip, and this time it’s not landing as a weary, jetlagged traveler, or to fly to Hanoi, or en route to Laos (on my birthday), but as one whose feet are homebound. My journal and camera are full and my backpack is now stuffed not with Bibles, but market souvenirs.
And my heart is bearing the all-too-familiar weight of farewells.

Why is God so good to me?

In front of me are 16 hours of airplane air and humming and sitting, then like a magic transportation – dadaah – it’s back in Seattle with my family and friends, back to school and schedules and working just a few minutes from the hospital where I was born, the world of Asia once again thousands of miles away.

I’m going back.
What have I learned? Is the thought that immediately follows.

I wanted to know so much, to have everything figured out. I still do. College degree, where, what. A big booming voice would be grand. I’m sure we all feel that way. I knew I wouldn’t get it, but still – I hoped.

Instead what I’m coming home with is a greater contentment with not knowing. An understanding that God has already made it pretty clear what my life work is to be, and that the life we tend to think of as ‘radical’ or ‘extreme’ isn’t really: it’s just being obedient and a natural response to our salvation.
Kinda more simple than I make it.

I am coming back with two lessons, one in each hand.
In one hand, I have learned missions is not a conditional when/where life (when I’ve graduated or am this old, etc, if I move to another country), but rather living life intentionally, always. Missions is my life. As it’s been put so well, to know God and make Him known. To have as my highest aim, glorifying Him.

And in the other hand, the reminder that as I live ‘missions’ everyday, I cannot cannot cannot forget God’s heart for all nations. I lose out if my focus becomes too narrow and all I can love, pray for, and serve is in arm’s length. God’s plans are a lot bigger than that, and I don’t want to miss out on seeing how great is our God, and being willing to be His servant to those who have never heard wherever they be. Especially as there are brothers and sisters facing injustice, discouragement, and persecution even unto imprisonment or death. Today’s world is globalized, which is awesome – but I believe also holds us to a greater responsibility.

This song came to mind as I sit waiting for my next flight. And the story Kendall shared at the beginning really fits with what I’m learning.

I, sir, have never had clarity. What I’ve had is trust.

Regardless of whether I ever receive a messenger angel – wet/dry fleece – snake rod – scales falling off clarity from God as to my exact life purpose, I have His Word to go by, and I want to be obedient to that.

Still in a Dream

Leave a comment

You may be surprised to hear this, but a busy trip does not free time for blogging make.

Whaaaa?

Somehow the days were completely filled what with plane rides, van rides, tuktuk rides, boat rides, hauling ridiculously heavy backpacks across borders, getting sunburnt – oh, and a bit of fun stuff like haggling with market vendors and sightseeing here and there. And then of course there was socializing with my team – *if I must* – and by the time evening rolled around my brain for some reason did not want to peck out a post on my tablet (tablet, why did they name it that?ย Calls to mind chiseling on a stone tablet..) or meticulously select and edit photos.

All right, enough excuses. Basically I’ve been having way too much fun. The cities we’ve seen have been entrancing, from the streets of Hanoi that flow with motorbikes like water, to the jungles in Chiang Mai we ziplined through (that’s, right, ziplined. Amazing!), to the 6 hour speedboat ride we took down the Mekong River in Laos, every turn revealing more mountains. We’ve wandered around quiet temples and through crowded markets where haggling now happens by exchanging bids on a calculator with the local vendors until an agreement is reached. We’ve tried food like snails, frog, eel (and they do say once you’ve eaten in these places long enough, you’ve most likely had dog). Mostly we enjoy dragon fruit, mango, the most natural bananas we’ll probably ever have, and the plethora of fruit shake/smoothie options at every restaurant. Oooh and restaurants. We’ve enjoyed Thai, Lao, Vietnamese, Indian – with a bit of “regular” food like pizza or spaghetti here and there – at restaurants in the crowded city central, or a village where those chickens wandering across the road are probably tomorrow’s meal, or by the Mekong as the sun set across the river.

There have been so many moments I’ve sat back to watch my team talking and laughing while figuring out how to hold chopsticks, or squinting against sun and dust as we jolt through the city, crammed into a tuktuk, or humming along as a local church sings in Lao – and it feels like a dream to be here. It feels like a place that just exists as I move, unfolding as my eyes and body move.

I watch the Buddhist monks wrapped in orange praying to a golden head or monument, and cannot wrap my mind around how ancient this religion is, that this is truly what millions of people believe – not just to make pretty buildings or enjoy lighting some candles – and what they trust or lean upon in life. And people think Christianity doesn’t make sense?

That’s another post in itself.

In all of this seeing, traveling, tiredness, joys, and new things, I had the absolutely best team and leader. You know how they say you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family? Same same – I had no idea what kind of people I would be traveling with for 2 weeks, but was blessed with brothers and sisters of kindness, generosity, laughter, and love. Every one of them challenged me with their strong love for Christ and His Word.

In imagining each of them now what I see is their smiles, and their listening faces. They were always ready to quietly and fully listen to what someone else or I had to say – which says a lot more about someone’s character than just that they’re willing to listen, if you know what I mean.

I’m getting choked up, just writing this. That’s happened quite a bit since I said goodbye to them. Always goodbyes in my life, to the most amazing people that make it so hard to leave.

And then you meet more people that show you more of Christ, and life moves on, and God is sovereign, and praise Him that someday there will be a massive reunion in heaven. I can’t wait.

But for now? For now I am staying behind in Laos while the rest of the team has gone home. I am staying with missionaries and really just humbly taking in a lot right now, meeting missionaries and seeing ministries and taking in what God is doing against this country’s darkness through His people.

In ten days I’ll return home, to a very different world.. and we’ll see what’s next. God is good, God is faithful, and again all I can speak is humbled, and privileged.

Bangkok// Surface

Leave a comment

It’s been only four nights now I’ve spent in Asia,ย  a place of mixed chaos and calm, poverty with patches of wealth, delicious food and roasted dog, everything adding together to become an entirely different world than my American hometown.

I got to my hotel in Bangkok about 11pm Monday night, and spent the next day eating breakfast, reading, and generally just hanging around the hotel waiting for the rest of the team to come in. I stood at the window and watched the traffic flow outside on the busy street but wasn’t quite brave enough to walk around by myself. I moved around my room and the hotel lobby like I was in a stranger’s house, cautiously examining everything and feeling aware I didn’t know what was culturally acceptable.

I did finally step out of the air conditioning and was chatting with a taxi driver when the team arrived around 2pm. They piled out of the van and after a hello exchange headed to their rooms for a quick nap, being pretty exhausted from their long flights.

Afterwards we grabbed some cabs (3 to fit us all) and headed to the Bangkok center. Hello, driving in a third world country! The lines are completely ignored and the shoulder is used to create another lane – motorcycles weaving between everyone. All the locals do just fine, following the unspoken rules of how to merge and move – but I’m positive I would last all of ten seconds driving on these roads before hitting someone.

We walked down KhaoSan Road, a popular place for tourists to come that’s lined with restaurants, stalls selling clothes and souvenirs, and bars. We ate our first local meal together (one of many to come) at a restaurant just down the road, and as we were eating in their outside covered area it began to rain – hard. Hello, tropical rain.

During a break in the rain they also shot off fireworks – for the king’s birthday, I believe. We were at first startled and unsure what was going on, as the sound was more like a gunshot. Funny how small things, things you don’t even realize can be another way, are different.

The next day we took easy: taking another excursion into Bangkok, this time escorted by a local missionary from Ireland, Johnny. He took us to several prominent monasteries with the Reclining Buddha and other Buddhas. Everything was beautifully made – they press small pieces of colored mirrors into the walls to make mosaics that glint and sparkle in any bit of light, then paint the trim with some sort of gold lacquer. Within these sites everything was clean, whitewashed and swept, a stark contrast to the city outside that was filled with debris and piecemeal buildings.

The whole team enjoyed 30 minute Thai massages as well – an experience that was relaxing though a bit painful at times. ๐Ÿ˜‰ The massage was about $9! Everything here is incredibly cheap, though being unknowing tourists we often go to the touristy places which is comparatively more expensive. Taxis are only about 9-10 dollars for a 30-45 minute ride.

We used just about every form of transportation that day: tuktuks, train, ‘tourist boat’, and taxi. The evening meal we would enjoy with the Johnny and his family, relaxing in their community’s salt water pool after.

I know. What a hard trip. ๐Ÿ˜‰

That night the real purpose of the trip began (no, we didn’t just come to sightsee! ๐Ÿ˜‰ ), as we carried boxes and boxes of Bibles into a hotel room and divided them amongst our backpacks. We figure we had about 200 Bibles total, as each of us carried about 15-23 between our checked and carry-on. We stuffed clothing around the Bibles to make our bags look less “boxy” and weighed our packs on the hotel lobby weight/horoscope machine to ensure they were below the 20kg limit.

The next morning we sunk the hotel shuttle low with the weight of our bodies and packs, and rode it back through the weaving traffic to the airport where we took a plane to Hanoi, Vietnam. The Hanoi airport seemed more quiet than usual, the guards more serious and a bit intimidating – but that may have just been in our minds.

Us Americans received Vietnamese visas OK (the Europeans didn’t need one), and we all piled our bags onto wheeled carts and pushed them through customs without incident – no one stopped us to scan our bags. Praise God!

Just to be clear, it is not illegal for us to bring the Bibles into Vietnam. It is illegal for the tribal people these Bibles were printed for to have them. It is humbling to know that while what we’re doing is very needed and good, it is others who daily face the real danger – if caught, they face eviction, pressure to give up their faith, and even death.

Our next drop will be in a few days, so again we are sightseeing, as well as daily devotions talking through concepts from the book Radical by David Platt.

This trip has been cross-cultural in more ways than one, as within our team we have a Scot, an Irish, a German, two other guys also from America, and the rest are from England – in all, twelve of us, seven guys and five girls. We curiously compare everything from education to terms to candy, and so learn about many parts of the world at once.

Annnd this is where the rest of the post I’d written has dropped off a cyber cliff into cyber space for an unknown reason. *heavy sigh* Twice now I’ve compiled pictures into a gallery only to have it disappear. Technology is a gift from God to teach me patience.

Really I was just going to wrap up this blog post by talking about what I’ve not talked about – and by that what I partly mean is, in these 4/5 days I have experienced two countries and cultures that are different from my individual experiences, from my home world. Just a bit. And I’ve no idea besides a long dinner and slideshow when I get home how to tell you what I’ve seen, where to even start on this blog post, so it’s been a struggle writing (and rewriting) it.

The other part I mean is that no matter how well I capture in words what I’ve seen, ultimately these days and this trip are but a glimpse, a skim, of a rich world with a deep history. I see only the surface, but I know there is so much more I could learn and understand. This trip I’m doing little more than snapping pictures, but I could sit and learn and attempt to slip over the language barrier to truly know these people.

The words that have come to my mind a lot during this trip are “humbled” and “privileged.” In many ways – for this chance to be a part of this important work, with such a solid and wonderful team under a strong and godly leader, shown around by missionaries that inspire me with their examples of obedience and service. To be given this chance to see these cities and lives.

The pictures below will fill in this blog post a bit more. I’m not sure when my next post will be, as these take ridiculously long when I’d rather be spending the free time with my teammates or journaling… but I’m still taking photos, and I promise there will be another post, someday, Lord willing. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Sarah

The Timeless Beginning

1 Comment

My life has become sitting down. And sitting down. Hallo-ing again my dear friends the clouds. Eating whenever food is brought, and sleeping when I can, and no longer caring how my hair looks, and wondering vaguely just what time it is here – there – how long have I been traveling anyways?

I believe the answer is about 17 hours. 3 of those hours were in the Tokyo airport and the rest of been in flight. My tailbone would appreciate it if I could be vertical – horizontal – just straight, someday. Movies are great (especially a rewatch of Guardians of the Galaxy, yeesss), but a current count of four + no human conversations (as my seat neighbors sleep) is quickly turning my brain to mush.

Fierce hugs and prayers from my family 17 hours ago officially sent me back into the world of travel, aka everything revolving around figuring out where to be when and clinging onto several small possessions (passport and boarding pass), constantly worrying I will misplace them. In the Tokyo airport I was returned to a world where everyone speaks a different language, writes in a different language, watches TV shows that are… not American, and has way more buttons for toilets than are necessary! I am reminded how huge the world is and it is wonderful and daunting all at once.

In about 3 hours I will land in Bangkok (10:45pm their time), and hopefully with little ado make it to my hotel and a horizontal position fairly quickly – then the rest of the team will be landing and joining me tomorrow afternoon. Our first few days will be spent in Bangkok, adjusting and orientation.

I am hoping… along this trip to take you with me. To show you the sights, through my eyes. That’s dependant on me getting thoughts together, on having time to type things up, but I hope to. Thank you for thinking of me, for loving/supporting/praying for me during this trip, depending on who you are reading this. ๐Ÿ™‚

Since I’ve gotten on the plane, the trip has felt unreal, like I’m floating outside of time and space, inbetween worlds, just waiting to land. Planes are weird portals, but I’m sure glad not to be on a rickety ship for 3 months, all of my things packed in a coffin in case I die on the way/there. But what a great commitment that required from people in that age, during Hudson Taylor’s life.
Anyhow. My brain is half lucid right now, as for me it’s about 6am and did I mention I’ve watched four movies…? I just wanted to let you know I’ve (almost) made it. ๐Ÿ™‚

Soundtrack during blog post: Prince of Egypt. Singing along silently while the rest of the cabin sleeps.
P.S. Posted after flight, once I had internet again.
P.P.S. Forgive any spelling errors por favor, I am typing all this on my tablet. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Older Entries