This semester

This semester I didn't write poetry.
There weren't any rhymes in my head–
just wishes to wander
and longings to linger
and dreams about going to bed.

in suspense and incomplete

I have been very frustrated with school this semester, mostly because I have a high concentration of education courses. I have a hard time motivating myself to do work that teaches me nothing except that I don't like to do work. To make sure that we are ready for student teaching, all my education classes are designed to review previous education classes. This might be okay if the first education classes weren't already a review of common sense. I'm sure you remember the pain of being told "show all your work" on simple algebra problems in middle school. Imagine the pain of being told to spell out your whole thought process behind every lesson plan so that a professor can tell you ten ways to make it more creative. I know I'm not quite ready to teach on my own, but I feel like my training is just turning me off to the profession. I just want to student teach, graduate, marry Ryan, and teach. Funny that it was in one of these wearisome education courses that I was exposed to this encouraging poem by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin:

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way
to something unknown,
something new.
Yet it is the law of all progress that it is made
by passing through some stages of instability–
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually. Let them grow.
Let them shape themselves without undue haste.
Do not try to force them on
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace
and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new Spirit
gradually forming in you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

Autumn

I lost half of my tan today.
The melanin was washed away
with soap and water down the drain–
and summer's gone and done the same.

Back to School

I've been back at Trinity for almost a month, and I finally feel like the school year has started. This week was my first yearbook meeting, my first work shift, my first tutoring sessions and the honor's kick-off fest. Best of all, novice teaching started. Being in the classroom with a group of bilingual sixth graders was a pleasant reminder of all the reasons I do want to be a teacher.

It's great to have both a cousin and a sister on campus. Last weekend we went up to Grandma and Grandpa Vander Wilt's and spent the weekend hanging out at the campground at Lake Red Rock. It was a lot of fun to carry on an old tradition.

Ryan is planning to visit in about two weeks! We're engaged. Yippee!

a pleasant surprise

I was walking home from work with Ryan when I saw Rachel walking up the hill. I let go of Ryan and dropped my bag and ran, embracing her with, "You're here! You're here!" I had hoped to see my best friend from Spain sometime this summer, but her arrival was a complete surprise. "How long can you stay?" I asked.

Rachel stayed long enough for us to hike to Alta Vista, Camp Muir, and Bench Lake. She met some of the people I've been meeting and shared the food I was eating. The weather turned from lovely to yucky while she was here, but walking through the cold fog between Rachel and Ryan, I coiuld not forget that I live in a wonderful place.

Today was our first church service, and I spoke on the springlike renewal of the Holy Spirit. The snow is melting fast, and gradually more guests are coming. This cloud won't linger around Paradise forever, and while it does, I'll relax with a good book.

I'm for summer.

Let me just say that my college is much more concerned about making first impressions than leaving a pleasant aftertaste. When we move in, they provide t-shirted helpers, shopping carts, and a few extra days just to settle in. I don't always get there a few days early, but at least there's the option. In the spring, they don't even bring us shopping carts to use. As if we had less stuff to bring out than we brought in at the beginning of the year. It's no wonder I never miss school when my most recent memories of school during breaks always include long nights, long papers, cramming, cramming stuff into boxes, hauling boxes, and cleaning the suite under ridiculous time constraints. Everyone out by five on the last day of finals. Naturally, I am often sick during this week. If this is what college is about, I'm for summer.

This summer, I am going to miss my school roommates.

I wonder who my roommates will be this summer. I wonder about a lot of things. I am excited about a lot of things. I am going to Paradise.

preferences, priorities

What would you rather have in the room with you?
An inkless printer?
A stained t-shirt?
An angry person?

What is more valuable?
A minute?
A year?
A person?

A lifetime or a life?

scented song

I can almost smell Mt. Rainier. All summer, it will smell like spring. The breeze will wind up the valleys and past the waterfalls and under the sun to melt the snowpack slowly. I can almost smell this when I listen to "Noticed" by MuteMath. Songs roll like snowballs through our lives, gathering memories that cool the breeze at our backs.

April to April

It is April.

I went back and read all my journal and blog entries from a year ago. This is what I wrote on April 18, 2008: "It was about a year ago (today is April 18 and I sent out that first email on April 27 last year) that my roommate was trying to make me see the foolishness of my decisions. Yes, I know I do some crazy things, but I'm not doing them blind…"

Oh yes I was doing them blind. In April 2007, when I sent that first email out to ask if I could ride with anyone to Mt. Rainier, I had no idea that the man who said "sure" would end up being my best friend that summer. In April 2008 I didn't know just how good it would be to be that man's girlfriend. If I had known, I would not have been a bit worried about what my roommate had to say.

On April 23, 2007, my mom sent me this note: "I'm working on processing the thought that you might not be around this summer.  It's kind of yukky, like with Nathan, you guys go off to college, we think it's a 9 month stint but then you're not back in the summer either which turns it into 21 months which basically means you've moved out. I guess I just need to get a grip on reality."

On April 7, 2008, my mom sent me this note: "I know you're enjoying Rome right now, but a few things to get off of my mind and into yours: #1 Dad is accepting the Ft Collins offer…" That job lasted until this April. When Dad called and told me he got laid off, I thought he was kidding at first.

On April 4, 2008, Ryan asked me to be his girlfriend, and on April 11, 2008, I said "yes." Call me cruel for making him wait that long, but he had no way to know I had internet in Rome. Besides, this was no ordinary dating decision, and I thought it deserved a week-long anniversary.

This year, April 11 fell between Good Friday and Easter, so Ryan and I were able to celebrate together in Pella. We hung out with my grandparents, who have been married almost 48 years. During their first April as husband and wife, their first son was born (Happy Birthday, Dad!). They've had 46 more Aprils together since then. That's a lot of Aprils.

A lot can happen from April to April. That is why we walk by faith and not by sight.

this scrap of paper

Sometimes, when I am feeling a little melancholy, I put a sad song on repeat, and as I get sick of the song, I get sick of being sad, too. And so I turn off the song and get happy. Today the song was sad, but so pretty it turned happy as I did. It was a song by Hem and it includes these words:

"Think of every town you've lived in,
every room you lay your head."

68. The house on Kalamazoo.
69. Anita's apartment.
70. The hostel downtown. Two nights, hanging out with Marissa.
71. Bryna's house. The 123 four made it a weekend.
72. Pella for Thanksgiving.
73. At my parent's house in Ft. Collins.
74. The bottom bunk at Hofland's.
75. Inspiration Hills.
76. The couch at Ryan's house, soon after midnight on January 1.
77. The top bunk at Hofland's.
78. The house on Kalamazoo.
79. The plane from O'hare to Heathrow.
80. The plane from Heathrow to Tel Aviv.
81. The kibbutz in the Negev.
82. The kibbutz by the Dead Sea.
83. Christ Church in the Old City of Jerusalem.
84. The kibbutz in the North.
I didn't sleep at the hostel in Tel Aviv, although I had a bed.
85. A little on both of the planes back here.
86. Alumni 123. Still the best suite ever.
87. Dave and Julie's, and I didn't get sick.
88. Dave and Carlene's.
89. Amy's house, between talking until 3:00 in the morning and getting up before 7:00 to bring her siblings to the airport.
90. Nine nights on a different couch at Ryan's house– the couch he set up downstairs so that Grandma/Obaachan wouldn't have to worry about making noise in the kitchen.

"And what is it that you remember?"

Maybe I was feeling melancholy because spring break is over, and I am back at Alumni 123. I'm thinking back to those days when I woke up on that couch to the sun shining past Obaachan's houseplants and Ryan and slurps from his coffee mug. We cooked and walked and read and talked together. We did many things on our list of things to do, but we are not done. And that's fine with me.

"I am carrying this scrap of paper
that can crack the darkest sky wide open–
every burden taken from me,
every night my heart unfolding
my home."

four days of teacher aiding

I'm getting into a rhythm of teacher aiding, and I really like the high school that I am placed at. Today and my three days last week were quite exciting. Last Tuesday, the school was placed on a lockdown. After twelve minutes of sitting along one wall on the tile floor in the dark listening to canines barking in the distance, the intercom let us go back to instruction. Five minutes later they told us it was a drill. On Wednesday, I got a tattoo. Just henna actually, and the stained skin cells are slowly being shed. It was World Languages Week, so there were many multi-cultural activities going on, such as friendship bracelets, an activity to which I was able to lend my junior high expertise. On Thursday, I volunteered to translate for an individualized instruction plan meeting between the special needs teachers and a parent. I can't decide whether I'm more pleased with myself for getting the information back and forth or for volunteering in the first place. The father was very appreciative. Today, I pulled two students out of class to give them some individualized instruction. They both moved here recently from Mexico and were eager for a chance to get out of the English-filled classroom where they felt lost. We read a kids book. I made sure that they knew that I knew that they were not kids. They asked me if they should call me 'tú' or 'usted'. I told them 'tú', and they agreed, because I am not a viejita. I'm not a kid either.

Tomorrow we are going to talk about question words and ourselves and life and the world. I love teaching.

keep on writing

I feel like I can't write right now. I'm totally out of practice. Why can't one of my professors assign a twenty page paper? That would squeeze some journaling out of me, if only as a procrastination technique. But this semester is all about reading fifty pages before the next class.

I have to somehow keep on writing
even when it's not exciting,
because this is somebody's home page.
If you're someday coming home to me
awake is what I want to be–
still writing, with a light on.

So what have I been doing, if I haven't been writing? Here's a quick overview of the semester: The first weekend of the semester I worked ahead on homework, because the next week, Anita came, and a few hours after she went back to her school, Ryan visited for the weekend. The weekend after that, Mom and Dad and Alissa came, and we visited Dave and Julie and then Northwest Illinois. That was a study in anthropology. The next weekend I rejoiced because I passed a history test that lets me take just eighteen credits instead of twenty-one. The next week I started my teacher aiding placement at a nearby high school, and I was able to drive there in a very spiffy car (thanks, fam!).

And this weekend (actually week, but I go more by the sentiment than the calendar) we went to Iowa. Very few times have I gone to Iowa without seeing family. We went to see the brothers at New Melleray monastery. It was a good way to begin Lent. For two and a half days, I had my own private guest room and nothing on my agenda except vigils, lauds, terce, sext, none, vespers, compline, breakfast, lunch and dinner. I spent the time walking the field roads, reading, and trying to journal, and until the way home, I wasn't sure I was getting much out of it. But coming back I realized that I had finally been able to clear enough head space to think again. Hopefully all that thinking will lead to some more writing.

The Sounds of Israel

A lot has happened since I was in Israel, and I'll write about it eventually, but for now I want to share some videos from our trip in January. Listen for these sounds: pure talent, praising, praying, youth, Holy Sepulchre bells, tour guide/Muslim call to prayer/the singing of Vietnamese Christians, the wind, happy children, "air raid," and "get in here, you guys."

Hear Jerusalem Moan: Galilee

We started off from Jerusalem by driving through the West Bank, where we saw many Arab farmers and many gated communities. Along with lots of fruits and grains, they grow cactus there, in big, long rows. When they grow bananas, they wrap different bunches in different colored bags so that they ripen at different rates and they can increase their profit.. We stopped at Beth-Shean and saw the tel and the valley and sang in the Roman ampitheater. Soon we were entering the area where Jesus had spent most of his time, and we recognized more street signs, like "Migdal Junction," Mary Magdelene's place. We saw a zodiac on the floor of a synogogue from the Byzantine era. We made several archeological diversions on our way to the Sea of Galilee. Finally we saw the lake and Mt. Hermon, big and white, on the other side. We pulled into our kibbutz with plenty of time to read, talk, journal, play, explore, and shop in the little grocery store.

The next day we talked about the Beattitudes on the hill where Jesus said them, we talked about Jesus eating fish on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, we talked about Jesus speaking at the synagogue in the ruins of Capernaum, and we road a boat across the Sea of Galilee. That day three people in our group got baptized in the Jordan, and we saw nine peacocks in a tree at our kibbutz. The next day we went through the mine fields up to the Golan Heights, stopping at a national park where we talked about the lame man being lowered through the ceiling and how Jesus brushed the dirt clods out of his own hair and forgave all the man's sins. We saw Syria and Lebanon and Israel and the battlefields between them. We also drove through a town that had been hit with a missile the day before. The next day we went up on the Mount of Megiddo and talked about the past and the future. And we went up on Mt. Carmel, the site of my favorite Bible story. It was so clear we could see Mt. Hermon and a glimpse of the Meditteranean Sea.

On Saturday night Ryan and I looked through all 1,306 photos I took in Israel. It took a long time. When he saw all the pictures I took of Mt. Hermon, he knew what I was talking about. I was talking about a place I want to go back to.

I signed up to go to Israel because I knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and yet the whole time I was there, I felt like I would be back someday. This feeling heightened as we rode north into the region of the Sea of Galilee. If I lived in Israel, that's where I'd live. There are green fields and green mountains and a big lake that called a sea and way up in the north there is a mountain that looks like a big white chunk of home. Everywhere I go I want to go back, so why do I keep going new places?

Next year in Jerusalem! I'd like to say that with confidence, but I'm not stupid. Next year probably student teaching in Latin America. Next summer at Mt. Rainier! We all have places we hope for and people we long to see. Someday maybe I'll go back to Israel.

We had to go back to Tel Aviv that night because we had to go back to Chicago. After supper, five of us went out to have a goodbye-and-goodnight snack, but then Emily said "pass it" to three kids playing soccer in the park, and we ended up playing with them in the dark on the side of the hill for an hour and a half and their dads came and served us refreshments but we still had our own snacks so we went out to the shore of the Mediterranean to enjoy and by that time we decided to stay out all night, since we would have to get up at 3:30 to catch the plane. We enjoyed every last minute we had in Israel before we took off for our home on another shore. I can still hear Jerusalem moan.

See my Tabblo>

Hear Jerusalem Moan: Jerusalem

We arrived in Jerusalem a sunset and a sunrise before the sabbath, and oh was it good to eat supper and bring our bags to the room upstairs. We stayed at Christ Church, a place with a long history and a guest house. We went out walking that night in the light in the streets. We went to a modern shopping district and an unearthed shopping district and made our first of many stops to watch and pray at the Western Wall. Whenever I prayed there, in reach of the stones of the temple mount, I prayed for the peace of Jerusalem.

The next day we went to several museums, including the Holocaust museum, where I was reminded of all the stories I've read that are not just stories. For many, those stories are the reason their family now lives in Israel. My favorite falafel of the tour was that day in a crowded stall of the crowded Jewish market on the afternoon before Sabbath. Rush hour before a day of rest. That evening after a Sabbath dinner at the church, we went back to the Western Wall. Hundreds of Jews were gathered in their Sabbath best, dancing and praising and kissing the old-hewn stones. They want so badly for the temple to be rebuilt upon that mount that they have a menora ready, but there is still a mosque, a minaret and a loudspeaker up there. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

I made myself too busy on my Sabbath, as always, but I felt it more in a land where so many others are very busy at resting. I walked up and down the streets, spying out souvenirs and bartering with shopkeepers. We went to the church of the Holy Sepulchre (pray for peace) and touched some revered stones. Sunday we explored Zion and went through a tunnel along the temple mount underneath the Muslim Quarter. On Monday we followed the path of Jesus during the days before his death. We sat in the Garden of Gethsemane while the gardener pruned. I am grafted onto an olive tree. We went inside a tomb where Jesus' body may have lay. Now it is just stone.

Jerusalem is full of stones: the wall that surrounds the Old City, old walls that used to do the same, underground tunnels, overground tunnels, ancient ruins, and brand new apartment complexes. When the sun rises in the morning, it all looks like gold. But Jerusalem is more colorful than that. I couldn't tell you specifically what an Israeli or a Jew looks like or acts like because the diaspora that has repopulated carry with them the lands where they lived. There are Russian Jews and Polish Jews and French Jews and rich New York Jews. And there are Orthodox Jews and Secular Jews and Messianic Jews (though very, very few). And then there are the Catholics, the Armenians, the Muslims, and the tourists. One time we were sitting in the garden of the Garden Tomb, trying to listen to our Canadian (we guess) tour guide talk about our Jewish Savior while the Muslim call to prayer resounded above the city and a tour group of Vietnamese Christians sang a song I know well in English but cannot remember. Is this diversity, or chaos? Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

On our last night in Jerusalem, a few of us went to a pub where we spent a peaceful, relaxing evening. On our way out, we met a couple people who were also enjoying an evening at the pub, but in a less redemptive way. They were Americans, and we had a good chat. They were with some peace promoting tour group, but I don't know if they had enough peace for themselves, much less enough to share.

When you hear Jerusalem moan (or just listen to the bluegrass song), pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

See my Tabblo>

Hear Jerusalem Moan: The Negev

As mentioned briefly in the last post, I went to Israel. About sixteen students went for about two weeks. We began our journey in the Negev, the sweaty place, the South, the desert, the wilderness. Since night had fallen long before we reached the kibbutz (communist ranch) where we stayed, we felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. We met a couple guys our age who had hitchiked to the same kibbutz. They had recently gotten done with their three years of mandatory military service. We wandered around in the dark and asked them what it's like to grow up in Israel. One of the guys had never been outside of Israel. They both felt like their lives had been on hold while they were in the army, so they were happy to be out and wandering around. We wandered around the kibbutz for a while and they showed us the spot where Ben-Gurion (like George Washington, but for Israel) was buried. By the light of the waxing moon, we saw that our lodgings were seated next to a canyon.

The next morning the sun came up over that canyon, and we saw just how big it was, and how dry. We went by bus to the Ramone Crater and hiked for miles and talked about the Israelites wandering in this desert. Then we hiked a few more miles. Then we ate some manna in the form of falafel. The falafel stand on the first day served it hot and cheap with all the best condiments. We raved. Within ten days, though, we started to grumble against our beloved tour guide Rami whenever he mentioned falafel for lunch. In the afternoon we wandered some more, this time among the ruins of Avdat. For supper that night, we ate meat, since we had had dairy for breakfast, and it would be over six hours until we ate dairy again. That night we sat under the stars and listened to distant rumblings from the direction of Gaza and talked about God and the world.

We saw water the next day: a lovely stream running through the desert of Tsin. The water allowed green things to grow. After falafel, we visited the Negev shack of Ben-Gurion, who moved to the Negev to be an example of pioneerism. He wanted to show that the desert could bloom if they just added water, which is what people have been doing for millenia, as we saw in the ruins of Arad. That night we resettled at another kibbutz near the Dead Sea. Again we opened our suitcases, knowing we would have to repack everything the next morning.

We woke up early to watch the sun rise over the Dead Sea. That day was full: Masada, En Gedi, Qumran and a swim in the Dead Sea. The water at En Gedi dives into a turquoise pool; the water in the Dead Sea beads up on top of itself and won't let you drown. It was a beautiful day. All of our time in the Negev had been beautiful, but I was ready for the city, as strange as it may sound to hear that from me.

In Jerusalem, we'd stay five nights in one place. We'd be able to let our suitcases explode and the contents spread throughout the room. We'd be able to settle in, feel at home, and drink the water straight from the tap. And best of all, at night it would not be dark because the streetlights would come on and we'd be able to explore as far as we could walk.

I was ready for Jerusalem. I could hear Jerusalem moan.

See my Tabblo>

Can't you hear Jerusalem moan?

Someone at David's baby shower on December 13 asked me when I had gotten back. Back to the country? Back to school? Back from Thanksgiving break? I had been to Colorado before, but never to that chidrens' hospital, so I couldn't really come back. Alissa had to say "Friday" for me. Yes, Friday, December 12 was the day that I landed in Denver.

When Milt asked me the same question on Sunday, I was ready. I told him that I got into Denver airport on Friday night, then rode up to Ft. Collins, then rode back to Denver, then rode back to Ft. Collins, then rode back to Denver. "You can't say 'back' when this is only the third day I've been in Ft. Collins, and I've spent two of those days in Denver." Point taken.

People thought I was "back" because they thought I was home, but I knew that home wasn't Ft. Collins because I didn't even know where the bathrooms or the oven mitts were. I suppose there are plenty of senile people who have lived in houses their whole lives and then forgotten where the bathrooms or the oven mitts are, but that's different. They are still allowed to call their houses home, even after they are taken away to a nursing home. And they are also allowed to call the nursing home "home." Or both can be home. Or neither.

If home is where the heart is, my home is in pieces all over the world. There are chunks in the swamp, in the camper, in the senior hallway, in Glacier Dorm, in my señora's house, in this dorm room, and in Fort Collins. My home is even in places I've never been, like George Fox University's Asian house and Singapore and orphanages in Uganda. Some pieces of my home no longer exist (like Putermobile), and some pieces exist only in my imagination (like my own full kitchen). This is all very complicated, so I prefer a definition of "home" that goes beyond nostalgia and desire and includes something of relative permanence and practical function. I don't have this definition completely worked out, and I don't even want to know what the dictionary has to say.

Lori asked me yesterday if I spent Christmas in Iowa or at home. The truth is I spent ten days at my parents' house and then spent Christmas in the Buick with my sister and the next few days at the Hoflands' house, the next few days in a cabin, the next two days at my boyfriend Ryan's house, another night at Hoflands', the next day in the Buick, and the next day and a half at the house on Kalamazoo. And then I went to Israel. No, Lori, I did not spend Christmas at home.

"Where is your home?" she asked as I finally unpacked the suitcase, duffel, and backpack that I'd been living out of since December 12. "Here," I said.

But that's only half the answer. "I've got a home on the other shore (Oh, can't you hear Jerusalem moan!) and I'm a gonna live there forevermore. (Can't you hear Jerusalem moan?)"