barefaced

where you're looking for me....

2010-01-30T21:13:00.000-08:00

... you will not find me.

Since I got hitched I figured I should quit the narcissism and cleave to my helpmate. And I've never been happier in my life.

You can find my/our semi-less-narcissistic musings at the Newell Post

Jubilee

2008-07-30T21:17:00.001-07:00

More Photos of Paradise!

2008-06-14T05:23:00.001-07:00

So many pictures... so little time!

2008-06-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

Here are some pictures that I just have to share with you all! I have less than 5 minutes to upload them, so we'll see how this goes! These are all taken at the resort where I'm staying in Goa. Much more to come soon!

Rain, Rain, Go Away...

2008-06-13T04:57:00.000-07:00

Lonely Planet guidebooks are great. I found loads of information from their India guidebook. One very crucial piece of information that Lonely Planet failed to highlight was the monsoon season. I’m sure it was in the book somewhere, but the book also happens to be over 1,200 pages in length. In other words, I’m sitting in paradise, otherwise known as Goa, India, in my hotel room listening to the rain come out of the sky like water from a fire hose. I’m not made of sugar (entirely, that is), so I won’t melt. But, even a semi-sweet gal doesn’t like to be drenched within seconds of being outside. We walked to breakfast this morning to a restaurant on the resort property and I was absolutely soaked by the time we arrived. I’ll have to learn to operate in a soggy state for at least the next four or five days. That’s OK, because as I mentioned before, we’re in paradise!

For example, this is our room at the resort. Wowzas! We have a covered porch that overlooks the expansive pools and rainforest-like flora of the resort.

This is our super-sweet bathtub. I think. I haven’t quite figured out how to fill it up, so I’m just using it as a shower for now. Not pictured here is the rain shower shower- head fixed to the ceiling. It is very high pressure, just like the rain pouring down outside as I type.

We actually only made it to Goa yesterday. Somehow we missed our flight on our original departure date, June 10th. (If you want to know how that happened I have to tell you when I’m back in the States… ughhh….) Now that we’re finally here, Jana and I are just enjoying, well, our room and our porch. We hope to make a trip out to a local market if the rain slacks off a bit. I don’t mind walking around the resort in the rain, but I’m not too keen on walking down muddy village roads in the rain.

With our extra day in Delhi Jana was able to do some last minute shopping for jewelry supplies. We also visited the Red Fort. It was built to protect the entire city of Delhi “back in the day.” As you can see from this picture, I’m outside the walls of the fort… so; I’d say the architects didn’t imagine India would have a billion people any time in their future. Their trajectory was a bit off…

This resort has an unbelievable spa, only a few soggy minutes walk from my room. I might just have to check that out! We took a tour of the spa yesterday and I was sold! The spa also has a sauna, but I have my own personal sauna. It’s called “being outside.” I also had my own personal parasite for a few days. That has finally passed, I hope. Today I ate a muffin. That was the first thing I’ve eaten in two days. Yay for Arbonne Powepacks! Hopefully my system absorbed some of those vitamins while I was on my parasite diet.

More updates soon! Keep checking back and keep pr@y!ing!

A Day of Shopping

2008-06-09T09:36:00.000-07:00

We started our day with breakfast at "Cafe Coffee Day." Jana's breadfast looked yummy, but my "Italian Foccocia" left much to be desired. Spicy carrots on panini bread at 8:30am isn't my idea of a good breakfast. My second shot at a breakfast item was the chocolate doughnut. It was just like Daylight Doughnuts, a sure win.

Today we met up with our friend Raji who took us to several bazaars to buy jewelry pieces. Here is Jana and Raji walking to the bazaar.

Jana spent many hours picking out just the right pieces of silver, beads, and crystals for the jewelry business.

The street bazaars were CRAZY!!! I've never been stared at more in my life! There were billions of people, all crammed into tiny alleys, with motor scooters, bikes, rickshaws, and cars, all trying to go different directions. I was almost run over about 35 times (which barely beats the amount of times I saw a man "relieving himself" on the sidewalk. eeeewwww....) If you look closely, you can see the monkey on the wire above the street. It was so Indian Jones-esque!

As we were walking I spotted a drinking station where they serve the lowest caste of people (the Dalits) water from small clay pots. After the Dalit drinks from the pot they are required to throw it on the ground so that no person might drink from the same cup as a Dalit.

This doesn't begin to show how incredibly dirty and sweaty I was after eight hours of non-stop shopping. I had a "second skin" of street scum and pure sweat!

Mississippi Mudpie + Delhi + A Cazillion Degrees = Delicious!

2008-06-08T07:36:00.000-07:00

Today was a beautifully humid day in Delhi. Jana and I woke up pretty early and had a chance to catch up on all that has been going on over the past year or so. We chatted while we sat in bed for close to an hour! Then, we got ready and went to breakfast at the hotel restaurant. When our waiter brought the bill he informed us that our breakfast might be free tomorrow. We were both confused and he didn’t bother to explain himself any further. Is this some new promo technique? Works for me... I’ll be there tomorrow morning! I’m quite the sucker for freebies!

After a relaxing morning we went to a fellowship gathering in central Delhi. How beautiful it is to hear Indian voices singing to the Father! The message was exactly what I needed to hear. In fact, the verses that the teacher covered in the message were just what I have been studying for the past few days, and the same verses my wonderful boyfriend Jake wrote to encourage me on my trip. We studied what it means to experience “joy” that is not transient, and studied what it means to have G’s “peace” in our heart.

Our friend Kate took us to an INCREDIBLE restaurant after the gathering. The place is called “The Big Chill.” Yes, there were movie posters all over the restaurant. And, oddly, lots of Alfred Hitchcock memorbelia as decor. I was confused about that part of the restaurant, but not at all confused about the amazing meal! Without knowing it, Jana and I ordered enough food to feed most of the restaurant... for super cheap! Then, to top it all off, they had “Mississippi Mudpie” on the dessert menu. Curiosity got the best of us, so we had to order it. It was just what my palate was craving! Just like the mudpie we have in the South! Again, it was more than we could eat, but I’ve never had a problem finishing a dessert. It’s just a sin to leave gobs of chocolate on your plate. Paula Deen would have been proud.

This afternoon (you know, when the sun’s had enough time to heat up the air and pavement to a nice and steaming cazillion degrees...) we’re planning to visit a silver jewelry dealer to barter/purchase silver for the jewelry business. I’m excited to see Jana in action! We’re also on the prowl for sandals for the both of us that we can wear to an Afgh wedding. The tackier the better, I was told. Finally! Tacky dress is culturally appropriate! My Nana always says to take off at least one accessory before you leave the house, but just the opposite is true for an Afgh wedding! Pile on the yellow gold and gaudy jewels... it’s party time!

Photos Thus Phar

2008-06-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

So, I just realized I haven't taken many photos since I've been here. Actually, none at all! But, here are a few from my time in NYC and with Jake before I left. Also, there is a picture of me with a cup of coffee at a place called "Jake's Coffehouse." How neat.

India smells just like I remember!

2008-06-07T10:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Readership,

I have arrived. Literally. I'm in India! The flight was too long. I'd suggest NEVER taking a non-stop flight to Delhi. Ever. But, I'm here now. I had about a six hour layover in New Jersey, so I hopped on the train into NYC. I spent a few hours just walking around and taking in the sights, walked to Time Square, ate at an expensive deli, and headed back to the airport just in time for my international flight. It was really fun to be out an about all on my own! After about a 15 hour flight, I'm finally in Delhi, India.

It was so great to see my friend Jana at the hotel! We had a very sweet reunion. Tomorrow we are going to a fellowship gathering together. Then, we'll do some shopping for jewelry in the afternoon.

Thank you for lifting me up during my flight. All of my bags arrived in (almost) perfect condition. Nothing was taken from the bags, they were just a little shuffled around. I am doing well and not quite tired yet. I'm still on Arkansas time! I better get to bed soon, though, so I can get on Indian time. I'll upload pictures soon of my journey so far!

our nation's first capitol

2007-07-25T21:30:00.000-07:00

i went to philly and this is what i saw.

(plus some other great and historical figures. more pictures soon.)

through the lens

2007-07-12T08:52:00.000-07:00

a picture IS worth a thousand words, which will save me a lot of time in this update. just click here to see what i've been up to lately, in photo form. or, follow the link on my sidebar to "snaps."

voy a mexico...ahorrita!

2007-05-18T13:27:00.001-07:00

"I am going to Mexico...right this minute!"

It's the truth. I leave in T minus two hours. Yipes. This wouldn't be as big of a deal, normally, except for the following circumstances:

:: I not only had to pack a suitcase for Mexico, I had to pack ALL of my belongings.

:: While I'm gone, my current residence will be vacated.

:: My dad is moving to New Jersey while I'm 'en la playa' in southern Mexico, "building a floor," as some have said.

ps: We hope to build more than a floor...

So, here I sit, in my empty room, staring at an empty, well, everything. These are my last moments in the first house that has seemed anywhere close to "normal" for the past five crazy years. Dad moved into this house about three years ago. I "lived" here through most of college. Now, I'm an official vagabond. With all of my most important things packed into boxes, resting for time in my grandmother's garage, I'm off... Off to, somewhere. Somehow. Of course, I could go to New Jersey with Dad. He'd love that. Even though it is only a 50 min. train ride to NYC, and the foliage is great, according to him, I'm just not sure I'm a NorthEastern-er. Not yet, at least. Plus, I'm pretty sure New Jersey produces more chemicals and artifical flavorings than any other state in the Union. That's got to be good for the environment up there...

Back to Mexico. I haven't been there in over a year. I usually go every Spring Break with our church to support the local m-workers-- building stuff, teaching stuff, medicating people, etc. I'm very excited to get back down there. This time around I feel I have a bit more to offer, to the team and to the long-term workers. We hope that I'll be able to make some fruitful connections with the local artisans, the m-base, and Bajalia. Apparently the harvest is very plentiful, but the outlet is undeveloped. We can work with that!

And, as you can imagine, more pictures are soon to come. I'll be posting lots of Mexican "fotos" when I return.

This photo is from my last trip:

As the vagabond/nomad lifestyle goes, I might not have regular internet access in the coming weeks. But, hang in there. You, my faithful readership, are worth every trip to the local library and coffee shop, where I shall bum WiFi, all for the sake of the blog.

Paz/Peace/Salaam/Shalom.

garage sale gems

2007-05-15T05:43:00.000-07:00

To set the scene: it is around 6:30am, Friday morning. I'm quite literally exhausted, asleep in my car in my grandmother's driveway, where I thought I could steal a few minutes of sleep while I waited for my first customer. I had been preparing for the garage sale to end all garage sales all week. I'm on this "minimalist kick," as my Dad so lovingly has labeled my life phase. I had prepared for the entire week--sorting, sifting, pricing, trashing, and reminiscing-- through every possession I've collected over my past 23 years of life. Yeah, that's a lot of stuff, you're right. Needless to say (even though I've actually already said it...), I was exhausted. But not for long...

Around a quarter to 7am, a gut-shaking rumble comes screeching down the street. I jump straight up, jerk around in my reclined seat, to catch a hazy gaze of my first customer. The rumble was coming from the dangling exhaust pipe of a circa 1980 Thunderbird (with T-tops). And when he parked just past the mailbox, the rumble didn't stop. He left the engine running, with the stereo blasting classic rock. The music matched the outfit, and gave him perfect theme music as he slithered through all of my considerably girly home decor, picture frames, and hand-painted bedroom furniture.

As he breached from the T-bird I knew I was in for a treat. His black, leather vest (with fringe) accented his bare cheast like the ruffled skirt on a plus-size baithing suit accents a pear-shaped figure. His flowing salt-and-pepper curls tumbled down his bare shoulders, well past his elbows, with a backwards hat most likely covering a receiding hair line and/or a sprawling bald spot in the crown region. Just making an educated guess from the context clues presented to me.

He hovered around the tables for several turns, picking up mainly electronics and cords and the tools my dad donated for the sale. Obviously a smoker from his pre-teens, he saluted me with a grumbly "Good mornin' girly. How's things?" ...such a familiar salutation, from such an unfamiliar figure... I told him he was my first customer, and, though his leathered face didn't show much of any expression, I could tell he was proud. After passing around some general niceties, I learned that "Smitty" did yard work for a living, but that he could pretty much do anything, at all...ever. Anything. He'd ovbviously peaked my interest such a bold statement. I had to know more...

Smitty then proceeded to explain to me how one would go about tearing down a tree, from the top down. I also learned various other yard-related tips and tricks. When I asked him about the duct tape around his tucked-into-socks pant legs, he explained that "the seed ticks were eatin' him alive down in the holler." Again, using my keen context clues, I drew the conclusion that he was working in a nearby holler, of sorts, tearing down trees. From the top, down.

The first of his many purchase decions, as he did stop by several more times throughout the next two days, was my dad's old stereo, dad's old ostrich skin cowboy boots, an electric keyboard, and my wet suit. I would love to see all of these purchases utilized simultaneously. I'm certain that with his old/new items, Smitty will be the envy on the banks of the Elk River, his current estate.

...if a picture's worth a thousand words, then Smitty left me speechless...

happy birthday

2007-04-01T00:14:00.000-07:00

to me.

so the marble is really bright, alright?

"you look like a nice afghan girl,"

2007-03-30T01:57:00.000-07:00

said the mullah of the village, at the msq dedication ceremony, where i offered a blessing for the place in the name of the Only One who can save.

yeah, that was a good day.

perspective

2007-03-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

Again, allowing children to run free with one's camera can produce priceless photos.

"let stand for one hour to coagulate"

2007-03-27T00:57:00.000-07:00

or one day, or six weeks, or however long...

a few things i've learned in the past few days, covering a few areas of life and spirituality and food:

:: i lack discipline
:: i'm too optimistic
:: snicker's candy bars are a whole heck-of-a-lot harder to ration over the course of a week than are clif bars
:: saying that you'll learn a language by buying the books and cd's is quite different than actually learning the language
:: hot chocolate mix (with tiny marshmallows) + instant coffee + raw sugar = "mocha"
:: i'm afraid of weapons, but i'm not sure why
:: it is possible to still feel like you have dirt on your body even after a really hot shower
:: the world and life keeps clicking along even when you go to a new place and you wish it'd just stop and wait for you to come back
:: never, ever give your underware to the cleaning lady to be washed, unless you want everyone else to see it in living room later
:: assuming honesty is a dangerous dance
:: hair dryers can catch fire, especially when they start smoking
:: it takes more effort to live in a developing country
:: somehow i miss places i've never been. or have i confused missing with longing?
:: soaking clothes in hot, soapy water works for me (see seventh bullet point...)

don't know nothing except change will come

2007-03-26T03:03:00.000-07:00

just wanted to share these curious faces with you. not much going on today. i'm stuck inside, with patty griffin singing to me, donald miller filling my head, along with Isaiah's words, and dusty, spring air collecting outside. el blog underwent a bit of a facelift today. the new color scheme was inspired by the mountain that is perched perfectly in my window. sometimes i think it is mocking me for not being able to conquer its summit. but i've decided to use its dominating presence as an inspiration to return here and reach new heights.

i was tempted to not write about this, considering the fact that some in my readership might be on the squeemish-side, but i just have to share what was in my food today, for the second time since i've been in this lovely country. ready? fur. i've had two pieces of naan with fur baked into the crust. sometimes the only way to eat is with my eyes closed. does fur have any nutritional value, i wonder?

tonight several of my new friends and i will be eating OUT, at a lebanese restaurant. i don't think fur is part of the lebanese cuisine, if memory serves me. i'm looking forward to fur-free hummus.

and patty bellows on...

.....I don't know nothing except change will come
Year after year what we do is undone
Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home

You're out there walking down a highway
And all of the signs got blown away
Sometimes you wonder if you're walking in the wrong direction

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy..................

reconstruction

2007-03-23T11:11:00.000-07:00

I found this quote from C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity, and I've started using it to lift up this land, amidst all the rebuilding happening here.

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of — throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

God is here, and I'm learning of the mighty remodeling He's been up to lately. I hope that soon and very soon the people will see with their eyes and recognize with their lips, this great Architect, and that He'll make His home in their hearts.

fruitful failure

2007-03-21T06:41:00.000-07:00

I tried to climb a mountain today, in honor of the New Year celebration. Well, I didn't make it. I actually thought I was about to croak 1/4 of the way up, and was sure I would croak 1/2 the way up, then basic bodily functions started shutting down 3/4 of the way up. Things I should have taken into consideration before this hike: 1) I have a cold/sinus infection/lung wheeze; 2) i'm asthmatic; 3) we're about 6,000 ft higher in elevation than I'm used to, and I'm definitely not climatized. So, I didn't make it. But I'm quite happy that I whimped out just above the city, but not quite to the top. As usual, my dear, empathetic, and lagging-behind friend and I started to draw a crowd as I sucked air through a windpipe the size of a coffee stirring straw. The crowd grew and grew, and soon there were probably around 10 women and twice as many kids surrounding us. Even though I know about 10 words in Dari, I felt totally in my element, be it an element with very thin air. As my friend and I wondered how to entertain our new audience, I thought to pull out my camera. Kids love this thing. I started to take pictures, then let them run wild with my camera. Here's a taste of my out-of-breath afternoon among the mountains of Kbl, through my lens:

this is my "if-i-have-to-climb-another-inch-we'll-be-revisiting-the-taco-soup-i-just-had-for-lunch" smile

breath-taking. literally.

henna-ed fingertips are smudging my lense, but i don't really care at this point.

mountain goat girls

babies and old men put me to shame

making babies cry, one mountain village at a time

her name is Nilofar and her hair really is blonde. and she's got an eye for photography.

mountain goat family

"these are a few of my favorite things..."

2007-03-20T05:10:00.000-07:00

When all the world is new, one learns to find pleasure in the simplest of things. Here’s a portion of my on-going list of simple things that, peppered throughout my day, bring me a smile:

• finding a hidden hot chocolate packet in the cupboard of my guesthouse
• the night watchman’s leopard-print slippers
• the imported Dutch trampoline at a friend’s house
• starting a fire with less than 10 matches
• Chaila—the coffee house that serves homemade milkshakes
• the two ice cubes I’ve had in 4 weeks
• hot water
• balloon man selling helium balloons tied to the back of his bicycle
• gospl quartet at the military base
• sunset into mountains
• almond-shaped eyes and wind-burned cheeks on children wearing fuzzy wool hats

el gym

2007-03-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

Today my host friend took me to the gym. Hold it right there, you’re probably thinking. You went to the gym? In A*stan? How? Why? and Where? are good questions that you also might be pondering. Well, just so happens that for about 3 hours in the middle of the day this particular gym is open for women. There are apparently several gyms in the city, and the gym we went to is the “nicest.” “Nice” must be a relative term, for several reasons. 1) The place smelled like feet; 2)the weight machines were made out of old car seats, bike chains, bike seats, and anything that could be measurably heavy, 3)there wasn’t a track, so the women just ran around the weight machines. Rather, they frolicked around the weight machines. I didn’t have to wear my head scarf, but I did have to wear my salwar kamis, the traditional shirt-and-top combo that most Af*gs wear. I didn’t exactly bring my track pants and tank top to this country. Also, as is tradition, we had to take off our shoes when entering the building, just like we do everywhere else we enter. But, I also left my running shoes at home, so I had nothing to change in to. I did about an hour workout in my sock feet. I don’t think you’d even be allowed in a gym in the States without shoes on. I channeled some of my creative energy into weight lifting techniques, as the dumbbells the women use are about 1lb each, and neon-colored. This country never ceases to amaze me…

check out the handle bars and old driver seat from a car.

this is a shot from the locker room, with a burqa in the foreground.

again, the bike seat…

Lisa Frank school supplies would have fit in nicely here in the free weight section.

among giants

2007-03-15T07:24:00.000-07:00

On the plane ride up to Maz. I was able to actually watch the takeoff and landing through the front windows of the airplane! I was sitting in the row behind the pilots and I’m sure I looked like a kid in a candy shop. My eyes must have been huge as I watched the pilots flip a zillion switches and say stuff like, “Left prop is go for flight” and “Setting cruising altitude at 27 thousand, captain.” I made a friend here that is a pilot, and he told me who would be flying my plane. This is good info for schmoozing purposes. I did some name dropping and found favor with the mutual friend/pilot. He asked if I wanted to wear the headphones and communicate with my friend who was also flying that day. I chickened out because I pictured the worst: some bit of vital information coming through as I’m wearing the set of headphones, putting the vital communication at a hault, then our plan spiraling down into a crash landing in a mountain, all because I was wearing the headphones instead of the pilot. Instead, I busied myself with the view from my little frosted-over window. Here’s what I saw…

Goose the Pilot, my new friend that gave me the schmoozing ability with Bruce my pilot told me that the mountains we flew over were the Hindu-Kush Mountains. I believe him. He also said that if we had taken a hard right turn as we were flying over the major mountain pass, we would eventually run into Mt. Everest. I’m glad to be in Maz for this week, but must admit that circling Mt. Everest in a 10-seater plane would have been quite fabulous, as well.

Ps: Goose isn’t his real name.

burqa series

2007-03-11T06:05:00.000-07:00

I'm learning to imagine that there really is a smile underneath the burqa. Imainge that with me, won't you?

Istalif

2007-03-11T05:43:00.000-07:00

...an enchanted little mountain village... a diamond in the rough...

the check mark means the house and property is cleared of land mines. oh, goodie.

this man is a doctor from the clinic at Istalif

these are his patients

kiddos around the city

the people are known for their pottery (led-based, that is.) the color of green reminded me of my first hot-rod, the Camero, in all of her teal-blue wonder.

Dina and I with A-stan behind us

fighting birds in cages. They clip their wings and let them have at it.

a new way to learn

2007-03-11T05:10:00.000-07:00

We have been visiting with several women's "self-help" groups in the villages around Kabul. These groups are organized by a local NGO, but mainly led through strong women in the community. The women get together monthly to learn, encourage each other, and bounce new ideas around, and probably, as my Nana would say, "gab" about goings on in the village. The model for self-help groups has been quite successful in several developing countries. Our business team is partnering with two specific CLA's (Cluster Level Associations). The CLA's are made up of representatives from each self-help group. The Dari word for the CLA group, which was decided on by the women, is "Desta Jamee"-- "joining hands together." I have visited several of these groups throughout the past week, and I was a little taken-back by the method of teaching/learning that happens in the meeting. I suppose I didn't really know what I was stepping in to, but I had my ideas. I thought the groups were a collection of simple village women, and I had attached an intellectual level to them. For some reason I thought that because they were taking care of the home, cooking, cleaning, taking care of kids, washing, looking after the livestock, etc. that they would be a bit more intellectually advanced. But I was quite wrong. These women are illiterate and have the most basic reasoning and critical thinking skills, only. I don't mean to share this information for any other reason than to say how the Father has encouraged me to teach these women. They learn through pictures, so that is what we have been doing. We draw and they add to our drawings; or, we give them an idea, and they elaborate on the idea through drawing. If anyone was thinking they needed a PhD to teach, they are wrong. The Father is teaching me that I am incredibly blessed to have the university education that I have. And I'm encouraged that the training I DO have is quite sufficient, if I really am just here to share the love of the Father.

for you to click on

2007-03-09T10:38:00.000-08:00

check out these blogs for more stories and pictures from our trip:

Bajalia Trading Co.

Michael's Blog

The Bookseller of Kabul

2007-03-07T20:10:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to pace myself with the taking of pictures ("snaps" as our British friends call them). I'm going to be here close to a month, so I'm trying to just take it all in right now. Astan is simply enchanting, and I don't think my lens has been capturing the awe I’m experiencing. Below is just a sample, more to come very soon:

If you were thinking Afghans only frowned, you’re sadly mistaken. I’ve seen many, many smiles here.

I live on this street, I think. Most of the streets have huge craters, so even drives on paved roads are like going “muddin.'”

Roof top view, from a Hazara village we visited. Mountains surround this whole city.

On our way to one village we got stuck in “mud.” Our driver thought he could make it down this alley, but he was just a little too ambitious. We were actually driving on ice. After several attempts we decided to let the men handle the problem, and the ladies went on to our appointment. Turns out, this wasn’t just a muddy alley, covered by ice. The open sewer system means that the streets are flowing with mud and, well, yeah. Poo.

Stockpiled wool for the carpet-weaving project we visited. All the wool is dyed in vegetable dye and hand-spun.

Michael bought some HOT shoes. He feels more culturally appropriate in these shoes, he says. I…don’t know…but, hmmm

A typical street scene—hanging meet, bicycle, more men than women, burqa, script I can’t read, etc.

Mary and Joseph, er, I mean, Brangelina, er…Michael and Jennifer. I’m sporting my new fur coat, which smells like it was alive not too long ago. We’re not supposed to smile in this country, but we’re both on the verge.

Even through all the smog and dirt, the snow is still quite bright. There is a mountain range behind me. In fact, everywhere I turn there is a mountain range somewhere behind me.

Our feastings. If you look closely, there are French fries cooked in with the chicken legs. Side note: I saw French soldiers at a restaurant today and I think they were eating French fries. Ha.

In case you didn’t get the point, I look at mountains all day long.

I read a book called The Bookseller of Kabul before I came here as a sort of cultural indoctrination, along with The Kite Runner (which I totally recommend that everyone read). In The Bookseller of Kabul, the author/journalists takes some creative liberties, but basically tells the true-life story of an Afghan family, weaving each family member’s story into a novel, but mainly focusing on the life of the bookseller, the father of the family. She spent “a springtime” with this family whose patriarch is a renowned bookseller in Kabul. The author writes that one of the bookshops is located in the lobby of the Inter Continental Hotel. We made lunch plans for the hotel restaurant today, and I thought I’d do my own little investigation into this bookshop. The novel is supposed to be based on true events, right? Sure enough, there is a bookshop in the hotel lobby. I nosed my way into the shop, a tiny nook, really, off to the side of the main lobby. There was a man inside building shelves, but there were hardly any books on the shelves, maybe 10 books. I asked if he was the carpenter or owner. The convo went a little something like this:

“Excuse me, sir, is this the bookshop?”

“Yes, this is bookshop.”

“Oh! Ok, are you the carpenter or the owner?”

“Ne, ne, this is my shop. I am Shah Mohammed. See sign? [points to poster hanging just to my right] ‘Shah M. Bookshop’.”

“Yes, oh. I see. Are you new? I mean to say, is this a new bookshop for the hotel?”

“No, this is a reopening. We are a very old shop. I have many shops in Kabul. You want to have look?”

“Well, sir, I must come back, my friends are leaving me. I will be here all month. Will you be open soon?”

“Yes, I open very soon.”

[bookseller leans in very close] “You know, miss, I am very famous. This shop very famous.”

“Ah, yes. I have heard of your shop. And I’ve heard of your postcards. You are famous to me, that’s for certain. I will come back to visit you when I have more time.”

“Yes, thank you. Ok, salaam.”

“Salam, tashakor Shahjan.”

Process of elimination and my keen detective skillz tell me…I just met The Bookseller of Kabul! And the ironic part of the story (one of them, at least) is that a chapter of the novel tells the story of a contracted carpenter whom the Bookseller hired to build him new shelves for his shop. The carpenter ended up stealing several thousand postcards from the shop, and there was a whole scene involving the police and bringing shame to the carpenters family, etc, etc. Well, I guess the Bookseller learned his lesson! He’s building his own shelves now!

I wonder if he’ll carry his book…

qatra qatra darya mesha

2007-03-03T23:09:00.000-08:00

"I want to teach you a proverb," said Wakil. "'Qatra qatra darya mesha'--we say this in A*stan to mean that drop by drop, you will see progress, so much to make a mighty flowing river."

This is the first of many proverbs I learned over tea and sweets today. I'm trying to write them all down, but my phoenetics is a little rusty, not to mention my Dari. I clung to this proverb, as it describes quite well my introduction to this city, culture, and language.

We arrived safely yesterday to Kbl. What a trip. The airport "situation" was one for the record books. I felt like a diplomat, recieving special privileges, but also like I didn't exist. It was weird. The luggage belt might as well not have existed, also. The unloading of luggage from the plane could be likened to the way a CAT front-end loader shovels dirt from pile to pile. It appeared that our suitcases were scooped from from the belly of the plane and just dumped in a mud puddle.

I haven't experienced much of this city, yet. Today we plan to take a driving tour and do a little shopping. I need a jacket, badly! It is snowing here, and I have an inappropriate coat (it doesn't cover my hind-end). The "cuddle duds" on loan from my sis are working wonders, though. I felt a bit bi-polar packing for this trip. India and A*stan are basically opposite in climate.

I'm making friends with the employees of the guesthouse. I already have an Afghan name, which I can't pronounce yet, and they are very patiently teaching me Dari. Sohaila took me to the roof today to view the city. The sun had bured through the clouds and snow just enough for me to be taken back by the mountains surrounding this city. It is other-worldly, really. Maybe the roof isn't the best place to be in a city like this, but I can't imaging finding a better view anywhere else. Sohaila is a beautiful woman, and I can only hope to have many more tea times and language study with her.

murg aloo who?

2007-03-01T04:33:00.000-08:00

My time in India really has been a dream-come-true. I don’t know if I’ve ever been able to say that with such confidence. But I am confidant and convinced that our Father is answering my heat’s desires through this trip. He wasn’t joking when He asked me to match my heart with His, and He would fill me up to overflowing. I’m seeing Him everywhere, even though this country is a very dark place. Actually, India is full of irony. Here are some things I’m noticing:

o The darkest villages have the brightest colored clothing, and the most beautiful eyes.
o I see the most hope in the most untapped creativity.
o They have so little, but they give so much away.
o My travel wallet (on loan from Nana), which is supposed to go under my clothes, discretely, is neon pink.

o As the crow flies, we’re only a couple paces from the equator, but I’m wearing more yards of fabric on my body that I ever have before.
o There is an electrical outlet in my shower.

I’m typing this as I drink a Coca Cola and eat a grilled cheese sandwich. For breakfast I had toast. It would be safe to say that I’m not agreeing too well with Indian food. I’ve only had a few incidences of what we like to call “Delhi Belly,” but nothing traumatic. I’ve tried to be adventuresome when it comes to food, upon my best friend’s recommendation. But I come from the school of thought that holds to ‘if you can’t pronounce it, maybe you shouldn’t order a whole plate of it.’ “Murg Aloo” is fun enough to say, but do I want Murg Aloo working itself through my digestive track? Probably not. I can, however, give you a great critique on many of the Indian versions of American food.

Visiting the villages to explore their handiwork has been my favorite part of this trip. I really feel “in my element.” I feel useful, both to Bajalia, and to the work of the Kingdom, when I’m visiting with the women of the villages, talking with the elders, and hearing their heart’s desires. There is plenty of fertile ground here for the HS to work!

These are some pictures from the village where we hope to begin a new project with the women:

Today we arrived in Mumbai. We’ll be doing some more consulting with artisans here, picking up merchandise, and hopefully purchasing more to bring back to the states. I hope to also catch another bollywood flick while in the city. We saw one a few nights ago, but I need more dancing! There was only one song-and-dance outbreak in the movie we saw, to my dismay. Oh, and, my cell phone magically re-appeared today, just moments after I mentioned to the hotel management that I might have “misplaced” it. Thanks for lifting that up for me, to those of you that knew about it.

Keep our travels in your thoughts. And praise Him for His grace, and His Son, our motivation for all we do, and our only hope for true Restoration.

first fotos

2007-02-26T12:30:00.000-08:00

Like I said, everything jingles, even ankles.

The kid on the bike is funnier looking than me, actually. Safe to say, neither of us know what’s going on.

Sunffeluffogus balloon kid.

And, explain to me why we can’t touch these children?

Boo! Ahahahahahahah!!!

Life goal, check. Blowing bubbles with Indian Dalit children. These kiddos go to school at Good Shepherd School, Antejar, India. I hope you can zoom in on the attack-bubble, about to pop on my face.

I hear ya, kiddo. India is a strange, strange place.

Dalit kids at Good Shepherd school. I spy, with my little eye, a cheater!

I can’t get over how cute a kid can be if you just put a bonnet on her. But actually it didn’t take much for me to come to the conclusion that these kids were absolutely beautiful.

The girl in the orange was just married. Or, maybe it was the girl in the maroon, I can’t really remember. They both had henna all over their hands. I think this picture sort of looks like we ran into a hot dog stand together.

India mullet, sporting khaki vest and trash stash. Yes, please.

Another cutie-patootie, but not sure what he’s chewing on…

My future mother-in-law…apparently.

…because she let me wear her wedding dress, which would be passed on to her son’s new bride. Didn’t know that part until later…

The children at the schools LOVED the parachute. Who doesn’t love the parachute, come to think of it?

Orange-shirt kid was dominating this game.

Woo-hoo! Cow crossing!

This lady is weaving a massive tapestry. She somehow threads one strand through each of those white strands, and the stick helps… The artisans we have been meeting are incredible talented, and this lady is just one of the many we have met.

When we tour the villages, people come out to show us their wears. This lady, a Dalit, is making quilts at home. Hopefully, we can help her village by creating projects for the ladies to work on, such as embroidery and quilting.

This man is dressed in traditional Rabari clothing. The Rabari are nomadic shepherds. Older Rabari wear all white, but the younger shepherds wear very brightly colored turbans and outfits.

Our team with one of the local Brothers and his family.

Basically what I’m eating these days (give or take a milkshake every now and again…)--rice, pita-ish bread, some greasy soup, usually with cilantro and an egg, and a hash-like food, for color. All of this is shoveled into my mouth with my right hand, of course.

Trucking makes up quite a bit of the industry in this area of Gujarat.

I gave the woman on the left my ring after she complimented me on it. Maybe one day I’ll get to come back and visit her, and tell her about my Savior. For now, I was just able to bless her with a new piece of jewelry.

My sari fitting. I purchased a sari that is almost this same color. Haven’t had the opportunity to wear it yet. Apparently, only married women wear saris, unless it is a very special occasion. Maybe I’ll wear mine for breakfast tomorrow….

This baby was not happy to be taken from his mama by a white woman that didn’t speak his language.

Snake Tag is a hit. In this particular game, I was on the weak end. I pretty much had to whip-lash the kids around to get anybody tagged.

One of my favorite kids. He was so, so, so tiny! I called him "Tall Socks" you'll see why...

...these were his little legs and shoes and tall socks. Ohmygoodness. He would totally fit in my carry-on…

me and the gals on a stroll

on her way to the well

Maybe she’s not happy with her work, but I think it is amazing. This is a dowry purse, used to put the bride’s dowry in for her husband.

Ladies Of The Wall. When I asked them if they spoke English they said, "No English." I got a laugh out of this because, well, their response meant they knew at least a little English...oh...phew...guess you would have had to been there...

The traditional Indian welcome includes bejeweling the guests with carnations and roses. However, this is how Indian H’s also honor their idols. So, for Xn's, the tradition has evolved so that the honoree accepts the necklace, but then immediately removes it and gives it to someone who has been a servant to the honoree that day. I received this necklace at the beginning of the conference, and also as we finally arrived in India
.

Women at the well

Namaste

2007-02-20T05:12:00.000-08:00

We arrived safely to India! Thank you for your continued prayers.

Time flies when you’re…flying. It seems like no time at all passed between when I left XNA and arrived in India. Ha. Definitely racking up the frequent flyer miles. I seem to be adjusting to the time change well (the mandatory afternoon tea times sure are helping!) We arrived in Mumbai around 1:30am on Monday. We were blessed with a 5-star hotel room that night, for a brief rest and warm shower. We had been traveling since Saturday night, and I, for one, needed that shower! The next morning, Monday, we flew from Mumbai to Bhuj, the capital city of Gujarat. Gujarat is north of Mumbai, on the west coast of India. From Bhuj, we were transported by SUV through villages and tiny towns to our final destination— Ghandidam. Phew. Monday night we settled into our hotel, met with the leaders of the Kutchi Development Project (KDP), and began to plan and organize for the celebration conference this week.

The sights and sounds of India are out of this world. I feel like I’m on a movie set…the wrong movie set. Any moment now, I keep telling myself, someone is going to tap me on the shoulder and say, “psst…Jenn, we need you over here, you’re about to go on…” and then I would return to reality. But, for the next several weeks, this IS reality.

…elephants and camels in the road, and cows everywhere, and beautiful, tiny women in colorful garments, with silver urns precariously balanced atop their heads, flowing down the road from the well, giggling children, and children with dark, blank stares, car horns (oh my, the horns!), dusty, dirty, filthy feet, decorated with jewels and bracelets, tarnished silver and gold, jingling…lots of jingling…chai, creamy and sweet, incense and smog, overpowering moth ball scent, curry-stained fingertips, bobbling heads signifying ‘yes,’ and nods I once understood as ‘yes,’ now signifying ‘no,’ muggy, sticky-back-of-neck hot, impeccable service, trains of tiny men following me everywhere, sweeping up after me, straightening things I wanted off-centered, calling me ‘madam’ and blinking a lot…

I had some traditional clothing made last night. Three tiny ladies and one man who knew the words “Fantastic!” “Classy!” and “Very Fashionable!” helped me sort through piles upon piles of fabric. I went in thinking I knew what I wanted, quickly became overwhelmed by the limitless choices, and settled on some drab colors with exciting trim, when I originally was looking for some fabric in the neon genre. “Don’t want to cause any more of a scene that I already am,” I said to console the part in me wanting the magenta and tennis-ball-yellow colored scarf.

Still not certain of my role here, or the purpose I am/will be serving. Just learning, a lot. I did think there would be more people here. I was prepared to not be able to move because of all the people. So far, things seem pretty normal, density-wise. But, I am in a more remote area… Mumbai will be a doozy.

I don’t think I have malaria, yet.

Chai time. Namaste.

an update, of sorts

2007-02-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

T minus 19 hours.

We leave Orlando tomorrow night, headed to India. Wow, I never thought I'd say that. Finally, finally, I'm on my way.

...in the meantime...

I've been in Orlando for the past few days, preparing as a team for our trip. We've also been recruiting and sharing the vision of Bajalia at a young adult conference. The conference speakers have been quite enlightening/thought-provoking/radical. Donald Miller is here, along with Todd Phillips. Phillips is new to me, but he's speaking some hard-to-swallow truth about the sad and heretical divorce of social action and evglsm. Miller's stream-of-consciousness speaking and writing is very powerful. Though, he's not "usual" at all... Sometimes I have to stop and think, re-assess, pull back, because I wonder why and how I'm agreeing so well with what these guys are telling me. Am I easily swayed by smooth talkers? Or, is it that I'm drawn to the Truth of it all. Are they exposing Truth? 'Prove it,' I say to myself. They have been, and I'm encouraged. I'm encouraged because my desire to take care of the widows and children, clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, is validated by my Father's Word. I want to stay challenged by J's words, though. He was constantly saying to the people in his day, "you thought this way, now I'm telling you to think this way." And I want to be listen and obey that radical thinker, above all.

As far as being ready to fly to the other side of the globe...yeah. I'm ready. Totally. Bags are packed, with everything possibly needed for the next 6 or so weeks. I thought I forgot floss, which would have been the only thing I forgot. But, it surfaced from the bottom of my cosmetic bag tonight. I've been on a steady diet of AirBorne/Vit C/malaria pill/typhoid pill/multi-vit coctails for the past several days. I'd like to see a parasite infiltrate this immune system. Just try me, microviral scum. Just try me... I tried on some of the c.asian clothing that I'll be wearing and LOVED it. Seriously. I've always dreamed of having clothing that didn't touch anywhere on my body, and just parachuted around my extrimities, and this is it. I can eat as many carbs as I want, and these pants will never get too tight. That's the glory of the drawstring. As I triple-checked my suitcases, I had to wonder what a person like Hudson Taylor or Amy Carmichael might think of my packing. Or, better yet, Paul. They'd definitely question the necessity of 2/3 of this crud I'm hauling overseas and overmountains. I'm pretty sure they'd throw out, right away, my Mr. Potato Head and at least one of my outlet adapters (I have two, just in case...). Alas, my bags are packed. We're off on a grand adventure....to serve and seek.

The Greatest Letdown

2007-02-16T20:12:00.003-08:00

Tonight Michael made the ladies Dublin Pancakes, from Bosnia. (don't worry, I don't get it either...) We decided that he should use the infamous and illusive Magic Bullet, as seen on TV. This is all quite funny to us, as attendees of the Fusion conference here in Orlando. See, Donald Miller is the keynote speaker at the conference, and he made reference to the Magic Bullet in a talk yesterday. Something like how we're selling church like Magic Bullet infomercials are selling their product. (more to come on that later, very thought-provoking ideas from Miller). Anywhoo, this video series is a result of a bit of inside-humor and sheer magic...

The Greatest Letdown, con't.

2007-02-16T20:12:00.001-08:00

the conclusion to the MB episode.

too far, Bill Gates. too far...

2007-02-16T19:56:00.000-08:00

this is completely unnecessary. but, incredible handy. i'm neutral on this issue, as it turns out.

Beatboxing flute inspector gadget remix

2007-02-16T19:41:00.001-08:00

because i have so much time on my hands....i found this to share with my readership.

check back here soon for stuff actually worth your time.

ps: i leave for india tomorrow. holy molars, batman!

ready or not...

2007-02-15T23:13:00.000-08:00

here i come... more posts about my travels to the other side of the world to come very soon. check back here tomorrow. you might even see some pictures...

Mu

2006-11-25T14:45:00.000-08:00

Mumu is studying the ways of Paula Dean, planning how she'll one-up her next year by adding just one more tablespoon of butter and then...perfection. Rolls that really do melt in your mouth.

ohmygoodness

2006-11-25T14:40:00.000-08:00

Buddy found a lady! Jen is so absolutely amazing! We love her, and love that he found her, and that she found him, and that they are happy and cute and, well are they in.....love?

my brother the pineapple

2006-11-25T14:38:00.000-08:00

or is he a a turkey?

seeing double

2006-11-25T14:35:00.000-08:00

i really am quite fond of her.

Celebrants

2006-11-25T14:30:00.000-08:00

Figurines celebrating on the serving table at Thanksgiving in my aunt and uncle's house. They might even be caroling AND giving thanks. What exemplary Puritans and Native Americans they are!

Family

2006-11-25T14:21:00.000-08:00

My long-lost brother. Ah, how I miss him. He's all grown up now. And, yes, in the fashion of twin-dom, Elizabeth and I are wearing the same outfit, in complimentary colors.

a recent discovery

2006-11-13T15:37:00.000-08:00

After four "divine appointments" today (a.k.a. support raising meetings) I looked down to notice that my shirt is inside-out. I know that it has been inside-out all day because, well, I have no recollection of taking it off at all since I put it on. This discovery only proves two of my theories: 1) I'm more scattered than usual these days and 2) God is bigger than mis-matched clothing. He usues even the most oblivious of us, his children. And his blessings will knock your socks off. Come as you are.

...

2006-11-11T12:02:00.000-08:00

This is my first post in a long while... Don't have much to say, but I was pressured into writing this....

All I know is that even after the flood, the rain still seems to come.

prayer letter

2006-09-22T21:40:00.000-07:00

To the faithful readership of barefacedjenn:

Click here to read my first prayer letter! You can look for a new prayer letter each month. I'll try to always have a link to the letter on this blogspot. I covet your prayers!

culturally appropriate

2006-08-21T18:50:00.000-07:00

Head scarves were actually more comfortable to wear than just baring my hair. I felt more Jordanian and received less wandering eyes from the locals. I tried to wear a head scarf when meeting with my Jordanian girl friends. We all had fun trying to learn to wrap them around our hair and faces. This picture was taken after a night of head scarf lessons with our friends Manar and Miram.

always with a smile

2006-08-21T18:45:00.000-07:00

Neighborhood kids greeting us as we returned to camp, probably after a long day in the dirt. Their favorite words were, "Ah-lo, whas your name?"

weekly water truck visit

2006-08-21T18:42:00.000-07:00

The contents of this truck brought us the closest thing to clean by providing us with water ever week. Here the truck is filling the cisterns on the roof of our bathroom building. When the cisterns ran dry we had to, somehow, get another truck to bring us water, for a pretty penny. The worst day of the week to run out of water was Friday, the holy day. The water hole is closed on Friday and the trucks don't run. Friday's were usually the days I stayed dirty.

family time

2006-08-21T18:40:00.000-07:00

With our friends, The Bedouins.

exfoliation is never a pretty process

2006-08-21T18:33:00.000-07:00

They say the salty mud from the Dead Sea does wonders for one's skin. I couldn't miss such an opportunity as this! Oh, and that's the Dead Sea behind me. And, across the sea is the shore of Israel.

a hot hike

2006-08-21T18:26:00.000-07:00

Crusin' up a mountain with The Word. Here we are headed up to the top of the mountain where John the Baptist was beheaded. I thought it appropriate to bring my Bible and read the story, but this time I'd be able to have just a smidge more perspective.

tents are the next big thing

2006-08-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

Linda, Peter, and I taking a break in a "souvenier tent" after a desert castle tour.

hot weather + uncomfortable seat = worst place for a nap, ever

2006-08-21T18:19:00.000-07:00

Definitely didn't see this picture coming.

"this one looks so life-like"

2006-08-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

Jordan is a land of ample photo oportunities. Case in point: Nathan Cozart pretending to be a bunny statue in a nook of a castle wall.

recorded live

2006-08-21T18:11:00.000-07:00

I'm not incredibly musically-inclined, but I think I could pick up this instrument in no time at all. It had one string and was played like a viola, sort of. Just before this picture was taken I snapped another picture of him on his cell phone. The abundance of cell phones in Jordan amazed me. The musicality of this instrument did not amaze me, however.

just my size

2006-08-21T18:09:00.000-07:00

A fun little doorway in a fun little hunting lodge in the desert.

a sopapilla, Jordanian style

2006-08-21T18:07:00.000-07:00

This bread is called "puri." Two words: saturated fat. Oh, but was it delicious.

fun with pita

2006-08-21T17:12:00.000-07:00

Hey, if you're not going to eat it, you might as well play with it.

"every rose has its thorn..."

2006-08-21T17:09:00.000-07:00

Spiritual Lesson from flowers in Jordan: everything pretty has hidden thorns. Look out for these so that their beauty can be fully enjoyed, even if that means from afar.

calcium-rich

2006-08-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

...the "zir"...the Jordanian version of the water cooler. Water was hauled from the town spring to a cistern at the building where we stayed. Then, the water we drank was boiled and put in these ceramic pots. "The latent heat of evaporization," (a catch phrase that never got old, or true) cooled the water. We dipped the coffee cup into the zir and filled our water bottles. In other words-- grimy, sunscreened hands went in and out of this water, bugs floated in it, and calcium collected in it. Yummy.

a lovely layover

2006-08-21T16:59:00.000-07:00

Did I mention we had a nine-hour layover in Paris on the way to Jordan? Oh. Well, we did. We caught the metro from the airport, breezed past the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, across the Seine River, then back on the metro to the airport, with plenty of time to spare.

not for the weak-stomached

2006-08-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

We're enjoying a lovely meal of "mansif," served on a large plate, on the floor. Eating with one's hands was how all the cool kids ate, so we fell right in line. We have towels over our laps to catch the falling pieces of goat and rice and weird yellow sauce.

a mother, foremost

2006-08-15T12:44:00.000-07:00

This is my bedouin friend with her youngest baby girl. I'll never forget their faces.

diving in

2006-08-15T12:41:00.000-07:00

This hole is a probe Esther my digging mate dug in her square. It was alsmost as deep as I am tall. She uncovered lots of pottery that helped us date the church area and understand better the uses of the area over the centuries.

camel breath

2006-08-15T12:36:00.000-07:00

The classic "I'm in the desert and I rode a camel" picture.

graffiti

2006-08-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

Jordanians

2006-08-15T12:32:00.000-07:00

This couple was touring the same castle ruins I was. Both are dressed in conservative Muslim clothing. The man's headscarf is the national Jordanian pattern.

on the dig site

2006-08-15T12:29:00.000-07:00

I'm uncovering the famous "storage pot" here. It was under the wall that ran through my square. When I started excavating, the dirt was filled up to the surface line in this photo. I spent about two weeks on this square.

waiting for the bus

2006-08-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

An artistic endeavor with mirrors and public transprotation...

kiddos

2006-08-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Crazy-cute kids I met at a road-side cafe. My camera might have been the first they ever had contact with, hence the confusion of what to do when one points at you.

shaneena

2006-08-15T12:17:00.000-07:00

The bedouin lady used this sack made of goat skin to churn butter. Here we are in their tent. We had just finished digging for the day and stopped in for some goat's milk and pita. The goat's milk is called "shaneena," and I affectionatly called it "shanay-nay." It actually didn't taste as bad as my face is saying in this picture.

a picture

2006-08-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok. Here's a picture of me in Jordan. There is a desert behind me. Not sure which desert, but most of the time there was some sort of desert behind me. More coming soon!

CABLE CAR!!!

2006-06-02T09:04:00.000-07:00

CABLE CAR!!!
Originally uploaded by Jennifer R.

so, i've been thinking lately....

2006-06-01T11:52:00.000-07:00

"When we last saw our main character she was sneaking up on a big milestone. Let's rejoin her, a few weeks later, and uncover what she has been up to..."

Oh, hi there. Surprise! Don't be alarmed, this is just a blog post. This kind of stuff happens all the time, for punctual people at least. It is high time this ol' blog of mine got a makeover. And that makeover shall come in the form of a POST. It needs something a with a retro flavor, a throw-back to the good ol days when posting on one's blog was at the top of one's to-do list. Have a listen, then:

So...I graduated from JBU. I wish that deserved an exclamation point. Alas, I have not received my diploma, and when I do I will be sure to edit and add that exclamation point. I have not received my diploma because the fine institution of JBU has not received all of my course work. I am completing 6 more credit hours within the first six weeks of summer. Yes, that is a lot of work, you are correct. I am independently studying classes entitled "New Testament Book Study and Hermeneutics: The Book of Revelation" and "Foundation and Practice of the Christian Life." The former is difficult, the latter is not. These classes involve me reading too much and writing more. Hopefully, I'll have that diploma in the mail by the middle of June. That is, if I don't lose an eye or something.

Reading and writing all day long wouldn't be so bad if I were home all day long. Over the past few weeks I have done quite a bit of traveling. Namely, I went to CALIFORNIA!!! (That does deserve an exlamation point, to the third degree). First stop: Pt. Loma Nazarene University for the graduation of the class of 2006. I vicariously graduated in the Greek alongside my comrades with whom I began this crazy, 4-year search of knowledge and/or wisdom. It was lovely to see everyone, I only wish I could have stayed longer (or arrived earlier).

Next stop: Auburn, California!!! (necessary exclamaiton points, indeed). Auburn is home to Andrew J. Cox and family, my most favorite Californians. Drew, the dasing, young intellect that he is, escorted me all around Northern California. Well, technically his parents did the escorting. I did some pre-emptive allergic conditioning, and the cat hair didn't seem to be any problem. Experiencing "family" with the Cox family was very refreshing.

That about catches us all up to speed, I suppose. My most recent endeavors include playing in the rainstorm this afternoon and catching up on life with a Turk named Ian. I'm off to Orlando, FL this weekend for a week-long orientation and training with PIONEERS, my future mission agency. Then, watch me go....I'm off to Jordan for the summer. I'll be digging up treasure. Seriously. A group of rag-tag archaeologists and I will be excavating a Byzantine-era church site around Abila, Jordan. If you are reading this and have any idea where I can get a hand-pick, I would greatly appreciate your input.

Just a few things that have been swimming with my brain lately:

--Magnolia trees remind me of recess on the wooden playground at Thomas Jefferson Elementary. I suppose it is just the smell of them, or maybe their waxy leaves, but when I run under one I'm thrown back to times when blisters on hands meant you were totally awesome on the monkey bars and scraped up knees meant you were chasing coodie-infested boys for 25 minutes after lunch.

--Of course concrete is easier to maintain than natural trails, but why waste the concrete? People have been walking on plain earth for all of history. And for most of history, those people were probably walking barefooted. Walk barefooted.

--God has a receiver AND a mouthpiece. Use both.

saturday...saturday...what did I do saturday?

2006-05-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok...so I graduated from college. Big deal. What? Do you expect pictures or something? Commin' right up.

GNC art

2006-05-02T10:25:00.000-07:00

This is the "art" I created for Invisible Children. IC plans to combine all artwork created at the Global Night Commute (maybe 55,000+ pictures!) into one "scrapbook," then use that for fundraising, and possibly as a gift to the children in Uganda. We were asked to include a picture of ourselves on the art. Part of my job that night was to collect all of the art. I must say, each piece was beautiful representation of the heart...hearts that desire PEACE in UGANDA.

night falls on the gym floor...or the parking lot.

2006-05-02T10:17:00.000-07:00

The lights went out in the gym around 11pm. Most of the people decided to stay in the gym overnight, but some (including me) decided to brave the rain and cold, outside in the parking lot of CCF.

the gym

2006-05-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

The filling-up stage in the gym of Community Christian Fellowship (CCF), where most of our Global Night Commuters slept.

letters and art

2006-05-02T10:09:00.000-07:00

These are my letters and art that were sent to the President, Senator Lincoln, and Invisible Children--all piled onto my little sleeping spot, made up of a blanket and a sheet-thing, and crayons, markers, rubber cement, and a pillow.

just a fraction

2006-05-02T10:01:00.000-07:00

A quick snapshot of our Global Night Commuters, from my vantage point, as we took the group picture to send to Invisible Children.

Registration at GNC

2006-05-02T09:53:00.000-07:00

Middle-schoolers, high schoolers, college kids, families with babies, pastors, businessmen, moms...our GNC crowd was very diverse! This is a picture of the registration table. The papers in the bottom left-hand corner are info packets and letter-writing material for petitioning our government officials for PEACE in UGANDA.

Global Night Commute

2006-05-02T09:50:00.000-07:00

That line stretched 280-people long!

2006-04-26T08:28:00.000-07:00

"Americans are closing their eyes to open the worlds' to an unseen war. By lying down, we are joining the invisible children in northern Uganda, and demanding that our government put an end to the longest running war in Africa, and one of the worst crises in the world today."

Click here to be a part.

it has come to this

2006-04-22T18:39:00.000-07:00

Unless I wanted a SouthBeach Fiesta Wrap, I was going to have to be creative in order to eat tonight. Turns out, I did not want a SouthBeach wrap (the whole SouthBeach theme going on in my dad's kitchen is quite humerous to me, by the way). Surveyed the fridge: Pimento Cheese Spread Family Size, half-can sized Cokes and Dr. Peppers, Bread and Butter Pickles, a pony, a potato, bacon, Sharp Cheddar, and...what's that? What do I see perched in their rectangular plastic carton? The Incredible Edible Egg.

A week ago I could have scrambled that egg, and that was about it. Or, I could have boiled it. But the satisfaction of a boiled egg is slim without a little pedastal to put it on, and a butler to serve it under a shiny, pewter dish. But, my recent education on eggs and egg preparation boiled to the top of my brain, and my salivatory glands did back flips, when I recalled the highly acclaimed "Fried Egg Sandwich," which was introduced to my pallet last week.

On purpose, and out of purely my volition and desire, I cooked for myself and ate a Fried Egg Sandwich for my evening meal. Thank you, Dr. Drew, for the instruction and encouragement in such endeavors. Next stop: Bananas.

flowers

2006-04-17T21:07:00.000-07:00

Easter with Emily

2006-04-17T20:45:00.000-07:00

He fumbles at your soul
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on,
He stuns you by degrees,
Prepares your brittle nature
For the ethereal blow
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer -- then so slow
Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.

Your Soul-- Dickinson

policy schmolicy

2006-04-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

This is a sentence from the study sheet for my Econ exam. I have read this sentence at least 5 times, and each time I think I understand less of the sentence:

"Besides discretionary fiscal policy, there are various stabilizers to counteract decreased or increased aggregate demand: transfer payments, progressive tax rates, unemployment insurance."

Basic Economics has been my nemisis this semester. But, actually, maybe not. I think for something to be my "nemisis" would mean that I actually care what "it" does to me. I do not. However, I do find it quite hilarious that my class is convinced that I am a communist. I'm deeply considering entitling my final research paper "The Joys of Communism ~ a memoir." My class feels this way because I bring the issue equality, the image of God, and respectability of all human life into every class discussion about capitalism and fair wages and government spending and the sort. I wonder if people actually think before they speak anymore?

"How can we be expected to respect faceless people, people that don't even respect our government's laws and regulations?" said Ms. I-Do-My-Homework-But-Don't-Consider-What-Jesus-Would-Have-to-Say-About-American-Policy-on-Illegal-Immigrants.

(note: names have been changed to protect the identiy of the ignorant)

Of course it is easier to love those that love you and those that respect your country's "policies." Loving those without a face might be harder, but loving those that love you is a shortcut. Loving and respecting those who don't follow the rules is counter-cultural. Loving those that don't love you is what we signed up for when we say that our Savior King came from Nazareth and that his suffering, death, and resurrection were sufficient and put an end to all this mud-pie-making, gave us a clean clothes, and asked us to follow.

we love this guy

2006-04-01T18:29:00.000-08:00

This man is partly to thank for the creation of such crazy people. Take it up with him.

flaming meat

2006-04-01T18:24:00.000-08:00

I just can't get enough of these sword-kabobs.

pirate tendencies

2006-04-01T18:21:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday, I deserved this sword.

we're twins, i promise.

2006-04-01T18:20:00.000-08:00

quite the dichotomy...

get it, dad!

2006-04-01T18:18:00.000-08:00

flaming birthday kabobs

2006-04-01T18:17:00.000-08:00

life again on Packenham

2006-03-31T17:35:00.000-08:00

"I never asked God, why, Jennifer. I never did. But if I would have, I think he would have answered me with this little block party and all of y'all... He would have said, 'This is why, Betty.'"

Maybe it is that I'm not as strong of a woman as Mrs. Betty M. of 29 Packenham Avenue, Chalmette Louisiana, because I have asked God why he would allow such tragedy in New Orleans and the Gulf area over and over again for the past six months. How could a God of love let a hurricane and flood completely ruin so many lives? How could a God of compassion make thousands homeless with one storm? Why did God let Hurricane Katrina destroy families and homes and memories and futures? And maybe I haven't discovered the full answer, but I feel much closer after living among the victims for a week, experiencing life in a community which should have been lifeless.

We took a wrong turn, or maybe a right turn, as it turns out, placing our caravan of white Caravans smack in the middle of the 9th Ward, St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana. It was about 9:30 at night and we were lost in the hardest hit area in New Orleans. After a hurricane wipes out large portions of a city, by the way, there are no street lights, street signs, road signs, or stop lights. I learned that people deal with shock in many different ways-- some ignore it, some cry over it, some vocalize it, some just turn up the radio. For me, I wept. I watched block after block pass by my back seat van window and each block seemed more desolate and destroyed than the next. Abandoned cars, 100- year-old trees splicing houses in two, cars under houses, houses on houses, missing ATM machines, obviously looted stores and businesses, debris everywhere. And the eeriest part? There were no people. Actually, I saw one man. He was walking the opposite direction we were driving, and for good reason. A city without people isn’t really a city. Where did the city of New Orleans go? Our home for the next week would be in the 8th Ward of St. Bernard Parish, the bottom of the basin formed by levees.

"God, I don't see you here. But you are, right?" I thought to myself repeatedly through the week of de-mucking houses. Our task was to completely gut houses which had not been opened for about six months-- houses which had been flooded up to 15 feet for four to six weeks. These homes were rank. Mold and mildew covered everything. "Katrina juice," as it came to be known, was still in anything that could hold water, like coffee pots and casserole dished and glasses (precariously leaned against the inside of cabinet doors, only to come splashing on the unsuspecting person's face who first opened the cabinet). The kitchens were in the living rooms and the living rooms were in the bedrooms. De-mucking a house took about six hours with our teams of twenty students. Some days we even completed two houses. At the end of the day the trash pile, which was actually a pile of what people used to call their "lives," was bigger than the house and spilled into the street. Only the studs and exterior walls remained.

We worked mainly on one street, Packenham Avenue. Requests began to flood in (no pun intended) from neighbors and family members who heard of the respectful nature our teams displayed while gutting houses. So, we were good at getting rid of trash? Interesting. We met most of the owners of the houses we cleared. We asked them to come help us, if they wished, and at least come for prayer. We prayed before we began for peace and safety, and afterwards for restoration and blessing. Everyone we worked with wished to pray with us, so we did. But those weren't the only prayers I offered. I talked with God a lot while I carried arm-fulls of Mardi Gras beads and saturated photo albums to the curb, and wept in anger to Him as I smashed my hammer through molded sheetrock. "Where are you and why didn't you come sooner to Packenham, God? Richie and Betty created 41 years of memories here, but you allowed one storm to take them away? Why, Father?"

But He was there. He was there loudly and boldly. He was at the crawfish boil and at the fried chicken block party. He was in each home and neighborhood. He was on the roof with the families, waiting for days to be rescued. He was with John and his dad as they fished out families with their trolling-motor boat. He was there when the families came back and discovered that flood waters can wash away life. He was there as we discovered soaked wedding albums and heirlooms under dressers, somehow preserved. He never left. And he was weeping, too. And He will stay there with each rebuilding and relocation. He is a God of restoration and He is a God that does not fail. I learned these truths in a new way in New Orleans.

I don't know why God uses a horrible storm like Katrina to glorify Himself, but he does. I saw it. I saw the loving God that I know bring joy again into people's lives. And He didn't need to use anything but Himself. I think I might have been given a glimpse of what the kingdom of heaven on earth is supposed to look like, as strange as it may seem, amidst the storm-torn community of Packenham Avenue. On that street and through my work, my only joy was God, and He was all I could think about. Hope-filled laughter and thankful smiles were plentiful, and people were in the process of restoration. We prayed a lot. We shared pain and wept willingly. We listened to each other's stories because they taught us truth. We were thankful for our lives. And maybe just for moments, our neighbors had no needs. He was exalted and glorified. The food was fried and we got to eat with our hands. Heaven indeed.

about that...

2006-03-30T08:09:00.000-08:00

Observation:
Tea-in-the-morning makes my body happier than coffee-in-the-morning.
I like coffee-in-the-night while enjoying good books that I read instead of required books.
Hot Chocolate is my new chocolate craving substitute (though I suppose it isn't really a substitute for chocolate, since it is chocolate).

Oh, about New Orleans and the lessons gleened therefrom.... be patient. Thoughts are still coming to a boil, and too many cooks spoil the broth, or something like that. I'll post soon about all that. In the meantime, check my Flickr pictures and invent your own story. Just make sure it includes redemption, restoration, heartache, and crawfish.

she censed me from a mile away

2006-03-10T15:02:00.000-08:00

The US Census came to my house today (I'm taking a vacation to home where I can retreat from the short twin bed and dusty bookshelves of my dorm room).

Toni, The Census Lady, came bouncing down the street towards me. I was just getting out of my car, which now must park on the street because it is having touble controlling it's oil lately and having accidents on dad's driveway. Barely out of the door, I hear Toni say "OOOOOHHHHHHH a BIKE! [I had my bike on my roof rack] That's GREAT! Isn't it lovely out today...I hear it is going to be just a splendid weekend. Are you going to ride?" I looked down at her badge, and at this point noticed that she was a Census Lady, and was curious as to exactly what that had to do with my household income and occupants. But I also realized that people probably hate her and her job, and this was her way of breaking the ice with me.

The questionnaire was quite simple:
Yes, I'm over 18.
No, I don't live here.
Yes, my dad does.
No, he's not an illegal immigrant.
Yes, he owns this house.
No, you can't call me or him for follow up questions.

Then, I got to hear a great story about another "censed" person who forgot about one of his kids when he was filling out the census. Poor kid. I'm sure his/her homelife is charmingly unorganized. I hope the dad remembers the kid at supper time.

So, Toni The Census Lady bounced off down the street and out of my life, just like she bounced in. Before she went she needed to give me the confidentiality statement, but couldn't find it on her clipboard. I wanted to say I trusted her, but realized that she was only a pawn in the system, and that actually, I didn't trust the government she represented. I would need that half piece of paper telling me (and my household) that all information (which I typed out above) would be kept under lock and key, at least until it was needed to hunt me (and my household) and wiretap our house. Who knows what the government would do with the information that my dad is not Mexican! In her search for my half piece of freedom paper, a gust of wind "let fly" all of the censuses (censi?). It was a pretty, beige whirlwind of scantrons. There she went, bouncing off and collecting her paperwork.

I'm glad my dad has never forgotten me.

sploosh goes the sun

2006-02-27T16:30:00.000-08:00

It didn't fall into the ocean tonight like it used to when I was spreading my wings. Tonight it fell on a hill, past the science building, and through the leaf-bare and brittle maples outside my window. I'm glad I have a window to the west.

First, picture a furry orange tabby cat exploding onto a bed of picked-apart cotton balls (and I hope you picked the name 'Samantha' for her, because it is only fitting).

Now erase that image because it is disturbing (but for some it sounds lovely).

Now imagine the first seeping of color from the painbrush into a glass water cup after painting a picture of Samantha, the orange tabby. Or, picture the tea escaping from an Orange Chai tea bag into an already-warmed cup of milk. Oh! Look! Miss Pastel Pink has entered the scene from the top of the stage. She's just dancing there on top of the fur and orange chai, but she'll twirl right into the mix of action anytime now. And Llilac? I didn't know Lilac was envited this evening. Lovely to meet you, Lilac. Welcome.

Only a minute has passed now but the streaming white has separated into bigger chunks. I have a feeling that the sun has just exhaled. The screaming orange and flamboyant red were the point of no return, like when you think the tunnel will never end and your eyes are about to pop out of your head if you don't take a breath. Now the sun can breathe again...in China.

The ironic part of it all: I watched the sunset through my window hanging of a stained glass cross. I had to look through it to see the vibrancy of the sky. Why? Because something on the other side seemed better than the cross. But, the sun is gone now. The sky is black. The brittle trees even blend into the night sky. And my cross still hangs.

carnage

2006-02-22T14:58:00.000-08:00

Well, here he is, Melvin the Incredible. Was it his name that doomed him? I'm not sure if this is the result of foul play or sheer sunshine. I've never disliked the sun so much. The sun killed Melvin. Let us all take a moment of silence.....Ok. Thank you, fellow advocates for a colder environment.