Tattle Tale Socks

At the top of the hill I take my jacket off and sit gently down on the bench overlooking the River Foyle and the old Arts building. The day is a beautiful, a cool-in-the-wind but warm-in-the-sun kind of day. I was on my way to the practice rooms but I just had to take in some sun. (I think I've developed a Vitamin D deficiency since I came to Ireland. When the sun shines, every moment must be cherished.)

The fall leaves crisp by me, carried by the breeze, and I pull out my journal. I look down at these clothes I put on so carefully today: classic yellow cardigan, favorite rusty v-neck, black high waisted pants, kenyan earrings, necklace from my mom, and black hand-me-down shoes.

I try not to care that, when I cross my legs, my white socks are all exposed against my black shoes and pants. They sit there, those dumb socks, like little tattle tales, whining out to the world that I am not nearly as fashionable as I'd like to be.

I also try not to care that my belly noticeably nudges against my high-waisted pants and tucked in shirt. Tucked in shirts are not all that flattering most of them time. In light of this, however, I think I've started tucking my shirts in because my belly pudges a little. I tuck them in declaring, "I won't hide the way I am! I am who I am in this body! I am this!" I say, trying to smile.

After about forty minutes of enjoying the writing and the sun and the leaves and the bench, I put my jacket back on, tug my pant legs down a bit to cover my white socks, tuck my shirt back in, and head happily down to the practice rooms for the next several hours. And I do smile.

Nothing un-thought

I am struggling with this blog.

I've committed to it.
I regularly regret this commitment.

I don't feel I have anything of significance worked out well enough to say. Why should someone take time to read anything that I write?

My writing, I've held, has actual meaning and is significant as it reveals what I believe is true. I never purposefully write falsities, whether for a research paper or a letter or a facebook comment. When I write for other people (and an indiscriminate number of people, as is the nature of online blogs), I feel as though I am bearing a part of my unrefined and unprotected soul.

This soul-bearing is most dangerous because it is really only true in the moment of its writing; I am not a fixed, definable entity. I change. The writing I do now is only a sketch for thoughts and ideas and parts of me. But what I've written here is--as it is permanently available for public access--carved in stone.

The problematic nature of the public is that is is a carving of something that's moving. It's not quite accurate.
What's written here is an eternal display (as if worthy of display) of a mere momentary sketch.

Yet! I will eternally be sketching and my transient conclusions will never be anything but that-changing. Therefore, If I hold to this notion of protection and privacy until some kind of internal conclusion or completion, I will never write anything for others to see...


And would this be such a tragedy? Is it so important that others see and know what I write? Would the absence of my thoughts, my words, my experiences and ideas be any great loss?

All of these experiences I'm having are so complex that any kind of articulated assessment of them seems premature and pretentious. I think nothing novel. Nothing original. Nothing unprecedented. Nothing un-thought as of today.

I am a processor of connections, a linker of worlds. A line drawer. A sketcher, some might say.
But maybe someone will see something useful or beautiful or worthwhile in a sketch or two...

I live in Duncreggan Student Village (the Village).

There's. So. Much.

I've been in Derry for just half a week.

I've met all 4 of my other flatmates and many of their friends (GREAT people, really! They've been takin care of me.)
I've meet about 30 students from China, the States, France, Germany, Spain, the Philippines, Taiwan, India... (O! And one of the other Americans speaks Arabic! He spent the last two years in Morocco and Egypt. I almost cried when I found out)
I've been to the campus pub for a free drink and good conversation, to a club for dancing, to a cafeteria for some cheap food, to Hannah's apartment for dinner with 5 other Americans (breakfast sandwiches!), to Rhey's apartment for cereal, to the three charity shops for cheap clothes, and to the prayer room on campus.

I think I might join the Gaelic team (check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDwXzyZtKp0&feature=related).
I'm pretty sure I'm taking a piano course (along with a module on Genocide and one on Self, Identity and Conflict and in independently researched and specially supervised course with this brilliant politics professor).
I plan to travel nearly every weekend. I only have class Tuesday and Wednesday.


I am just in love with the Irish way of living together. I know I'm going to learn so much about community while I am here.Not only do the girls who are friends with my flatmates come over and eat full meals together (they've always invited me) but even the people who come by and clean the flats know each person they clean for by name. How often does that happen in the States?

Tonight, after I walked back from the international students' event, some people in my hall saw us from their window, opened it, and shouted for us to come up. We did and joined the party, playing guitar, drinkin beer, makin jokes. A very nice time.



I'm pretty excited about the relationships that are all coming so naturally with both the Irish and the other Internationals. Praise God.

Pray that I find a church.


I like this part of my room. I bought that painting at a charity shop in London... love

I am inclined to receive this

Hi all. It's been a few days. I apologize. For a little while there I wasn't able to get on my computer and for a little while I was too busy and for a little while I was sick. . .

On Saturday of last I woke up extremely late. Friday night was my transition from my first host family to the next, a student at Regent's College. Though I was sleeping on the wooden floor of a friend's dorm room, I slept well into the, ehem, afternoon. I was tired, to say the least.

When I finally left the campus for the day, I didn't get too far. I found myself the most-likely-arabic restaurant (Marco Polos, A Taste of Mediterranean Cuisine) and went in, ordered an english breakfast (NOTE: don't order english breakfast from and restaurant that specializes in pita, hummus, and falafel... it probably won't be very english, or very good.) I found out they were arabs and I said something arabic and from that moment we knew we'd be friends. Though, because I am bit better at Spanish than Arabic and the one man is better at Spanish than English, we mostly spoke in Spanish... for hours. We walked together to retrieve a letter I'd written to Teddy (my beau) in another part of town and enjoyed each other's company. At one point it took a good 5 minutes for me to ask "Have you ever eaten in the Eagle and Child Pub?" It's a pub in Oxford where C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkein used to met. Trouble is, I didn't even know the word for author in Spanish. Good thing we are both patient people.

That night I enjoyed the pleasant company of my hosts friends at Regent's College. We shared music and plenty of laughs.

Sunday morning I went early to Marco Polos and got free toast and hot morning drinks for me and a friend. "There is no money between friends," said Abu Naser when I pulled out my wallet. I love that so much.

I then quickly made my way out to Virginia Water, a place just outside of London, to spend the day with the people who hosted me my last time through London. The father is the vicar of a parish there. The family is just wonderful. They made me feel so at home; after the service I read C.S. Lewis' "A Pilgrim's Regress," drank tea, ate lunch with the family, and fell asleep curled up on the couch. Katie, the daughter I made fast friends with the last time I was there, and I watched Friends and attended the evening youth service together.

Truly God is good. That day was immensely encouraging. Here's an excerpt from my journal:

"I almost unabashedly accept the way my heart feels, beating a small rhythm and pushing life through my chest... And my beating heart, if I think about its presence, I am nearly confident of hope and a little sad of things left behind, across the large sea. Yet I am inclined to receive this. To know this. I perceive hope and excitement and still a persistant hesitation in my heart."

But God has been speaking to me about knowing Him as my first love. Truly as my first love. To read His word as a letter, a connection, with the most dear love of my life. To pray as if speaking and listening to the one I most want to hear from. To love others as a way to show Him love. Oh! May this be true in my heart.

We must have played Guess Who 15 times

God truly has provided all I need and filled this day with joy.

My first host and her family were wonderful... I stayed two days in a beautiful home in one of the nicest areas of London. Edwardian architecture, I was told.

I ate dinner with them the first night, leftovers the next (I came home too late for dinner) and sushi tonight. Toast for breakfast each day.

Her daughter, a treasure chest of curiosity and kindness, adored me for some reason. We must have played Guess Who 15 times and she asked again and again if I'd come back to see them in January.

Amy, my host, spent hours looking up hostels for me (just in case this second living situation didn't work out) only to find that they were literally all booked. She printed my plane ticket, asked me about my life, told me all about the best things to see in London, and drove me to and from Regent's College to drop me off at Hannah's for the second leg of my journey. Twice.

Today I saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace...

went to St. Martin-In-The-Field's church for a free concert, some time in the chapel, and great lunch...

and just delighted in the tourists delighting in being together at Trafalgar square.

I am now staying with Hannah, a friend of a friend, at Regent's College. We just spent the last 1 1/2 talking in her hallway... So good. Tomorrow is The Mayor's Thame's Festival. (http://www.thamesfestival.org/) I'm pumped... and it's all free. Though it may rain.

Cheers,

from London

Later we talked about love.

(photo-Statue of Eros. The most photographed place in London)

I slept! Like the dead, I slept. Very happy dead.

This morning when I woke up I, for a quick moment, forgot about my travels entirely. "Rebecca?" someone called. And then I realized that my host in London was knocking on my door. "If you get up early it will make jetlag less difficult."

Functioning with so much more cogency than the night before, I gathered myself and my things for the day, ate breakfast and wandered off! I decided to first walk Regent's Park, a garden of the Queen herself! A boating lake surrounds much of the garden. The small body of water, lined by willow trees (sometimes weeping, especially when it rains), is play ground to hundreds of geese, ducks, swans, and herons.

I walked into the park and chose a section that looked less tame. It was woodsy and a waterfall sounded through it. I stepped of the traditional path and walked through a bit of mud to sit by the rushing water. I sat there thinking, and then praying and then reading in Genesis, Luke, and Psalms... and of course praying again. God met me there in that park, by those falls. I prayed psalm 23 for the first time with genuine feeling.

You see, this has been very difficult for me, for some reason. I've struggled with feeling quite sad and lonely (especially looking forward to 5 months) and less excited than I wanted to be.

But then! What a wonderful thing God did. He led me, like a good shepherd. I walked over bridges and by ponds and right into a rose garden. I've never seen so many roses! Pink and orange and white... Yellow roses called "Poetry in Motion" and red roses called "England's Best."

As I entered the next section of roses, (a circle of them, in fact) I saw a woman settled on a bench. I don't say sitting, because she was, in fact, making her home there. She had on her trolley 3 suitcases nearly the size of mine, two bags, and an umbrella. Two yellow shirts dried, draped across the back of the bench. It rained yesterday. I stopped to mention the beauty of the day and we got to talking about the garden. "Yes. You see the roses. Everyday they change, becoming different. Losing or growing," she said with an accent. Our small friendship began as I tarried there, chatting. She invited me to sit and for the next hour we proceeded to talk.

Through the awkwardness and in the joy we learned about each other's lives. She came from Romania to be an Opair but, to her horror, the situation turned out to be some kind of scheme and she's been homeless for 2 years now! She showed me her books, including the New Testament and Psalms book someone gave her. Later we talked about love.

She told me she appreciated that I wanted to sit and talk with her. "Most people, they see you with this," she said, pointing to her belongings in transit, "and they want nothing with you. They are not concerned whether you live or die."

Talking with her made me feel so alive! So real and human! I loved it. Before I left she offered me biscuits (cookies) and we hugged. Oh, and a squirrel got real friendly with us...

It Rained... but these people are exceptionally kind.

Arriving in London...

Only an hour after the plane landed, I couldn't help but think, "I've arrived in London and I've absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I can't find my bag. My phone won't work at all. My laptop can't be recharged. I don't know how many pence are in a pound. It's raining... I did get through customs, though!"

When I asked an airport employee whether I could find free wi-fi somewhere, his sympathetic reply was, "There's nothing free here, love. Welcome to the UK!"

Eventually, I made my way across the city on the Underground (the Tube, as it is playfully yet practically referred to here). I got to take the Jubilee Line. Isn't that a great name? I got off at St. John's Wood station. Also a great name. Then I finally laid claim to a table outside Beatles Coffee Shop where I ardently people watched, wrote, and shook my head side to side to keep from falling asleep. I was almost entire successful in avoiding slumber, though I may not have avoided looking slightly insane.

I'm currently staying in a former teacher's sister's home. What generosity on her part. Dinner, rest, a shower, advice for touring London.

I look forward to exploring tomorrow... without my huge 50 lb bag.

I really like the Brits. There's a kindess I've noticed in people here that I've not seen before.

Oh. And I found a painting here in a consignment store that is amazing. Bought it. I need something to put up in my new place!

CHEERS!

Floating...

All day long I’ve been floating in peace. I feel it around me and in me.

I fell asleep at about 1:30 last night (after packing all evening) and woke at 5 today. Running on fewer than 6 hours the night and day before, I’ve been pretty docile for a small lack of energy, but also because I don’t have a sense of urgency or anxiety. I’m pleased to say that, though just found out I may not board the next flight to London and I do not know when the next flight out is, I am still okay.

On sunday my friend, Rachel, asked me, “what are you worried about?” and immediately my mind began spinning about all the things, like wild animals released around me, I could worry about. However, after taking just one moment to review these creatures, I realized that nothing was worry-able: God is bigger and more able than any other power that might come against me or these plans.

I can breathe!

Tonight I write in order to begin some kind of explanation of how God moving in and through the world in and around me. I only hope to, if even in some small or inadequate way, make sure that everyone knows that my life, as I remain in the love of Jesus, is known and shaped by God alone.

This morning I woke up in Bowling Green, Ohio. My small weekend journey to my university in Chicago is actually the beginning of my transition to the University of Ulster in Northern Ireland.

At 11:30 we left for Chicago (only missing our intended departure time by 1 1/2 hours). As we drove through Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, I absorbed the greens and the yellows of the countryside. The way the sunlight enlivens the rows of trees between fields of soybeans or planes of corn. With the windows down and the chilly September air rushing around our faces, Emily, Teddy, and I danced and sang and laughed and smiled. Such life in this air.

We arrived in Chicago and eventually made our way to Katie's apartment. No friend has ever thrown me a party, but Katie did just this today. She hosted some of my dearest North Park friends with small glasses of wine, a “Goodbye Becca” sign, a clean house lit with tea light candles, and merriment in her soul.

The community of people who came to this gathering tonight loved me. They believe God is in me, they wish me well, they prayed over me. There’s not a way I can properly write how wonderful affirmation--good, solid affirmation--is. This affirmation is not the puff-up affirmation, but a genuine, encouraging, life-giving affirmation

For the last few months I have experienced an uncharacteristically high level of anxiety and fear about my journey to Norther Ireland. I have hardly been able to think of a single good thing that will come of this journey there. But tonight! Tonight Ramon prayed, "take away the fear, God. All of it."

As people prayed, God reminded me of another perspective of experiencing life, a perspective free of suffocating fear. My friends prayed about peace and about God's presence and about His work and His goodness. They prayed about how He has called me and equipped me.

Praying out loud is especially wonderful because the moment the prayer is prayed, as long as I'm listening, God begins to shift and change me, bringing His breath of life into me. This pivotal part of the evening changed something in me. I can breathe!