audible memory

As I settled into my sweatpants and tee shirt tonight, the smell of wood fire from my weekend away filled my nostrils, and the memory of this delightful overnighter in the Kerry countryside flooded my thoughts and thanks...

I sat on the soft brown leather couch, snuggled next to my friends as we listened to the Clan play their instruments with such chemistry and excellence, our very own private living-room concert. Such joy filled that room. Mom and dad watched their adult children and smiled with pride and love, their hearts practically swelling out of them. I felt as though I was listening to a perfectly orchestrated exchange of musical voices conversing with one another. Some friends tapped their feet and clapped their hands. Others sat contently with their eyes closed, taking in the audible sensation that filled the home. The toasty wood fire blazed behind them- permeating the air with its familiar and comforting scent, as the tunes crescendoed and fell, dancing on the rhythms of tradition. I scratched this into my notebook: "Everybody is absolutely engrossed in the music, which is building in intensity and volume like an army training for war. Is this what it means to be Irish, to live in an Irish home? If so, I choose this life."

Even from the first time that I heard traditional music, I was convinced that this is the kind of music that will be played in heaven. No other sounds make me come alive like these. An Irish friend once explained the energy of the trad music to me: "It's because it's in your blood, Michelle". Even if my lineage has only a fraction of Irish blood in it, the love for this kind of music is absolutely alive in these veins.

Growing Down

This idea of "growing down" occurred to me a few years ago. I was thinking about the way that children live- so carefree & unburdened by virtually anything, quick to bounce back from troubles, and absolutely forgiving. There's so much pressure to grow up, when really, a better solution, is to grow down. Growing down doesn't mean abandoning responsibility, it simply means becoming like a child again- playful, silly, and full of joy- embracing each day as a new adventure in a world full of possibilities.

I feel that since I've been in Ireland, I've been learning how to grow down. My friends here are a delightful bunch of grown-downs, reminding me of a way of life that is too quickly abandoned by so many grown-ups. These are the friends who I explore cities and sing happy birthday to strangers with, who join me in bus rides to random towns that we've never heard of; friends with whom I can sing spontaneous and ridiculous songs in the park, and build blanket forts in the living room- as if I was 6 years old again. These are the friends who I share the wee hours of the morning with- walking, talking, playing music, eating ice cream, and watching films (pronounced fill'ums). These simple pleasures in life have given me more joy than expensive vacations and structured events. We just enjoy each other, and what a gift that is! These special moments are spontaneous, without an agenda, without expectation. It's times like these when even the silly things are stunning, the boring are beautiful, when the unknowns become an adventure rather than a frustration or fear. Childlikeness is not altogether lost... and I couldn't be more thankful for these childlike friends of mine!

"Here we are, because it is too beautiful to move"

Virginia Woolf said that of West Cork.

It's been a few weeks since I blogged, and though there are many stories to tell, I'm going to keep this blog a simple one.

The more of Ireland that I see and experience, the more lovely, enchanting & charming it becomes. Though it doesn't have the overshadowing mountains like the Rockies or the white sand beaches like Greece; though the weather is not as predictable as, well, anywhere I've been, and the skies are often gray- Ireland has captured a raw and untamed beauty, a step back to a time where fields weren't plowed over to build condominiums, and hotspots weren't transformed into tourist villas. One can still find towns on this island where Irish is spoken, instruments are pulled out each night, and tea is offered to every person who walks in the doors of a home. There are still hills and valleys that have yet to be touched by roads and electricity; fields where the hay hasn't yet been bailed and the children roam freely, writing their own stories. Some places in Ireland remind me of other places I've been- some of home, some of the open west of America; but then some places are new to me- the rough and open hillsides of County Kerry somehow manage to stay a vibrant green through all of the year. The small ponds nestled in the crevices of wild hills somehow provide the same awe that geological wonders do. The wind blowing through the gap becomes the melody of this land, the hoof-claps of the horse drawn carraiges keep the beat. Western Ireland has absolutely captivated and awakened my senses again to to beautiful work of our Creator's hands!

Happy New Year!

This week marks the start of the Jewish new year- so in honor of that- HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A few observations--

Fire Alarm: This is the one sound that causes immediate action. I've been here for 3, so far, and I'm just at the 2 week mark in the dorm. The alarm goes off, the dorms clear out, and then we wait. We wait outside, huddled in shivering crowds (because it's usually at dinner time or in the night when the alarm goes out, and when you're startled by a loud noise, you may remember your key, no less a sweater or scarf), until the "Cork City Fire Brigade" arrives, with all their bells and flashes at full force. The 6 or 8 men stomp out in uniform with unimpressed looks upon their faces. They go in. wait....5 minutes....wait. They come out, then the warden announces the room number which set off the alarm. Until this point everyone is a little tense, whispering to one another about what they were doing- excusing any possibility that the alarm was set off in their room. The apartment dweller is identified, and life resumes, as usual.

Textbooks: Purchasing textbooks here is an option, not a requirement. All of the books that my professors have listed as "suggested readings" are available in the library, usually 4 or 5 copies of them. When I went to pick up a few, there were none taken out, which makes me think that these suggestions are not particularly important to the students, and certainly are not monitored or enforced. Nevertheless, I did purchase a book today- a whopping 13.45Euros, which is the extent of my textbooks for the semester. No complaints there!

Dirty Streets: It's not like East Jerusalem, but the streets here are littered with animal feces and remnants of dinner that somehow just couldn't stay down. There is a large fine for littering, yet no consequences for puppy poo or vomit; so when walking through the streets of Cork, it's smart to watch your step.

Rain: As soon as it starts falling from the sky, the masses pull out their umbrellas. It's rather amusing, cute- even, until you're the one without an umbrella and within a few short minutes everything you're wearing is saturated with the water from above. I bought an umbrella yesterday- a worthy investment, indeed.

Music: Well... to devote a mere paragraph to the music in Cork, and in Ireland in general, is an absolute understatement- so I'll put it this way: The music alone could keep me in this country forever. It's absolutely wonderful- having the opportunity to hear live musicians every night of the week, usually for free- jam out their favorite folk tunes. Ahh, this is the life!

ancient paths...

There are remnants and evidence of when the [recent] foundations of this city were laid... the footprints of people and pets in the pavement spring up randomly and delightfully throughout the city. Sometimes a mere shoe print, other times, the crooked and curvy path of the cat; sometimes on the main road, other times in an obscure alley. These steps of foreigners from a foreign time remain in the concrete that had not quite dried when they walked across it. I know that these roads have been crossed by many curious claws and countless sojourners. The remnants of time reveal themselves to us so beautifully. I love this city more with each step.

writing & reminiscing...

Ireland, like Maine, is a poetic land. From the changing of seasons, to the predictable tides; from home-grown people to home-grown potatos,lichens to luncheons... it is its very own place in such a lovely way. Damien Enright says in A Place Near Heaven, "The more I travel, the more I appreciate the beauty and uniqueness of home." Ireland doesn't feel so far from home for me, and for that I am quite thankful. The affections I have for Maine remain quite unmatched to any place in the world- yet day by day, Ireland is somehow beginning to feel like a fond memory to me, as I discover this land that is rich with romance and nostalgia. This unfolding of a new journey feels like an unwritten chapter in an exciting and fanciful story book that is filled with adventures and mysteries, decorated with doodles, and stuffed with handwritten letters and newspaper clippings. Just as time seems to slip by faster with each season, before I know it I'll be dusting off this old story book, reciting its tales to the generations to come. For now, though, I am very presently absorbing the lush beauty of Ireland- appreciating Porter's motto:

Love Generously.
Praise Loudly.
Live Fully.

...and the rains came...

They have a saying here that refers to the bipolar weather in Cork, perhaps in all of Ireland- "4 Seasons in a Day"... that pretty much sums it up. The only way I've figured to dress appropriately is in lots of layers- prepared for warm sunshine, chilly breezes, humid rain or a brisk cool front.

I'm in my first week of classes. Yesterday I sat in on 2, one of which the professor neither showed up nor notified us of his/her absence- classy, eh? The way in which one signs up for class modules is an absurd system which wasted 4 hours of my weekend trying to figure out. Everything is written in code that you have to de-code, then arrange, which is more time-consuming than anyone would like it to be. After visiting 4 websites to figure out when and where classes were, I was able to set up my schedule of 6 classes and a potential internship.

After my Sustainable Livelihoods Analysis class I went to the library to get some books and, again, a crazy system that made no sense to me. On one floor there were 3 locations with books of the same call number. For any of my library friends- you'd be appalled at this arrangement. I certainly was- not to mention this library is enormous, which made it all the more difficult. Thankfully, the Irish people are all incredibly kind and helpful and the gentleman at the desk directed my Danish friend Gunvor and myself straight away. This class is a 200 level and there is no required text, only 6 or 7 suggested books. I've never heard of such a thing... I get the impression that professors don't expect the students to do a lot of work. Class time is a mere 2 hours a week, and our introductory lecture was only 45 minutes. Assessment for this particular course is one written paper and one group project. Seems pretty simple and straightforward.

Perhaps my favorite random fact about Cork so far: Police officers don't carry guns with them. The crime is minimal and generally only happens when the victim isn't being responsible. I like this place!

Another random fact: Some pubs in the city advertise 9am drinks... and coffee shops don't usually open here until about that time. An early morning coffee run doesn't seem likely here.

I spent most of the weekend walking and exploring the city. There is a lot to see, and it's all pretty centralized, so walking is the best way to take it all in. Towering cathedrals and rivers constantly give me a sense of place- I haven't gotten lost yet. On the streets it's quite normal to see anything from businessmen on bicycles, trashy (dressed) teenagers, classy 'Corkians' with long white gloves, and students all on the same street. The Europeans have great style, and I admittedly walk around a bit self conscious of my 'American' appearance. Regardless, I AM an American, so what difference should it really make? Pants never seem tight enough, boots never tall enough, and scarves never bulky enough.

On Sunday afternoon I found myself in Linnehan's (I think that's the name of it?) Candy Shoppe in the city, purchasing a selection of "the most Irish candies" they had. The young lady dumped about 25 candies in a bag, a sweet variety representative of this traditional Irish shoppe... or so she said. I walked along the river on my way out to the bay, sniffing the salty air and sucking on the sweet treats. After about 30 minutes, I realized that I had downed a solid 6 or 7 candies, without even thinking about it. Which brings me to my favorite delight of European cities...

Pastry Shops. Mmmm, delightful, fresh, friendly pastry shops. This is [dare I say it?] my favorite part of the day; from creme filled fruit scones to chocolate bars with raisins, from donuts to lemon cake, some are better than others, but ALL are delicious. I've decided to keep no sweets in my apartment, so it's an even more special moment when after a 30 minute walk into city center I find myself in the English Market picking out my treat of the day... definitely something to look forward to, usually around a Euro each (about $1.30).

I was happily surprised when I discovered that I'm not the only Mainer here- I met a sweet young lady named Molly who's a student at Bates College, and 3 others from southern Maine, who are studying out of state.

Finally, I will admit my weakness... bookstores. I can't seem to go in one and leave empty-handed. They are loaded with great reads, from floor to ceiling, on shelves and in piles. What's not to love about a shop full of avid readers, jazzy tunes playing in the background, and the simple ability to stroll around at my leisure for however long I desire? So far I've picked up 1 autobiographies, both quite different-

A Place Near Heaven: A Year in West Cork by Damien Enright; a naturalist's chronological perspective of living in the countryside of West Cork, a gorgeous land filled with birds, fishermen and wild weather

and

An Idiot Abroad: The Travel Diaries of Karl Pilkington; a humorous journey of a non-traveler who is sent to the 7 wonders of the world and into some of the sketchiest and funniest situations

Well... that's a wrap for now. Today I'm checking out 2 more development classes. Looks like my schedule will free up Thursday afternoon around 1pm until Monday at noon- can't complain about having a long weekend every weekend! Ahh, life in Ireland is brilliant!

In the beginning....

Brilliant! That is a word used in excess in Ireland, and appropriately so. The people are absolutely brilliant! The culture, brilliant! The scenery, obviously it's brilliant! What better word to describe everything I've experienced so far...

Ahh, so I have arrived, safely and happily, to the city of Cork, aka Ireland's real capital city, or 'the rebel city'. From the start, the Irish people were tremendously kind and friendly, more than happy to share any bit of Irish tips they can think of.

My journey began in Portland Maine, where I flew out at 11:30am Tuesday morning. US Airways decided the best route to Ireland would be to Philadelphia, then to Charlotte NC, and finally on to Dublin. In Charlotte, as I waited at terminal B10, I found myself hearing the first of the Irish accents gathering around and boarding up. 2 older women from the suburbs of Dublin sat next to me, discussing the fine literature of the Reader's Digest and National Enquirer in their hands. After we struck up conversation, one showed me a picture of her granddaughter and in doing so I saw a list of her phone contacts. At the sight of the family name Redmond, our conversation quickly shifted to my Irish descent. Family roots run deep in Ireland, and she was happy to inform me that her dear friend is a Redmond, her Cousin a Hayden (from my paternal lineage) and she knows many Smith's... don't we all? Family names that I didn't even realize were Irish were proudly identified as so, and she suggested that we may be distantly related. On my 6 1/2 hour plane ride across the Atlantic I sat next to the kindest Irish gentleman who told me many stories of his life in Ireland and his travels all around the world. One of my favorites was about family traditions. People in Ireland drink, that goes without saying. They also LOVE to party. Family gatherings are typical, and Irish people are looking for any reason to celebrate and gather. Even though he didn't come from a particularly musical family, a few drinks into the night, without fail, a family member would begin singing a traditional Irish song which is native to either their family or the region in which they live. People in the room would begin to hush, and after the person was finished the verse, another would join in. Everyone participated and contributed their verse to the ever-growing song. These songs were sometimes accompanied by instruments, but not always. In his case, they were acapella, and the singing occasion would go into the "small hours". Next to him at the window seat was a young man from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, coming to Irleand and then on to mainland Europe on a whim- cycling his way through the countryside. He purchased his airfare just a few days earlier and packed his collapsible road bicycle into a box along with few precious items. His entire load was nearly 40 pounds, an incredibly light touring bag. From Dublin I took a 4 hour bus ride to Cork, meandering through the hills and pastures of this green land. Though I came in and out of sleep on this bus ride, this was the picturesque Ireland that I had always seen and been told of, stone homes with vines and greens climbing up the walls, large sheep pastures, rolling hills as far as the eye can see, and castles! Yes; beautiful, brilliant castles. Nearly 29 hours later, I found myself in my dorm at Victoria Lodge, exhausted and excited.

My dorm accomodations are far better than I could have imagined. I have an en-suite room, meaning I have my own private bedroom and bathroom. There are 3 other housemates in the apartment- 2 from Malaysia and one from Connecticut (whom I have yet to meet), and a shared kitchen and living space. I was tremendously blessed by my semi-Irish family (they're from California & Canada, and have lived here for 6 years now) who not only met me at the bus stop, but took me into their home and served me warm banana bread. What an incredibly comforting way to arrive in a new place. We did some basic grocery shopping, then I came back to my room, unpacked, and slept for a solid 13 hours.

Today I had my first day of orientation. It involved a lot of sitting and listening... and realizing that I don't have all of the necessary paperwork to be in this country (not to worry, though; they're taking good care of me and it'll all be sorted out quickly). The most interesting difference of university structure that I have noticed is the method in which one signs up for classes. Here, students don't register until after the first week of classes have run through. There is never an issue of space availability- they cater the classes to the amount of students who decide to take them. So, next week I choose the classes that I think that I'm interested in- as many as I want, and I attend the first week of lectures. After that first week of "trying out the classes", as they put it, I decide which ones will work best and continue attending class from thereon. As this process was being explained to us, I was absolutely thrilled at this style which seems to be far more practical and beneficial for both the students and the professors. I suppose the real test will be giving it a try next week.

I'm impressed by the environmental consciousness of the people at large. Recycling and composting is not only accepted but it is expected. In my dorm we have exceptional accomodations for both.

Cork has an English market, a market with many stands of all varieties. The difference between this market and the Jewish siouk- it's clean, the workers are happy and smiling, and there is space to walk through without bumping into hundreds of other shoppers.

Well.... there is so much more to say, but it's 12:30am and I need to get onto this European time schedule. This will be a much different season than the summer in Jerusalem, and I have a feeling I'll be blogging much more regularly, so do check in if you want to keep up on my time here. This will be the best spot to get a general sense of what I'm up to.

I'll leave you with this popular adage: May the luck of the Irish be with you!

[Cork city center is a lovely juxtaposition of old and new]

[at the UCC quad- this gorgeous stone building surrounds 3 sides of the green at the center of campus]

music

A litttle taste of what I've been doing... from this morning's set... Lesley Bell is on keys--

http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/16057443

the recording levels aren't the best, but you get the picture...

[[I'll try to be better at posting more]]

Mercedes

Most of the taxi cars in Israel are Mercedes, though generally, people drive smaller and less-expensive vehicles. When I inquired about this strange observation, I learned that a German president (not sure if he was formerly or is currently president) donated thousands of Mercedes cars to Israel as part of their retribution from the Holocaust. Obviously, a nation can't purchase back millions of lives lost at their own hands, but this is part of the continual amends Germany is making to Israel.

Barakalahoofic...

That's the [phonetic] word in Arabic for God bless you.

After hanging out with Kate Hess and the kids from her neighborhood on the Mount of Olives, I've decided that I need to learn some Arabic language. Thanks to iTunes free podcasts, I'm learning the basics of the spoken language. In Jerusalem, many people are at least bilingual, English being the second language. More of the Hebrew speaking population speaks English than the Arabic population, so I'm diving into some Arabic because this is the native language of most of the people I'm around.

I'm praying for a gift of tongues and interpretation with this one (haha)-- it's a tricky language.

dates, wigs, bread, trash, doves & Nelson

Some random observations::

Dates- Like the American adage "An apple a day keeps the doctor away", in Israel it's: "A date a day keeps the doctor away".

Wigs- Various sects of Ultra-Orthodox Jewish women shave their head immediately following marriage. They are then required to either wear a head covering or a wig over their shaved heads. I've never seen so many wigs around the city, though I wouldn't have noticed it if a friend hadn't pointed it out. Old and young alike adorn their heads with beautiful shiny wigs.

Bread- In the Palestinian neighborhood, it is not uncommon to see fresh and moldy bread everywhere- whether hanging in a bag from a fence post or piled in the streets, bread is everywhere. From what I've heard, and I'm not certain that this is the truth, Palestinians think of bread as a holy food, therefore, they never throw it away in the trash, but instead leave it outside to be eaten by the (many) stray cats or just to deteriorate.

Trash- There are dumpsters on nearly every block in the Palestinian neighborhood, and at the end of every day they are overflowing with trash. Bags of garbage are disposed in these dumpsters. In addition, the streets are covered in trash every day. If a person buys an ice cream, a bag of chips, or a soda- when they are finished, they simply drop it on the ground. Every night a garbage cleanup team sweeps the streets and properly disposes of the garbage, but by 6pm there is trash in every crevice of the sidewalk and scattered in the streets. The first time I witnessed this, a young boy dropped his ice cream wrapper on the ground, so I picked it up and threw it in the dumpster for him. Just a few minutes later I saw an old gentleman drop a plastic bag filled with trash on the sidewalk, and that was when I understood that this was commonplace and very much accepted. ((Though, I will not assimilate to this habit))

Doves- Doves live all around Jerusalem. They are brownish-grayish and make a purring / owl-whoo'ing sort of sound. There are a few that live in the trees outside of the house, and every day I wake up to their lovely sound.

Nelson- Melissa, aka. St Francis, rescued a stray kitten and has nurtured it back into health. Kim named it Nelson and now he lives within our gate.

a day in the life of...

So I've been terrible at keeping up with writing in this blog- I've just so enjoyed being disconnected from the electronic world. I've found that not having a cell phone and not accessing the internet constantly has allowed me to really see and experience what's going on around me. It's not until those kinds of things are gone that I've realized what a constant distraction they are.

My time in Jerusalem has been many things- restful, exciting, hot, challenging, educational, fun, frustrating...

Going from a full time school schedule, doing scholarship work, having a job, plus all of my commitments with family, friends and church- Jerusalem has forced me into a place of rest. The idea of being busy doesn't exist for me right now. My days consist of playing guitar in the house of prayer or church for about 3 hours, practicing for at least one, and exploring the city. Generally I have time off in the middle of the day, which is also the heat of the day, so I try to find a cool place to hang out. The Garden Tomb (the location where Jesus was Crucified & the tomb where he was buried) is just a 2 minute walk from the church- and it's a beautiful oasis of trees and shade. I've spent a lot of time at Succat Hallel- a 24-7 HOP that overlooks Mount Zion. Jerusalem is a walking city. Distance is a relevant term- anything that's close when walking means that it's within an hour. Last Sunday night I hung out with some friends and I walked 2 1/2 hours just getting to various places; and this is a hilly city- regardless of where you go, it's uphill both ways.

The ministry to the abused women is complicated- as most of the women coming in are Palestinian, and don't speak English. We need translators for this kind of counseling. At this point we are collecting the womens' stories in order to build a strong case with attorneys. In Jerusalem the greatest problem with any kind of sexual abuse is that the women don't have a voice-- if, for example, a woman gets raped on the streets- it is never her fault. The woman is always the one to blame, and that is why this particular ministry is so powerful and important- because these women have not only been abused, but they've been denied a voice and the ability to be healed from such awful trauma.

Anyways, this is just a brief update-- more to come about marriage customs, holidays, the lunar eclipse from the rooftop, and church in East Jeru.

refugee camp

Yesterday I visited a Palestinian refugee camp in Jericho, a little less than an hour outside of Jerusalem. Refugee camps are compounds of families, grouped together in community. In Israel, they were forced out of their homes during war, and live in great poverty. These communities are among the poorest, overpopulated and most ill-treated in the nation. We were welcomed through the gate into a gentleman's house to visit. He had a car in the driveway, a small in-ground pool with green water which his young children were playing in (3 boys & 3 girls), and lots of garbage in the yard. He was very excited because he recently signed a one-year contract ensuring work. For his job, he employs 10 other men. He pays 1000 Shekels (about $300) a day to gain access to the dump, where he sifts through the trash to find valuable materials such as metals. He loads up a truck and brings it home to sort through, and piles of this trash remain in his front yard. In the same proximity as the children's play area is a giant pile of trash, probably 2 or 3 truckloads full. I saw 3 used tampon applicators scattered in front of his home. As he explained his situation, the joy on his face was astounding; I could hardly fathom paying money to pick trash. I'm not sure how typical this situation is (I suspect it is rather typical in the refugee camps), but I am sure that not everybody in Israel has such harsh circumstances.

View of Jericho from a monastery on the Mount of Temptation-

(Refugee camp on left :: Jordan River Valley in the back :: Dead Sea on the right)

Road in the refugee camp

Palestinian family in the refugee camp

kosher cell phone

Last night I had the privilege of spending some time with a sweet young woman named Grace. She was raised in an ultra-Orthodox Jewish family, and while she is not following that faith now, she is still very connected with her family. She began explaining the foolishness of a kosher cell phone. Data plans are not allowed. Texting is not allowed. On Sabbath, incoming and outgoing calls face a large fine. In addition to these restrictions, her family has blocked any outgoing calls. So basically, she can only receive calls, and only on particular days. We are so fortunate to have the freedoms we have!

More to come later.

the arrival

I left home at 9:30pm.

I left Maine at 2am.

I left Boston at 8am.

I left London at 10:30pm.

I left Tel Aviv at 7:00am.

I arrived in Jerusalem at 8:30am.

All of my travel was as smooth as I could have imagined- no nasty security checks, no interrogations, lots of sleep on the planes, and even some friendly visits with my flight neighbors. One in particular, Iftah, felt like a brother as he shared some stories of backpacking and exploring South America and the California coast following his release from the required 3 years of army service. I felt in good company with this kind-eyed adventurous young man. When he met his parents at the pickup terminal in the Ben Guiron airport in Tel Aviv, he introduced me to them as if I had accompanied him on his 8-month adventure in South America.

Hauling my guitar across the world proved to be most advantageous, as the flight attendants of my 2 British Airlines flights treated that 6-stringed instrument like a child or a second passenger: allowing me to preboard to assure proper storage of it. Never before have I been treated in such an agreeable way when flying. I have always said, and certainly will continue to say, that British Airlines is the best airline company I've ever flown with. 2 thumbs way up!

What a priviledge to fly into Israel watching the 5am sunrise over the cumulous clouds which hovered just above the earth's surface; a lovely array of pinks and reds across the sky with two mountains peeking their tips above the clouds, most likely mountains from the coastal region of Haifa.

I waited inside the 10 passenger shuttle van which would bring me into Jerusalem, about a 40 minute drive, and watched Jewish driver choose who he wanted to ride in his van. The entire time that he was not inside his van, he had a cigarette in his mouth and a scrunched eyebrow. His dark brown skin was wrinkled from the lifetime exposed to the unrelenting middle eastern sun. Inside the man I watched one woman fan herself with a holy book, and another munch on fresh nuts that were sold streetside outside of the airport.

After about 35 minutes of sitting in the shuttle, watching the driver refuse certain people rides, an Englishman spoke to him quite firmly saying that he can't pick and choose people leaving us here waiting. Two shuttles had already come, loaded up and left- and we were still sitting there with 3 empty seats. Finally, 3 ultra orthodox Jews negotiated with the driver outside the window and loaded their luggage into the trunk. Two older gentlemen sat in the back seat with me, and one seat remained in the middle. The last Jewish man walked up the steps in the front of the shutle and saw that I was sitting in the back seat, then began passionately rattling off some arguments in Hebrew- pointing his finger at me. 4 local women joined in this interaction and began arguing with him- waving their hands in frustration and disgust, decibals going up with each spoken word. The driver stepped in and asked the tall black Englishman in the front seat if he'd be willing to sit in the back. He was not particularly impressed, since he had been sitting on the bus the longest and chose a single window seat. The women continued to passionately aruge with the orthodox Jew and finally, the Englishman moved to the back next to me. The religious man was not willing to sit next to me becase I'm a woman. He apologized in broken English, saying "I am sorry," and one of the local women who was involved in this scuffle replied in a nasty tone "you should be!". Finally, we were on our way. The gentleman who moved back to sit with me, Richard, was quite encouraging and gave me some practical city tips.

I was the last stop on the route, and I got dropped off at the Jerusalem Hotel just outside the Damascus Gate. As soon as I unloaded the van, Melissa and Corinna embraced me and helped me unload my small but stuffed suitcase. They led me through the stone streets of the Palestinian neighborhood to the house that I will be calling home for the next 3 months. One of the shop owners welcomed me into the neighborhood with a kind embrace. It felt like a reunion with a grandfather that I hadn't seen in years. He excitedly said "I have gift for you, you wait just one moment," then rushed inside and brought out a stack of postcards. "You choose one," he said as he fanned out my options. I grabbed one and then he gave me another. "Welcome to the neighborhood, beautiful American!" We turned up 2 more streets and arrived at our hilltop home.

So.... I am here! There is much much more to say- but this is a healthy start. I'll do my best to keep posting. Fridays and Saturdays are Shabbat- so I have those days off-- I'm not sure how busy my week days will be- but having internet at the house makes staying connected quite convenient. I've been posting low-res images from my ipod on facebook for now- more pictures will come!

un-emo

I feel strangely unemotional right now, knowing that my life will be changing drastically starting Thursday. Perhaps it's better that I'm not nervous, or out-of-my-mind thrilled... but instead, just at peace. A dear friend's grandmother told me once, "Always follow the peace." Considering that bit of wisdom, I think I'm on the right track.

Much more to come once I'm on my way. For now, adios Maine! I will love you forever!

in-cog-neato!

When we reached the top floor of the old shirt factory,

he hid behind the blinds so that no one would see him.

On a journey...

I'm sitting on the dock at the shore of the lake. The wind is picking up and the clouds seem to be descending upon me. The loons call to each other from opposite sides of the lake. The surface of the water reminds me of a flowing river as it blows toward the northeastern side of the pond. Isaac Meyer's simple layers of acoustic instrumental sounds fill my ears. The crows are out. They never left, actually. I love that it's warm enough to come down by the shore to write again. Last spring, summer and fall writing here was a daily habit. Though it's only a three minute walk from my comfortable and cozy bedroom, this feels like a delightful escape for me.

While I constantly long for adventure and travel opportunities, I can admit that I feel most at home in the rural countryside of Maine. There is nothing I enjoy more than walking alone in the woods or taking the kayak out to the middle of the lake to sit, watch, float, pray. A friend made an observation about me today- that I'm more of an "it's the journey, not the destination" kind of person. While I had never really considered it that way, I think he is absolutely right. It seems as though when the destination is the ultimate goal, I am almost always let down. It is, however, on the journey that the unplanned, incredible and memorable things usually happen. Hiking Tumbledown Mountain, for example- reaching the top is the destination, yet the journey is where we got led off the path only to find the fallen moose carcas; or in Boston a few weeks ago- the Brian Regan show was the destination, but the canoli-feast outside of the Italian neighborhood, walking through the loud, stinky, crowded farmers market just outside of Quinci Market, and getting lost in worship on the ride home were the moments that stood out most to me. I love environments that allow for spontanaeity. I don't mind having a plan, and sometimes having one is absolutely necessary, but some spectacular things happen when we're not restricted to the plan.

I believe that as humans we are called to live with vision- but that we are to aslo live in the present, every day- to celebrate every new day as its own adventure and journey. I want to always live purposefully- whether I'm sitting by the lake at home in Maine, worshiping Jesus in Israel, or studying development in Ireland. I never want to despose the day of small beginnings... and I also never want to stop dreaming. Proverbs says "People perish for lack of vision"... so.... Here's to dreaming, to living each day and moment purposefully, and to enjoying every bit of the journey along the way (and the destination, too). Selah.

the KJ got me

Though I'm not particularly well spoken-for, I made the front page of the KJ... and happily to say that I shared the cover with a fine write-up of the McGee's Selah Tea cafe! We're filling the news!

http://www.kjonline.com/news/uma-student-wins-mitchell-scholarship_2011-05-01.html

season come, season go

With just one week of school left, and all this amazing Spring weather, I find myself more excited than ever for what's ahead. It feels like this season is coming to an end and a new one is beginning. When I woke up this morning I saw a bundle of daffodils growing in the yard and they were leaning toward the eastern rising sun- such a delightful picture of where we need to be- leaning toward the light! I feel refreshed, loved & in love!

School Abroad

I've begun the process of signing up for classes & doing all of the necessary paperwork for my fall semester of study in Cork Ireland. I'll be studying in the Development & Food Policy Program at University College Cork. The class lineup generally looks like this:

Introduction to Development Studies

Development, Conflict & Peace

Local Development: Structures, Strategies & Procedures

Poverty & Development

Social & Economic Aspects of Rural Development

Communication Skills in Development

Concepts of Development

Clearly, there is a trend here. I'm really looking forward to gaining a perspective which is different from just the experiential perspective that I have on these issues of development, poverty, and what we can do to help. Ultimately, I believe these will become tools that I will use as a missionary someday- bringing not only the Gospel to the nations, but practical and necessary help.

Some Nicaraguan boys I met at the park

lets try this again...

And so it begins again... blogging.

My former attempts at blogging ended abruptly when I realized that I didn't have much interesting to write or show.  Now, however, my life is changing, and perhaps becoming a bit more exciting and more compelling.

This blog is simply an avenue to keep my closest friends and family informed about what's going on, where I am, what I'm doing and any other nonsense I feel like sharing.  Knowing that I'm moving away from Maine for nearly 7 months has prompted me to do this, not to mention a desire to be more proactive about writing and documenting all of these wild adventures God leads me on.

I am choosing to keep this blog private, for now anyway, due to the nature of some of the work I'll be doing and possibly the details of what I'll be posting.  (What I mean by private is I'm not posting a link anywhere except in your inbox)

So... I'll probably do a few warm-up posts in the meantime, before the traveling begins. 

Ciao fo' now!