Right By Me

Tonight, I have a story to tell you. On the surface, it is about where I am headed in mere days and what I will be up to, but more importantly, it is a testimony of depending on God and watching Him come through. I won’t hold my plans for the end; I’m too excited to craft that suspense. As some of you already know, rather than returning to Roanoke this Spring like most students who have already studied abroad a semester, I will be headed to Washington D.C. to participate in the Lutheran College Washington Semester, in which Roanoke is one of several affiliated schools that is a part of the program. LCWS sets up everything for us – housing and roommates, night classes, weekly field trips…they even help many students find an internship. This semester, I am living in a pent-house apartment in Rosslyn, taking both a Public Relations and Global Agenda class, and, most exciting of all, working as a full-time marketing and event planning intern at the Headquarters of InternationalJustice Mission!

This is how it happened.

In the fall of 2012, my friend Evelyn and I sat in the back of RC Admissions making money doing homework and not giving tours. She said she was going to do a study away semester in D.C. that spring, and she encouraged me to join her. The application deadline was only a few weeks away, and I already had a lot of campus commitments that year, so I opted not to join her. She got me thinking, though. Aside from finances and too many classes, the primary reason most students don’t study abroad is because they love their school so much; I understand that. If I went to Clemson, king of football tailgates, school spirit, and community, leaving for a semester would have been a lot harder, even if it was for an unforgettable world experience. But Roanoke and I don’t share that same bond. Our relationship is improving, but I could count on one hand the things I would really miss (my best friend Kayla, small group, Restoration Church, hiking, the English department). Two close friends chose to end their misery and transfer, making the possibility of a year away all the more tempting. I didn’t, and still don’t, loathe Roanoke enough to permanently leave, but why shouldn’t I go? I would be taking advantage of the opportunities Roanoke offers and encourages. By Christmas break, I was in planning mode.

Slavery, one of the world’s worst and most ancient injustices, is more rampant than ever before. Several years ago when I became aware of the estimated 30 million people enslaved today, I began considering a future career to help combat human rights oppression. I still have no idea what form that could take, or even if it is where I am still headed. I do know that, with God’s help, the staff at International Justice Mission already successfully seeks justice, freedom, and protection for thousands of powerless people. IJM is a non-profit human rights organization that protects the poor from violent forces of injustice. Comprised of Christian attorneys, social workers, criminal investigators and support staff, IJM partners with local law enforcement to rescue the poor. Case by case, over 10,500 victims – families toiling in brick factories, young girls imprisoned in brothels, widows whose land has been stolen – have found freedom in the past five years.

To learn more, you can check out Suhana's beautiful story of redemption.

Once liberated, many of them receive counseling and guidance in aftercare homes, a crucial aid as they begin a new, restored chapter of their lives. IJM goes on to prosecute the perpetrators and ensure that the local public justice system is working properly, bolting oppressors behind bars and enabling communities to prevent future abuses. With each rescue, IJM is proving that justice for the poor is possible. I have wanted to be a more active supporter of their work for many years, so when I decided to go to D.C., I also began researching the possibility of an internship at IJM.

I made it, I will be joining 19 other interns in a week, but through the whole process, God kept me on a string, teaching me at each progression that this would work only through His will, His power, and my submission to Him.

How? How do I know this was God and not some retrospective bias or my hard work or just coincidence? The past certainly does clarify the way the Holy Spirit has already been moving, but I know primarily because I barely made it. Too many things went wrong; I should not have been able to even apply. Something would still go right, though, and in a small, uneventful way, the Lord would pull through yet again.

Summer gives you the feeling that you have plenty of time before you. Even I, Miss List-maker herself, inevitably put off to-dos for another day. My three tasks for August: work, IJM application, pack. I think I can handle that. I kind of kept thinking the application was due toward the end of August. Turns out the initial, very lengthy application, as well as all references and paperwork were due August 14, and I realized it a mere week ahead of time. Fortunately, a week is just enough.

On August 7, I journaled:

I guess this application process is teaching me that it’s all in Your hands. It’s not by any act or will of mine. Thank you for saving the opportunity and still allowing just enough time to have everything submitted.

And that kind of thing just kept happening. I was so interested in this opportunity that I saved the application to my computer last winter. I later filled it out, worried that the references that had to be mailed wouldn’t make it in time. I did not realize for several days that the file had since been updated. The references and transcript could now be e-mailed. Whew.

My first interview went pretty well. I didn’t really know which intern position I wanted. I’m a competent, joyful worker, but I still lack a specific skill set, and I had been praying (and worrying) a lot about what kind of career I might have someday. I remember the interviewer saying, Well it sounds like you have a good bit of experience with event planning. Would you be interested in that? Um, heck yes. That sounds perfect for me. Why had I never considered that before? So with the first interview, God laid aside, at least temporarily, some of the typical young adult worries I had carried of late.

I get placed for a second interview as a marketing intern. While the description to “assist with projects that help further the movement of IJM, raise public awareness of IJM's mission, ongoing work and fundraising efforts” sounded good, the details of working with a lot of Google statistics and analysis did not. This isn’t event planning! I thought. Do I even want to do this? Should I look for a different internship? I prayed and considered it for a while. I still felt like this was the place; the possibility of working in that kind of environment for a cause I cared about was too good to pass up. Besides, I could learn some new skills.

I was well into my time in Italy when the second interview was finally scheduled.We decided to talk over FaceTime Audio, and I was to call at an appointed time. I was a little nervous, but prepared. I had tested out the audio with my roommate to make sure I knew how to use it. All seemed well. I called the number. It didn’t work. My heart started beating significantly faster. I am not trying to create an impression of irresponsibility here! Ahh! This is not happening right now. I e-mailed immediately. Fifteen painstakingly slow minutes later, the interviewer called me back on a landline the old-fashioned way. She sounded wonderful. I was frank and told her I don’t know much about Google stats, but I’m willing to learn. She tells me there have been some departmental shifts, and that is no longer part of the marketing intern description. It really would mainly be event planning. Hallelujah, praise the Lord! Quite literally. She goes on explaining everything and it honestly already sounds like I have the job. I get a little confident inside. At the end of the interview, she says she still has a few more people to talk to, but that the department should make a final decision shortly.

Dear goodness. This process has been so long. When we get off the phone, I am still seriously depending on the Lord. I ask for prayers from the gals in my Bible Study in Italy. Please Lord. I want this. If this is right, help me.

I’m supposed to get an e-mail by October 15. It comes and goes. I keep praying.Two days later, I check my school e-mail just to make sure. Low and behold, there is an e-mail from several days before with my status. They invited me to join the team! I need to accept or decline in the next two days. Once again, it worked out. It almost did not, but it still did. I accepted with enthusiasm and apologies for my slow response.

I was, and still am, stoked. On January 1, my family and I are hopping on a nine hour train ride to Washington, D.C. to help me move in, and orientation at IJM will begin next Monday. Even though I won’t be working with Google statistics, I still don’t have the details about what I am jumping into. This I am certain of: I will be with good, professional, hardworking Christians who believe that human rights for the poor are worth defending. I will be working far harder this semester than last, but I am eager to regain more purpose on a day-to-day basis. Once again, I will be in another new environment, but just like the whole process of heading to D.C., I know I will have a good God by my side and in my soul.

And I know that if you made it to the end of this, you have either contracted WVBS (Winter Vacation Boredom Syndrome) or you must actually care about me. If it’s the latter, I would appreciate your prayers as I enter one more new environment. Please pray for the work of IJM - for victims to be rescued and oppressors justly prosecuted. Pray for the international field offices and those working in D.C. Personally, please pray that the work I do will be effective and helpful. Pray that I rely on the Lord, seeking His guidance, renewal and provision. He really is a good God, and He has shown me that He is there, in my struggles at Roanoke, in my adventures abroad, in the barely-made-it interview process. He is right by not only me, but all of His children. He is right by you, too.

Charleston - okay, America - the Beautiful

There’s an old conceited saying that I’m rather fond of.

Charleston is a peninsula where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers come together to form the Atlantic Ocean.

Charleston really is the most beautiful city in the world. All semester, my new friends in Perugia had to put up with me boasting, both in English and Italian, about my hometown. When we met someone new and began talking about travel or where we were from, I would inevitably pipe in, “You should visit Charleston, South Carolina. È la città migliore nel mondo. It’s the best city in the world.” It kind of became a running joke, but I’m serious. Home is not the best just because it is a comfortable security blanket, surrounding me with dear friends and family. It is the best because every natural backdrop is stunning and the people are friendly and the weather is perfect…and my heart is never quite as content or quiet as when I am sitting on a bench looking out over the marsh.

Before I left for Italy, my advisor gave me this bell curve to demonstrate the emotional roller coaster of a study abroad student.

It looked way too scientific to be accurate, with the honeymoon stage, culture shock, and adjustment; life isn’t that predictable, I thought, but it surprised me. I remember week by week passing in Italy and comparing my experiences to that graph. It’s like I was following the predictions of a growth chart right on target. I saw everything in Perugia through rose-colored glasses, until I did not. When life is different from the norm, no matter how easy or exciting it may be, it becomes challenging. I missed the luxuries of home, I missed Mama’s encouragement, I missed normality. Every day, I was blindsided by another ignorant American faux pas I made in Italy. On good days you laugh. On other days, you just get sick of it. Like the way Italians complain – no, that’s not right. They whine. Often. Nothing is ever as it should be, and these fully grown, supposed adults, yell at each other all the time. It got old. Eventually I adjusted to life in Perugia and the Italian way, though, and I learned to appreciate, adopt even, certain parts of their culture.

This time two weeks ago, I was on a plane returning to America. In the first forty-eight hours of being home, I embraced all of the things I had missed so much about Charleston. First, the weather. When I stepped off the plane, it was 70 degrees outside, and then remained perfectly humid, creeping into the 80s, for the next week. Plus the weatherman told me the temperature in Fahrenheit. Only in Charleston is it necessary to rock shorts in December.

Then, there are these views.

Which, by the way, I went to by driving directly in a car. Public transportation is great, but it does not – nor will it ever – beat a car. Back to the marsh. I do not tire of this view, and, given my jet lag, I was not tired in the morning, so I awoke early to watch the sunrise from the Pitt Street Bridge in the Old Village. The fog didn’t cooperate, but it’s still beautiful. It remins me of a naturally gorgeous woman still groggy from a deep night’s rest. She would be stunning with a little makeup, but she is already lovely. My heart melts for the radiance of the Lowcountry.

 The first person I saw that morning waved to and greeted me. He was some middle-aged man walking his dog, but he still said, “Good morning,” like any gentile southerner. Strangers have been saying hello every day since then. There’s a reason Charleston is the friendliest city in the country. The only time people wave in Italy is to get someone’s attention.

I’ve got a lot more luxuries to write about, but when I think about it, they’re not really limited to Charleston. So I concede. My hometown is still the best, but I just have a greater love for all of America now. Even the bad, commercialized, materialistic focus it has. I don’t care. I’m glad to be back. A month ago, I dreamt of the day when I could use a dryer again. It was as good as I imagined. Same goes for the dishwasher. Wow; what an invention. Other little indulgences include deliciously fruity, unseasonal food, like the first thing I ate when I landed in the Philadelphia airport.

That's right. That's a chain brand Chik-fil-a salad with all kinds of frutis that should not be available right now. It is also dark green. Not this insalata mista iceberg lettuce with one tomato nonsense.

That night, I unpacked my stuff, and there were drawers for my clothes and shelves for my books. Why? Because America has space! Lots and lots of uncramped room for all of our personal bubbles. Alright, I’m getting a little dramatic. But we do like things big. Like coffee.

Oh yeah. That is the smallest available cup of chain brand Starbucks Skinny Peppermint Mocha, accommodating the season and my American Splenda health whimsies.

The wireless on my laptop automatically connected and hasn’t dropped since. All I have to do to print something is press the button, and boom. There it is in the office. I slept in my own bed, on an amazingly comfortable, springless mattress. I ran for miles on paths because running is condoned in America. Then I ate fattening Christmas food, because that’s what you do in America in December, and I am American. You run, and then you eat; ‘tis the season. Those first few days, if there was a way to literally hug America, I would have. Italy is not even a third world country, but life is still so different.

Now that I’m back, I’m sorting cultures out. Some things are external, like not saying “Ciao” to people when I greet them. Mainly, though, the issues are inside. I have a greater appreciation for the American luxuries I have returned to, but I also miss the simplicity of Perugia. I have been shocked by the materialism of America. Yes, I admit it. I like to shop and buy practically anything I want. But I also realized how little one really needs, and I want to maintain the simpler lifestyle I adopted there.

I’m learning to take longer breaks and spend time with friends, something my roommate Abby really taught me to do as we lived together for a quarter of a year. I’m trying not to beat myself up for not being very productive, for not keeping a quiet time with God every day and not blogging in over two weeks. I’m trying to enjoy time with family and not freak out about my future. Surrounded by longtime friends with a deep and evident love for God, I’m figuring out how and when to (or not to) verbalize the Gospel. Italy didn’t wreck me into the faith crisis I experienced in Cambodia. I am Christ’s daughter forever, of this I am sure, and I never intentionally hid my relationship with Jesus. In fact, I relied on Him almost every day in Italy, and there were times when I saw Him do some really beautiful things. Maybe, though, I unconsciously tempered it.

The truth is, my whole semester in Perugia feels like a time vat right now, totally disconnected from any other experience I have ever had. I left Charleston in August with few responsibilities and no stress, and I returned to the same scenario, the same people, even the same weather, three and a half months later. It all feels comfortable and familiar, yet strangely odd. I am perplexed in ways I struggle to articulate. Being abroad definitely changed me and forced me to grow up a little more. Whatever happened, I do think it was for the better, but I’m still searching for some very important clarity keys.

I have a lot of questions and a lot of thoughts I’m obviously still working out, but I’ll keep you posted. Italian stories are definitely not over. I finally had the opportunity to experience day-to-day life in a foreign city, to live in another country. I made friends there I know I’ll keep, and together we set out on many adventurous weekends.

Could not have asked for a better semester with greater people.

Where did you go in the fall?

I will treasure these memories for the rest of my life. For now, though, I am struggling through “readjustment,” the last part of this strangely accurate bell curve. I am grateful to be back in this city and this country, for the happy familiarity of Charleston and the easiness of life in America. I am grateful to recuperate in the midst of hugs from longtime friends and the relaxing pace of winter-break nothingness. 

21

The clock has begun chiming 162,240 times. There have been 7,670 sunrises. I haven’t seen enough of them, but, following my birthday tradition, this is the one from this morning.

Right as it peaks its head over Umbrian hills. Thanks Mariah, Alea and Abby for joining me!

It’s not too eventful turning 21 in Italy, where I have been able to legally drink for the past three months, but somehow I don’t see my birthday festivities being all that much crazier on the other side of the Atlantic. I don’t deny the convenience of turning 21 two days before I come home, though! Every year, I learn and grow more. Things do not become clearer with age, but I’m banking that that is because I have become a more complex individual. Here are 21 thoughts. They are changes, lessons or reflections from this past year.

1. I have become more open and accepting of others, especially those with different lifestyles or views. I used to think I was already open, but I was not.
2. I learned how to travel. Go with purpose, but keep it slow and relaxed.
3. In Cambodia, I learned that no matter how poor I am, I will still be a very rich woman.
4. Whatever your work is, do it well. Do not let it rule your life.
5. Live the Italian way – take long walks and eat longer meals. Work is secondary.
6. The longer I live, the less sure I am about what I will do in the future or where I will be.
7. I might teach English abroad for a bit.
8. Going out is pretty fun. I am almost never inclined to go, even if I think I will be. Thus the uneventful 21^st.
9. I really do like writing and literature, and I’m glad I decided to study it. I think I could probably do something with it.
10. I cannot save the world. I am not that special. I can still do something.
11. Prayer is powerful. I knew that already, but I have seen it more in action.
12. Serving food is humbling.
13. Responsibility does not make life easier. It is still really good though.
14. I have become more selfish, but I also depend more on the Lord’s grace and fire to make me into something more beautiful.
15. My sisters are all grown up, and they are awesome.
16. Hospitality is hard, but it is a good way to love.
17. I have some seriously awesome friends in my life.
18. Some of my friends are starting to get married. Holy cow.
19. An awesome guy has not yet waltzed into my life; my awkwardness does not aid this issue.
20. I am a young adult now. With the right time and money, I can do most anything I want to do. That is an awesome time of life.
21. I don’t rely on Jesus as I should. I have found myself tempering Him, especially when I am not in Charleston. My faith is solidified, but I fear I don’t live it very well for others.

Thank you for all of the birthday wishes today. The presence and love of friends and family, even when you are thousands of miles away, reminds me how very blessed I am.

Beggars Can't Be Choosers

I've made a decision today.

I don't really do well with beggars and homeless people. You can't give to all of them, so many people choose not to give to any. Plus, what are they really going to do with that money? Are they going to get food and support their family, or are they going to buy more alcohol.
On my way back from Spoleto today (yes, like the Spoleto Festival in Charleston - we have a sister city!), a greasy-haired gypsy woman came through the train with a picture of her (/a) family and was asking for change.

First time: I saw her out of the corner of my eye and did not turn my head, playing an extra intense game of candy crush. She stood there in a whiny complaining voice for an unnecessarily long amount of time.
Just go away! You are so annoyingly persistent. I don't know if I should give you anything or not. You're not supposed to even be on this train. Jesus says I should love you. What does that even mean? Am I rejecting Jesus right now?

She finally walked away. I've always told myself that I would give homeless people food if they needed it. Oh crap. I realized the lobbyist at Hotel Charleston I had dropped by to meet had given me an extra slice of pizza. I still had it. I had food I could've given that lady, and I was so uncomfortable with her hovering, unwanted presence that I didn't even think about it. Lord, please bring her back by again.

Second time: Five minutes later, a simple prayer is answered. I gave her the pizza, she took it, and then proceeded to pester for money. I shook my head. She rambles about feeding her children. I point to the pizza and the girl in the photo. Another long, hovering presence. She finally leaves.

I still can't get her out of my thoughts. Is it right not to give her any money? I don't know. I felt an innate sense to say no. I realize I also happen to have a pack of crackers on me. I should give those, too.

Third time: She swoops in again. The woman has unashamed persistence, I give her that. I offer her my crackers. She shoos them away; she doesn't want them, only money. That kind of ticked me off. The phrase "Beggars can't be choosers" immediately came to mind. Sure, it is only a pack of crackers, but I'm trying to give them to you, and you won't accept them. So how badly do you really need money after all?

The whole scenario reminded me so much of Peter.
"Peter, do you love me?"
"Lord, you know I love you."
"Feed my sheep."

Three times that happened. And later, Peter denies Christ three times also.

It was like God gave me three chances to love that woman. I denied her once, fed her and then was rejected. I'm not certain if my actions were just or if I should be more generous in general. But, like I said, I've come to a decision. Beggars are not going away. I'll be living in D.C. next semester and I'll face a lot more of them there. They are people, and I will not totally deny their dignity. I won't give them money, but I will intentionally carry granola bars with me. I will put it in their hands. Accept or reject. I'll let you be the chooser.

Friends in Budapest

“Paris and London are sweet and I'd go there, but they aren't my number one destinations. Remote islands in Greece were sick, Hungary, Poland, Belgium were all amazing, so go to the big places just to go but if you are centered around those you are doing it wrong.”

One of my friends lived in Italy for a couple of years, and we began discussing where I should go during my time abroad well before I ever hopped on the plane. After he sent me this advice, Budapes(“h”)t, the capital of Hungary, was high on my travel list. Some classmates visited over fall break and raved. Instead of feasting at Sugah Cain, I packed all of my warm clothes and thanked God for my many blessings on a night plane from Rome to Budapest.

As usual, my friend Alea and I endured my rite of entry into any new place by getting thoroughly lost and walking all over the city. As we meandered, we admired the elaborate Art Nouveau facades on both average apartments and bank buildings alike. We also had a blast enjoying the unexpected Christmas spirit here – cold weather, decorative lights, chimney cake (basically fried bread) and mulled wine are a beautiful combination.

Chimney Cake = yummmm

I will always remember my weekend in Budapest, but it won’t be because of Hero’s Square or the Opera House or the shoe memorial for the Jews of WWII.

3rd Largest Parliament in the World

I tired of sight-seeing about halfway through the semester, and I have learned that it just isn’t what makes a trip. Rather than the tourist stuff, I will remember my last trip of the semester because of the great people we met there.

Jonah

As I took my first bite of hearty goulash soup, I heard an American accent ordering at the table adjacent to us. I glanced over to see an attractive young man sitting by himself. If you know me, you know strangers, especially Americans in foreign countries, don’t stay that way for long, and Jonah was no exception. A native of Los Angeles, he works in the entertainment business – writing, acting, singing, producing. He can do it all. He was traveling with his friend, but he had the last day to himself. After lunch, Jonah invited us to continue exploring Budapest with him, and we accepted the offer.

Jonah was a solid six years older than us with a real career, but we spent the whole day together and then met back up for a late dinner. When I think about hanging out with fourteen-year olds, I realize just how big that age gap and lifestyle difference is. His humor is dry, but it’s also witty. Our company may have been unusual for Jonah, but I think he really did enjoy the day with us. I certainly did. 

Tess
We returned to the hostel to meet a happy blonde chilling in bed with a backpack significantly larger than her small frame. Tess is 18, from Sydney, Australia. After saving up her money for a year, she is now on a gap year, traveling through all of Eastern and Western Europe. I was impressed. She had been backpacking with another friend for a while, but they had parted ways, and she was on her own now. Tess was supposed to leave the next day, but after talking together and planning on breakfast the next morning, she decided to stay another night and spent the whole following day with us. She even motivated me to go on a run with her around the loop on Margaret’s Island, a pinch of land in the middle of the Danube River. She had a kind, peaceful demeanor, and it is obvious Tess is growing up a lot. She went to an all-girl’s private school for six years, and she is over that culture. I think this year of traveling is helping her find her way.

Rebecca

When we returned to the hostel the next night, we were greeted by our fourth roommate. Also from Sydney, Rebecca graduated from Uni, got a big girl PR job for a year, and then set off to backpack the world by herself. She has already been gone for seven months, and has several more months to go. What an experience. I had so many questions for her, all beating around the main question I had cycling through my head – Can I just be you in two years? We shall see what is to come.

In less than a week, both Tess and Rebecca are going to meet up with us back in Perugia before we return home! I am happy to be able to offer my hospitality and show off an authentic medieval Italian town, but I am more excited to already reunite with friends I did not know less than a week ago.

The cool thing about the people we met in Budapest is that you know you automatically have something in common. Jonah, Tess and Rebecca were a little off the tourist track, too. Whatever brought them there, they carry some sense of adventure, the curiosity to explore the less known. The stranger the place, the more different the visitor will be, and the more likely one is to meet other travelers.  That formula creates something innate and easily ignited – the potential for great friendship.