oh the people you'll meet (the london edition)

Perhaps you know that Dr. Seuss poem, the one (all too) frequently used in graduation speeches.
"oh the places you'll go "

"You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know."

It was just about a year ago that I left India, home bound and forever changed.
Since then, I have called four different cities home, welcomed to each place by new friends and old.

I may not have his doctorate, but I think I'd want to re-write Seuss' poem to say 'Oh the people you'll meet'
to convey my gratefulness that I am not 'on my own.' Because when the brains in my head are spinning, my feet weary,
my direction unclear, and when it is hard to convince myself that I know anything at all, it is the people along the journey who
make it worth the while.

I don't always remember the place. I rarely explore it to its potential. i forget the historical details-- the sights and sounds.
but, oh, the people. they ARE the experience. they are the teachers, the guides, the memories.

the piece of india that i will always carry with me is that of community. the people who were gracious enough to allow me into their community, to make me a part of their very family and lives are the essence of what shaped my journey and what continues to shape my life. It is likely that I will never see them again, but I have learned how people can touch your lives if only for a brief period in life.
We have to weigh the costs. I am a girl who feels life very intensely and the thought of engaging someone, sharing myself with someone at the risk of 'losing them' as life moves forward, frightens me. But to allow this fear to prevent me from embracing life head on would be a tragedy.

This i have learned in this transient life: sometimes you physically lose people and wonder why your time was so short. sometimes circumstances in life keep you from crossing paths again. and, sometimes your dearest friendships are built on letters and emails and the hopes of saving enough money to fly cross country.
however it may be, there is no doubt that these people touched your life and shaped who you have become.

before the summer gets away from me I want to share how my time in London allowed for community to come full circle
in more occasion than one.

The first story is about the gift I received in living with my childhood neighbor and babysitter from before the age of two who has remained my mentor and big sister. To get the opportunity to really know her husband and be there for their one-year old daughter was a dream. Long after the mental images of big ben or london bridge fade from my memory, I will still be able to close my eyes and see allison and I twirling sweet Rae around the kitchen singing coldplay songs at the top of our lungs.

community continues and changes and reforms in a new place.

The second story is that of an unlikely sequence of events. When I was unable to go home from DC over Thanksgiving, one of my best friends in DC, andrew, was gracious enough to welcome me into his family celebrations. It was on this trip that I realized that his older brother would very soon deploy to Iraq. At a loss of the best way to support this dear friend, I did the only thing i could think of-- I began writing letters...with cookies, of course.. to his brother, brian, surprised (and humbled) by the correspondence I received in return. after departing iraq in april, brian returned to cambridge where months later he kindly welcomed me into his community and provided a unique reunion of sorts for two pen pals.

sometimes community just happens and widens in ways we would have never expected.

and it is these people who can make a place HOME.

as I continue to go the places I go, my hope is that I will never cease to appreciate the people i will meet.
and may i lovingly invite people into my own community.

Reform

Today I had the opportunity to speak along with my dad at Central Presbyterian in downtown Atlanta on the topic of education as a Human Right and our commitment as both a Church and a Culture to learning and service. Essentially, I consider education a human rights issue when someone is denied the access to (an equal) education based on any discriminatory factor. While education may not be an essential life component like air, water, or food, I have witnessed people whose ability to obtain such fundamentals is compromised because of their lack of access to education.** This morning was a time for me to continue sharing my experiences of my year in India. After an engaging conversation, I wanted to continue these reflections. (Coincidentally, I have spent the past week thinking a lot about my own educational experience and its purposes):

Among my peers, I have discovered a common experience of what I have deemed a ‘mid-graduate school crisis.’ It is the moment when, engrossed in a field that has significantly narrowed since college and has certainly become a more noticeable investment of time and money, this student simply throws her hands in the air to proclaim, ‘What am I doing and why I am here?’ Followed by a string of musings about her purpose in this attainment of a higher degree and where it will take her, she ultimately lands at the challenge in discerning the very point of education. As an invaluable part of young adulthood, this time of discernment allows us the opportunity to extract meaning from both the life we live and also the way in which we engage the world around us.

For me, education is not a means to an end. It is not a degree that will offer me a more secure career or placement in a lucrative field. It is neither a stepping-stone nor a conclusion. Instead, I believe the purpose of education is simply service. Education is a lifelong act of service and in return service a lifelong act of education. I will continue to be educated, guided by others and by my own experiences, until it no longer lends itself to the service of others. Thus, my hope for myself (and for others) is that this process of education is one that will expand across a lifetime.

The protestant faith, born as a 'protest' to the Religious establishment, was a movement deeply rooted in the ideals of reformation and transformation-- begging for change. Ever reforming. Ever reforming. We are changed and refined by our educational experiences. As the hands of God, we serve creation best when we engage in the continual process of our own edification. We are called to a life of learning. Likewise, education, as a process of reformation, prepares us for a life of service. And, in turn, it is by serving others that we receive the greatest educational experience and, truly enjoy the fullness of life.

**It is through these lens that I engage such issues as healthcare, also noted for its controversial classification as a universal right. certainly a hopeful idea. but, rights must be married to an equivalent dose of responsibility. Not only are we responsible for our own health, but also, as a nation (or a globe), we are responsible to eachother to create a culture that addresses individual livelihood issues as a prerequisite for building a healthy nation. It is necessary to ameliorate these challenges at the root-- reforming our agricultural policy and school nutrition, families, fitness, and finally, transforming our entire food culture and system.
It is only after we address these fundamental issues that we will see change.
Then, we will have to examine our culture. I think the bottom line is that we can be a very selfish nation. Is it possible to look beyond ourselves? Can we care enough about our neighbor to even want them to have access to even the most basic of healthcare services?

to be a bird

Ben Folds has a song called 'Birds.' Its relatively short and contains no lyrics. While it is generally the lines and rhymes in a song that capture my attention and captivate my heart-- I find few things more refreshing than challenging lyrics and provoking imagery-- there is just something about this song. It lifts my feet from the pavement, sends my mind flying and never ceases to produce a smile.
After a couple of years I find it to be perhaps (past) time to describe the origins of the name of my little blogging endeavor, particularly as I find myself at yet another junction in the journey.
You could probably gain a more precise explanation of the name bird that was bestowed upon me long before I can remember from the members of my family, but here goes. Almost 25 years after my birth, I can't even think of the last time I heard my brother (who was pushing for the name Lester at the time of my arrival) call me Katherine to my face. All these years it has simply been, 'bird.' I think it comes from this little free spirit (we'll call it that for lack of a better term) that I possessed as a child. I could never just sit. I was always just perched on furniture (or whatever I found within reach to climb), i sung or hummed all the time, and ate like a little bird too. So it stuck.
Fitting for someone who still can't seem to settle down or 'sit' in one place, I suppose. I find my heart and mind, in a similar perched position, still not exactly sure where I belong, challenged by commitment and decision-making.
Interestingly, as of late, I have found myself in a paradoxical moment. Longing for roots while desiring to fly.
Oh to be a bird! Ever soaring, but coming back to that finely woven home, that perch. I am restless to see the world, but my feet grow weary and my heart heavy.
So as I spent the day feeling quite lonely roaming around this new place where I know few people, I began to start feeling a tad sorry for myself. You know the, 'i have no friends and if I have to spend one more day cooking for one I will burst into tears,' kind of moments. This sorrowful self was thankfully an ephemeral state as I was quickly called to the realities of the world of which I am a part. I began to think particularly about refugees seeking asylum, sanctuary, a mere piece of the home from which they find them self fleeing. How strange to be this bird. No guarantee of return. No one waiting. Rarely a home woven lovingly or even a perch to rest upon. Perhaps persecuted, judged, forsaken, forgotten. Most probably the very things from which one was escaping. Truly these are the elements of weary feet and heavy hearts.
Nearing the end of my hours of wandering I ran across a festival (I can get lost in a place a trillion times over and I always seem to run into a festival). It was to promote awareness for and celebrate the lives of refugees. My goodness. They are so near to us but we rarely notice. Caught up in our lives, our people, our selves that we forget to welcome in those seeking sanctuary. As I say we, I mean I. I forget them. I overlook them. I turn my eye from the policy and harsh criticisms made against them. I buy into the stereotypes. I grow too comfortable in my life and fearful of change to see them as my neighbor. Oh that I may see them as myself. That I may remember their wandering feet and struggle for roots.

serve

I was taken aback today when the pastor at the church I was attending described the idea of service like this: 'you and your partner should be in competition with each other to see who will serve the other better.' I felt a deep pit in my stomach as I imagined a world in which we were literally competing with others (especially the one that we love the most) as a motivation to serve. to me, the thought exploits the very essence of service. the joy would be drained. the motives skewed. As he continued to speak of Jesus' feet washings the image of competitive service was far from my mind.

I would like to share a little something about serving that I encountered in my first week in Costa Rica that I simply cannot shake from my mind. I sat down on the last row of the bus heading down the mountain from school.i sat next to a young man with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. It's not just beautiful. It's that he uses it so freely but, still, so sincerely.
Like nothing in life has ever phased him.

His name is Mohamad. Most words, funny or not, tumble from his mouth in a sort of laugh.
He shared that he is studying International Peace Studies.
As we talked about his experience at U Paz, I asked him what he desired to do with that degree.
what was his dream for the next stage in life? With that same smile he replied:

"I want to go home and use it. to teach others.

I am from Darfur, you know."

I don't have the language to describe how these words have touched me time and time again since I first heard them. I am not sure if I even need to try to convey the loaded emotions, thoughts, history, passion, love and selfless service that these simple words conveyed from a humble young man with the most beautiful smile.

this is what peace must look like. this is what it means to serve.
and i hope that i can learn what it means to serve like this with the same joy that i see in that smile.

salsa (letting go part two)

I consider myself a feminist for more reasons than wanting to occasionally prove myself capable of opening a door. But, I'll admit that at times this can do spirit of equity has rewarded me with more than I bargained for! Oh, how many times did I stand up for equality when working on Habitat houses, only to find myself upside down with hammer in hand underneath an unfinished house with half the football team? Well, I suppose I asked for it.

Picture it. Here I am learning salsa in Central America randomly partnered with your quintessential Finnish lad trying my best not to burst as I consider the humor in this setup. It's true that I mentioned earlier how much I love to dance. However, that does not include partner dancing. Oh yes, I can twirl and jig with the best of them, but put me opposite someone else and I am clueless and hopelessly awkward. Quick! Will someone please get me to the punch table? So maybe the following analogy doesn't quite work for the Fin opposite me who is completely absorbed in counting out loud, but we'll pretend that I enjoyed a bit more time in the arms of the ridiculously good dance instructor than was truly the case. He guides-- the definitive moves allowing me to fall into my own. The simple yet intentional nudges indicating the path ahead. Feet counter feet.

It is here that I have a confession to make. Plug your ears ladies. It took me a while to even admit this discovery to myself!
I revel in the fact that the art of salsa insists, even requires, that i follow. He will help to guide me in the steps, grounding the dance in the rhythm and music of the surroundings . Finally, I don't have to concentrate on the minute details or fret over getting it all wrong. He guides the motions and pursues me in the dance. But it is not about the control or power that he possesses. Instead, he is entrusted with another, realizing that the dance is created together.

Sometimes, it just feels good to let go and let someone else help guide you along. I don't mean disregarding who you are or where you've been, but coming together to share the path ahead. No one says you will step perfectly in sync. In fact, you'll most likely still fumble with the moves or trip over your own feet once in a while. But, oh! the comfort in knowing that you are safe in the arms of another. You're in this together. You still have choices and, of course, affect the dance, but you also have the opportunity to trust your guide and give way to the dance.

Funny how life works. Our faith, along with our ability to love, may have a lot more in common with salsa than I once realized.

Costa Rica, Guatemala and Panama

Con Mucho Gusto

As to be expected considering cultural and regional differences, each Spanish speaking country has its particular words and phrases that are unique to the region. It's interesting to live with a Peruvian family in the Costa RIcan context because I have the opportunity to gather an interesting collection of such phrases, while gaining a perspective on two very different cultures. For me, I have been truly fascinated by the phrase used to express 'you're welcome' upon receiving thanks. I will admit that I am probably an over-thanker. I am uncertain which word I use more-- sorry or thanks. But know that I sincerely mean it when I say it If you ever feel as if I am just being polite or devaluing the meaning of the word, I promise you I truly am thankful. After spending a year in India trying to dispel the word 'thanks' from my vocabulary (where it is both uncommon and superfluous), I am literally thankful to be able to express express thanks once again with words.

In most countries the common response to thank you is 'de nada.' De nada, used to express what we might say as 'you're welcome' literally translates to 'of nothing.' It is rare to hear the words de nada echoed in Costa Rica, however. Here, all respond 'con mucho gusto'-- with much pleasure. To me it is a beautiful thought. Compare the two responses for a moment. 'Of Nothing.' 'With Pleasure.' Kind of different, don't you think? While I might be taking it a trifle too literal, there is a fairly significant distinction between this means nothing to me and this brings pleasure to me.
For a moment, I am reminded of my good southern roots, particularly that of georgia's very own own institution- Chick-fil-A. I will admit that I have always wondered if it is truly 'their pleasure' to serve me up that lemonade and waffle fries, or if the phrase 'my pleasure' is simply a product of the corporate mandate.

What if every act of service that we did for one another was truly an act of pleasure? Not a case where we do something for someone else because it brings us pleasure, but rather one where giving of ourselves or our time to someone else results in genuine joy. What if each act was intentional and involved a meaningful exchange between two persons, not just something that meant 'nothing'. Sometimes, I catch the smile and joy that a Costa RIcan shares with me when responding 'con mucho gusto.' It is at that moment that I am even more thankful for their pleasure than I am for whatever reason it was that prompted me to say thank you. Con Mucho Gusto. I think that is how I'd like to live my life.