eavesdropping

I've been really into stories lately. Life stories. You can kind of see it in the past couple weeks' blog posts.

I've been asked to share a story of my own for the Friends of Portugal blog.
(For those of you who don't know what that is or are wondering what me moving back to Portugal might look like check it out here.)

Anyway, I've been really excited to be apart of what FOP is doing and to be able to be a part of it all, but I was really struggling to give my story words.  And then, it just kind of happened. God's timing is impecable.Today, when PJ was speaking, I heard these words and knew how to tell my story...

"It's not what you know, but who you love."


When I was eighteen, a month after I graduated from high school, I and a team of three other ladies moved to Massamá, Portugal to work with the Espaço Vida Nova Church there. We were there ten months, living, learning and serving. I think I must have had some idea when I left my California hometown that this "trip" was something special, but in a lot of ways I feel that I am still discovering just how instrumental those ten months of my life were.

During our time there, I spent a lot of time hanging out with kids. I came with several years of experience working with kids in a variety of settings, so it was just a natural fit. There were three kids in particular that I spent time with: Joe, Mary and Harvey*. These were my three faithful attendees of any and everything that I did at Espaço. Sunday school, Saturday kids' club, changing the window display, sweeping the floor, you name it. If we were there, they were there.

When I work with kids, I sometimes wonder how much they're really taking in.  Are they really listening to this story or are they just interested in the awesome flannelgraph? Are they memorizing a Bible verse or just coloring a photocopied page? Are they learning what it means to live and love as a community or just concerned with winning the wacky relay race? (Present day me would like to just answer "Yes!" to all of the questions above by the way...) In all honesty, I felt this way, this doubt and uncertainty, for a large portion of my time in Massamá.

Did it matter? Was anything I was doing going to make a difference? Would these kids even consider anything I said in my broken, limited Portugese to be true?

Then, one Sunday near the end of our time there, all of those doubts and worries were silenced by an overheard conversation.

That Sunday, Marjorie taught her class (really just the table of the older kids that was next to mine of the younger) about Heaven. They talked about what it was like and that it was where Jesus was. After the service, while I was cleaning up, I saw that Marjorie was talking with Harvey. I continued to pick up the scraps of paper and stray crayons from my lesson while I watched them pray together. After they prayed Marjorie asked Harvey,

"So, do you know where Jesus is now?" 

He looked at her with this incredulous look expressing a sort of "DUH!" as he replied,  

"We just talked about that today, He lives in Heaven, remember?" 

Marjorie waited for a moment, and then I saw it. His little face lit up and a giant smile spread across his face and he pointed to his heart,  

"HERE! He is lives here now too!"

And that's when I knew. I was brought to Portugal not solely to plan lessons and relay races and create window displays, but to spend ten months with these three kids, to overhear that conversation and to see that expression of pure, genuine joy.

As I said before, I don't think I fully knew what ten months in Portugal would mean for me when I left, and I'm still finding ways that it has impacted my life that I didn't see before. But without a doubt, I came to Portugal and fell in love. I fell in love with a culture that values family and traditions and history. I fell lin love with the beautiful parks and old castles and cafes at every corner. And I fell in love with the people who live there. I may not know everything about Portugal, I'm still learning and have much more to learn, but I love Portugal. I think that's a good place to start.

*Names have been changed

behind the music.

 Apparently being out of town on a Sunday means blogging get pushed back to the middle of the week...

"Where words fail, music speaks." - H.C. Andersen

There's just something about words that are put to music that speak so much deeper into my soul than words by themselves.

I went to a concert on Sunday. That's not really big news, as most who know me know.
It was a Bon Iver concert. That IS big news. He's been on my list for a while now.

It was...
beautiful, visually (outside.Santa Barbara.stage design.lights.) and aurally, and cathartic.

I sat alone--well, alone while surrounded by strangers--and let the music and voice of Justin DeYarmond Edison Vernon (isn't that a fantastic name?) wash over me.

There's something about hearing a favorite song played live that makes me love it all the more.
Especially when it's prefaced with a bit of insight from the artist himself:

"Life is weird. *chuckles* Like how the hell'd we get here? But we're here. And it's weird. This is a song about that.  'Coz , sometimes it's unclear when shit's supposed to be good when it's bad."

Mister Vernon then proceded to play re: stacks, arguably my favorite song. Definitely in the top three.

What I'm trying to say is that as much as I love the song and find meaning in it for myself, it means so much more to Justin himself because he wrote it. It's his. His introduction was just a small glance into the story behind the words. [here's more on that song and others of his...]

That's what I love. That's what speaks to me in music. The story. The thoughts, emotions, joy, pain,  hurt and healing that prompt writing and are poured into the delivery.

Another example:
I have a friend who writes songs. He wrote one about one of the worst panic attack I had that he was present to help me through. The experience itself was awful. Terrifying. Dark.  Powerful.
The song that came out of it is simply perfect. It's an excellent song on its own, but for me, and my friend and maybe even for those who really saw where I was during the years I really struggled with depression and anxiety, it meant so much more.

I guess the point in writing all of this is to acknowledge:
1. We all have a story to tell
and
2. Words don't say everything, although they do say a lot

So...let's listen to each other this week. Let's take the time to find and listen to
the story behind the words

disney & roomies.

Well, I'm a couple of days late, but better late than never, right?
Tonight I just want to share how I got some perspective from a Disney movie and a former roomie.

Let's start with the Disney movie since that came first.

Pocahontas.


Hopefully you have seen this movie, or at least know the general plot line.
As I was watching the movie that I had enjoyed so much as a child, I realized how much I still really enjoy the movie. When I was younger it was the music, the characters and the fact that the bad guy isn't really too scary that drew me to the movie. This weekend it was the story.
One of the song's lyrics really stood out to me. I couldn't seem to get them out of my head.

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

I heard those lyrics and was reminded of how often we (okay, I) can be so quick to think our way, of thinking, of speaking, of living, is the best way. The only way.
How ignorant. How prideful.

The (former) roomie.
I spent the majority of the weekend with a friend/former roomie and it was simply excellent.
(for the record, I had two awesome roomies in college)

Aside from just spending some much needed (and missed) quality time together over the past couple of days, I was really inspired by her, simply being herself.
A specific instance of this genuine inspiration happened during our day in SLO on Sunday.
I took her to one of my favorite local cafes for breakfast as soon as we got into town. We enjoyed a delicious (and pretty healthy) light breakfast and then took some time to just relax and rest. (We left Fresno just before 5am, so we were pretty tired already)

While we were sitting on the comfy, worn in couch, an older gentleman struck up a conversation with us. I immediately felt awkward and let my roommate do most of the talking. During the time he was telling us about some of his experiences as movie and tv show extra, I continued to feel painfully awkward as I listened and tried to keep a polite smile on my face while nodding from time to time.  I kept thinking of ways to politely leave without being too obvious about how uncomfortable I was.

We eventually left and the day went on. we stuck gum on Bubblegum Alley, drank chocolate milk,  ate a big lunch, visited a friend, ate otter pops, watched a movie, toured Cal Poly, took a nap, ate fro yo for dinner and finally drove home.

But throughout the day and during the long, late drive home, I kept thinking about the man at the cafe. As I said, he didn't give the most reliable stories, but he did have a story. No, I did not know him. Yes, some of his stories sounded more like fiction than fact. But, so what?

So. What.

I am selfish. and sheltered. and scared. That's what.

I talk a big talk about wanting to live missonally, but I keep finding myself shying away from it being reality.  I talk about being frustrated with people who can't seem to see past the Fresno (and/or FPU) bubble, yet most nights I spend at home. In Clovis. Alone with a book.

I know being honest about all of this doesn't solve this problem, I still have to take some action.
But at least now you know.
So keep me in check, kay?

Let's take some steps, together, out of our comfy spots this week!

less.

When I sat down to write tonight, I had lots of things  I thought I wanted to write about.
But every time I'd write out a paragraph or so, I'd end up "⌘ + A" and "delete" to start over. 

So, seven attempts and and ninety minutes later, I am here.
Empty page and bedtime closing in.

Maybe it's for the best. Maybe tonight, less is best.

I woke up with one thought today. It's what P.J. spoke about this morning at the eleven.  And what we sang about before leaving. It's what we remember, and never forget, today. 

the greatest day in history.

Death is beaten. We are free. Jesus is alive.

Did we get that? 
Jesus is alive!

What a glorious truth! Yet I found myself dwelling on other things today. 

friendslonelinessfutureheartachefamilynostalgiajealousytripsmusicpastrestlessness


STOP.




I know I've talked about listening for God's still, small voice. It seems I haven't quite gotten the hang of putting it into practice. There's so much more that could be said. But I really feel like not much more needs to be said. So this is where I end.

greatest day in history
death is beaten, You have rescued me
sing it out, Jesus is alive


the empty cross, the empty grave
life eternal, You have won the day
shout it out, Jesus is alive
He's alive


oh, happy day, happy day
You washed my sin  away
oh, happy day, happy day
i'll never be the same
forever i am changed

graça.

I've had a heavy heart today. All weekend really. I've had some excellent, tough, encouraging and emotional conversations in the past few days. I feel like there is so much I want/need to say, but I'm not really sure how to say it. I usually do better in writing than in person, so here's my attempt:

I'm sorry.
I've remembered, reflected and realized how awful I was to those who meant (and mean) so much to me. I was needy, draining and demanding. I was selfish, inconsiderate and hurtful. I think I had a small idea of what I was doing to my friends who loved me so well, but I am now starting to realize how deeply I hurt them. Even now, I am sure I don't know the whole of the pain, grief, despair, worry and hopelessness I brought to their lives. For this, all I can think to say is, I'm sorry.

Thank  you.
Despite all the things I did, the way I acted and the things I  said, you still loved me. You walked alongside when you could. You watched and prayed fervently when you couldn't. You cared about me, and you didn't let me forget it. You helped me to remember that it mattered that I was here. For this, I hope you know I am forever grateful and I want to say, Thank you.

Ultimately I want to say,
Praise the LORD.
I know that it is because He loved us first, that I was (and am) loved so  by the people in my life. It is encouraging and extremely overwhelming to know that I have people in my life that demonstrate genuinely love as they know and experience from Love. I am so unworthy, but yet I am loved so deeply. And as amazing as the people in my life are, it's not them. It's God. I am overwhelmed as I think of all the love and friendship and community that I have experienced and filled with joyful encouragement

THIS IS THE CHURCH.
Loving God, loving others. What more is there?


I apologize if this is kind of a downer post. It's not meant to be. In fact, I hope for the exact opposite! I have undoubtedly been humbled and overwhelmed by grace this weekend, but how sweet it is.

Words cannot express how thankful I am that He and you never let go.