I saw the movie Eat, Pray, Love before heading back to Italy, and oh was it satisfying to see places that I'd actually been to. Just in Italy, but still, I felt accomplished. Now this is my kind of movie, and when I saw the book a week ago on the book-share shelf of a wine store (excellent inexpensive wine) by the square where I currently live (Pza Le Susa) and it was in English, well I just had to borrow it. The man who owns the shop likes to practice his English and when I return the book, along with a few offerings of my own for the share shelf, I imagine we'll pick up where we left off on our conversation about the horrors of American pop music and the downward descent of most of the music scene in general. I tentatively shared my YouTube page (youtube.com/allegrafletcher), and I hope (but honestly and conceitedly I'm certain), that he'll have a different opinion of my contributions to the music scene.
Anyway, it was when we were wrapping up our conversation that I spied the aforementioned novel and proceeded to squeal like a Belieber who just spotted Bieber. Over the next week I read the book in snatches, squeezing it in between all the other things I had to do. I feel though that I haven't been merely reading this book. I think I'm subconsciously trying to meld myself into it.
I found myself pondering, "Why shouldn't I take more pleasure in some of the more enjoyable aspects of Italian food and culture? Why not have a second helping?"
I even dusted off my yoga mat. "Why not sit and contemplate on the Word of God with my audio Bible playing softly in the morning light? And who says I can't have a good stretch and dance time while worship music plays afterward?"
It's the love part of the book I get stuck at. While I could modify the whole meditating in India bit to suit my spiritual needs and convictions, I find I can't simulate a Bali-esque experience in the middle of Milan. I do happen to know a Felipe (who looks remarkably like a younger version of the actor who plays Felipe in the movie and who is therefore quite handsome), but I somehow doubt that's gonna happen. When he does things like hold my wrist for an unsuitable amount of time in church (thereby ruining hopes with other men and raising unnecessary speculation) and talks about taking my pulse (or something like that. wasn't exactly focused...) I remind myself that he is simply unaware of his charming good looks (as if...) and is just too man-stupid to understand that you don't do things like that with single women who are most decidedly not called to celibacy. Especially if you're not going to follow up and deliver the goods.
Though perhaps this whole love thing is closer than I think. This Tuesday, in what I can only describe as a rather Ketut-like moment in this context, a friend of mine told me he felt certain that soon some romance was going to come my way. Just in case you're wondering, he's engaged and didn't mean himself. But who could it possibly be, I wonder? And how soon is soon? Like Liz, I have my fair share of control issues. But these past few weeks of bliss, this letting go and letting God, makes it much easier not to know. I'll just keep swimming, just keep swimming, and I'll bump into the right fish when the time is right. No sooner, no later. Juuuuuust right.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Silver linings around half full glasses (unsuccessful combination, but whatevs...)
I have been so deliriously happy that I don't know what to do with myself. This state of bliss comes as a complete shock to me because I haven't been having an easy time of it, regardless of how you look at things. Whoo-hoo fruit of the Spirit! These past weeks saw me in an unenviable position in just about every major and not so major aspect of life. And yet I'm happy. I suppose I'm a glass half full kind of person.
I mean, I've been so glowing these past two weeks that people randomly smile at me on the streets, and there is a decided pep in my step even when they don't. Everything was such a mess that there was nothing to do but trust in God. There is such a beautiful weightlessness when we actually cast our burdens on the Lord. I was almost upset when my financial situation was resolved, because it meant I had to start being responsible for it again. Though perhaps the lesson here is to leave my finances in God's care and have done with it. Why not just do that with my entire life? That way I can continue to waft about in this beautiful place of being fully aware of and responding to what's happening without suffering the crushing worry, guilt, shame and other accompanying emotions that went along with my perceived successes and failures.
I've decided to count my blessings, take note of them, savor them, and look back on them whenever future trials come. And of course, troubles will come. But victory is (literally) my middle name, and now more than ever I feel the appropriateness and power of my name. Happy Victory Arrow-maker.
My mother named me well.
I mean, I've been so glowing these past two weeks that people randomly smile at me on the streets, and there is a decided pep in my step even when they don't. Everything was such a mess that there was nothing to do but trust in God. There is such a beautiful weightlessness when we actually cast our burdens on the Lord. I was almost upset when my financial situation was resolved, because it meant I had to start being responsible for it again. Though perhaps the lesson here is to leave my finances in God's care and have done with it. Why not just do that with my entire life? That way I can continue to waft about in this beautiful place of being fully aware of and responding to what's happening without suffering the crushing worry, guilt, shame and other accompanying emotions that went along with my perceived successes and failures.
I've decided to count my blessings, take note of them, savor them, and look back on them whenever future trials come. And of course, troubles will come. But victory is (literally) my middle name, and now more than ever I feel the appropriateness and power of my name. Happy Victory Arrow-maker.
My mother named me well.
People Watching
October 1st
I find myself in the square of the main church here in Milan, trying to do some discreet people watching. I suppose staring at people for hours while you try not to look sketchy as you write things down doesn't always work. On top of that, my wardrobe screams, "look at me!" Sort of. It's just the boots and bag attract attention in a place as name brand conscious as Milan. My lovely yellow scarf doesn't exactly blend into the dirty concrete on which I'm sitting either.
But I digress. This self given assignment isn't about others watching me, but about me watching others. "The other", to be exact. With all of the soul searching I've been up to lately I needed to do something. Sure, I received healing with regards to my own personal connection to slavery, but I've been aware for some time now that there is another form of modern slavery running rampant and receiving even less attention than the transatlantic slave trade.
Looking at this situation I am being made more and more aware of how limiting personal pain can be. While I've been moping around about something that happened centuries ago (to be fair to myself, I must acknowledge that there are still the aftereffects to contend with), there were people being trafficked into all kinds of horrific forms of modern slavery right under my stuck up nose. But I speak for myself. Someone else might have taken their personal pain and used it as fuel in the fight against the modern day slave trade. That's all fine and well except for the fact that I don't want the work I do to be fueled by pain and hatred. What good could possibly come of that, in the long run? For sure I'd burn out or lose effectiveness as the bitterness consumed me.
Back to the task at hand.
I am people watching. I am watching the people who no one pays any attention to, and I am waiting. In a sense, I am putting myself in a place to receive divine appointments. Many of the African immigrants here in Milan feel comfortable coming up to me. They ask me what I think about the city, how I like it. They take the time to listen to me, while I've just been breezing by, missing out on deeper connections. But I want to slow down now, and I've determined that now it's my time to listen. I may not be particularly trained at dealing with people who reside on the fringes of society, but clearly that hasn't mattered.
I know that I can listen, I can ask questions as well as answer them, and I can write. It's time to write about someone else's experiences now, though in typical egotistical human nature fashion the connection of this project to myself is incredibly obvious. I think in some way all of our creative outputs are a reflection of ourselves. Really, it's only our lives that we live, but part of the beauty of living is intersecting with other lived lives.
So this creative effort here is both a step into the new and an exploration of my past. Here we go!
I find myself in the square of the main church here in Milan, trying to do some discreet people watching. I suppose staring at people for hours while you try not to look sketchy as you write things down doesn't always work. On top of that, my wardrobe screams, "look at me!" Sort of. It's just the boots and bag attract attention in a place as name brand conscious as Milan. My lovely yellow scarf doesn't exactly blend into the dirty concrete on which I'm sitting either.
But I digress. This self given assignment isn't about others watching me, but about me watching others. "The other", to be exact. With all of the soul searching I've been up to lately I needed to do something. Sure, I received healing with regards to my own personal connection to slavery, but I've been aware for some time now that there is another form of modern slavery running rampant and receiving even less attention than the transatlantic slave trade.
Looking at this situation I am being made more and more aware of how limiting personal pain can be. While I've been moping around about something that happened centuries ago (to be fair to myself, I must acknowledge that there are still the aftereffects to contend with), there were people being trafficked into all kinds of horrific forms of modern slavery right under my stuck up nose. But I speak for myself. Someone else might have taken their personal pain and used it as fuel in the fight against the modern day slave trade. That's all fine and well except for the fact that I don't want the work I do to be fueled by pain and hatred. What good could possibly come of that, in the long run? For sure I'd burn out or lose effectiveness as the bitterness consumed me.
Back to the task at hand.
I am people watching. I am watching the people who no one pays any attention to, and I am waiting. In a sense, I am putting myself in a place to receive divine appointments. Many of the African immigrants here in Milan feel comfortable coming up to me. They ask me what I think about the city, how I like it. They take the time to listen to me, while I've just been breezing by, missing out on deeper connections. But I want to slow down now, and I've determined that now it's my time to listen. I may not be particularly trained at dealing with people who reside on the fringes of society, but clearly that hasn't mattered.
I know that I can listen, I can ask questions as well as answer them, and I can write. It's time to write about someone else's experiences now, though in typical egotistical human nature fashion the connection of this project to myself is incredibly obvious. I think in some way all of our creative outputs are a reflection of ourselves. Really, it's only our lives that we live, but part of the beauty of living is intersecting with other lived lives.
So this creative effort here is both a step into the new and an exploration of my past. Here we go!
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Vanity, thy name is Italian male
It is said that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps, perhaps not. I do know that my return to Italy allowed me to better know this population God has given me a heart for. As the title suggests, I had a rather shocking discovery: women, after all, are not the vainest creatures on the planet. No, that covetous standing in society is reserved for the Italian male.
I must admit that allowances should be made for cultural differences. I mean, one of my friends, his girlfriend does his brows for him. And really, Italian men as a lot are generally stylish and easy on the eyes, so I don't particularly care if they pluck their eyebrows and wax their legs to achieve the desired effect on the lady folk. (And trust me, the effect is desire(d)...) I mean, while in Poland our boys stood out for the clear anointing of God upon them, and their clearly superior style. Clearly no one was complaining, perfectly arched brows and all ;).
Now I make this observation with the utmost fondness. I myself have my fair share of vanities, and while I adore my waistline and rear end I equally loathe each day I have to face the fact that my acne didn't miraculously disappear after my teen years.
I have to be fair here. I mean, what person doesn't take a quick peek when they pass a mirror? Everyone stops to adjust their gelled and carefully coiffed hair every time they pass any reflective surface, be that a shop window, an ipad screen, a mirror, or the spoon they've lifted up from the table in front of them. And let's not forget the vainglorious profile picture with the simpering half pout and sultry bedroom eyes. Ah. Perhaps we should.
Now the grooming practices of the well-kept Italian male extend beyond head hair. Let me clarify. I was surprised to find out that certain younger male members of society here pluck their eyebrows, and they're straight (Sorry Bryn Mawr, but gender stereotypes are not so easily escaped, it seems. ). I never expected straight males to pluck their eyebrows, and I honestly thought that for two of my friends, their eyebrows just grew that way. Needless to say, the disdain with which they glanced upon my bush brows had me running to my tweezers in record time. It also had me diligently checking on any new beard growth that needed plucking.
When one of my male students told me he waxed his legs it didn't exactly send me running to the esthetician, but perhaps that's because it's easier to hide hairy legs than it is to hide bush brows. So you see, the shadow theory (or whatever it's called) is reconfirmed. You really dislike or notice most in others what you dislike or notice a lot in yourself. However, having moved past any guilt in my self grooming and beautification practices it makes it much easier to accept Italian men for theirs.
I must admit that allowances should be made for cultural differences. I mean, one of my friends, his girlfriend does his brows for him. And really, Italian men as a lot are generally stylish and easy on the eyes, so I don't particularly care if they pluck their eyebrows and wax their legs to achieve the desired effect on the lady folk. (And trust me, the effect is desire(d)...) I mean, while in Poland our boys stood out for the clear anointing of God upon them, and their clearly superior style. Clearly no one was complaining, perfectly arched brows and all ;).
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
God's Song Over Me
It's getting harder to keep track of how this week fit together. There were so many significant moments that even limiting posts to those is adding up something fierce. Anyway, one of these special moments was God's song for me. Alisa was in her morning prayer and she received a word for me, which she was instructed to sing over me.
Now, Alisa received healing for singing not terribly long ago, and so the fact that she was asked to sing the message was like an extra confirmation of God's wanting her to sing. As she told me about this being the first time she was asked to sing a message we both laughed at the idea that God was blessing "Two birds with one song". I was instructed to prepare myself with tissues, and I was asked about my preference: song at the beginning or end of our session? I opted for beginning, since fewer people would be there to witness any sobtastic behavior. Just for added context, this word came after my healing and racial (or I should say continental) reconciliation. Here it is.
Fear not, for I am with you;
Be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10
Alisa sang of God's love for me, and on the other side of the paper was a message from her:
You are loved. You are valued. You are His own precious daughter. People may hurt and disappoint you, but never forget who you are! He has made you. He is pleased with you. He brought you here to Kalisz. It is not by chance! You are here for your healing. He is the Balm Gilead. Let Him heal you. He will heal your heart. Pain and wounds be gone in Jesus' name!
In the song God had given her, He told me that he felt every hurt and every blow, and He sang of His love for me. It was beautiful.
We then went on and finished our last worship session, during which another member of our team claimed his healing and sang worship songs, overcoming the mental block he had for singing. Then we went back to the hotel for breakfast.
Now, Alisa received healing for singing not terribly long ago, and so the fact that she was asked to sing the message was like an extra confirmation of God's wanting her to sing. As she told me about this being the first time she was asked to sing a message we both laughed at the idea that God was blessing "Two birds with one song". I was instructed to prepare myself with tissues, and I was asked about my preference: song at the beginning or end of our session? I opted for beginning, since fewer people would be there to witness any sobtastic behavior. Just for added context, this word came after my healing and racial (or I should say continental) reconciliation. Here it is.
Fear not, for I am with you;
Be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10
Alisa sang of God's love for me, and on the other side of the paper was a message from her:
You are loved. You are valued. You are His own precious daughter. People may hurt and disappoint you, but never forget who you are! He has made you. He is pleased with you. He brought you here to Kalisz. It is not by chance! You are here for your healing. He is the Balm Gilead. Let Him heal you. He will heal your heart. Pain and wounds be gone in Jesus' name!
In the song God had given her, He told me that he felt every hurt and every blow, and He sang of His love for me. It was beautiful.
We then went on and finished our last worship session, during which another member of our team claimed his healing and sang worship songs, overcoming the mental block he had for singing. Then we went back to the hotel for breakfast.
Kalisz 2013, Word 2
This second word came over two different occasions but from the same guy, and so I've decided to combine it all.
One evening after coming into our lovely hotel after worship, team Italy was fellowshipping in the restaurant/bar with a few beers (and one very classy martini), as we were wont to do. As we talked and enjoyed ourselves a man from the table behind us left, bidding us goodnight in Italian. We promptly set about determining whether or not the person was Italian, which in essence was us trying to guess how much of our conversation had been understood. We determined he was not Italian, and that our musings were safe with us. When the second guy bid us goodnight in the same manner, we turned our attention to the table behind us to meet the people there.
Three Swiss musicians, only one of whom spoke Italian well, were sitting at the table. We shared stories and talked, switching to English once the native Italian half of our team went up to their room. These guys were pretty awesome, and the peace and humility pouring off of them was wonderful to see. None of them had had easy lives, and yet here they were, praising God through their circumstances. It was inspiring.
I got to talking with one chap in particular, as there were three of them and the three of us left from team Italy, and I talked about my plans to go on to grad school and study international education. I felt that it might be time for me to give Italy some space. He listened, told me more of his story, about his involvement in social work among other things, and by and by we all bid each other goodnight.
The next morning as I was walking in the cafe upstairs, from clear across the room this sedate man yells to me, "You are a great woman of God!" I was surprised, and I think he was too. I thanked him, albeit a bit awkwardly. God was working something in me and I was feeling exposed. Every time I came to a moment of doubting, something like this would happen.
Then the next day in the restaurant I passed the Swiss table at breakfast. I greeted them and bid them good morning. Again this particular guy had a word for me. He asked me, "What are your plans now?" I truthfully responded with an anguished and awkward, "I don't know..." I had a feeling about what was coming next, and when he said, "I think you should stay in Italy a while longer." I wasn't terribly surprised. He broke it to me nicely. I think he realized that the tower of security I had been building for myself was being torn down to make way for God's much better version. Given that he was a social worker, he probably understood that I wasn't particularly ecstatic about the process.
You see, I like the known. Sure I like to travel and meet new people, but I like it all to happen in predictable and familiar patterns. A vacation, an internship, a job and an apartment. Something well structured with a comprehensible and me-controlled beginning and end. But you see, God is the beginning and the end and I can't possibly hope to fully understand or even partially control God. So I have resolved to step into the unknown. God is so patient. I had to come to this conclusion about twenty times during Sukkot before anything started sticking. Thank goodness God is so merciful!
One evening after coming into our lovely hotel after worship, team Italy was fellowshipping in the restaurant/bar with a few beers (and one very classy martini), as we were wont to do. As we talked and enjoyed ourselves a man from the table behind us left, bidding us goodnight in Italian. We promptly set about determining whether or not the person was Italian, which in essence was us trying to guess how much of our conversation had been understood. We determined he was not Italian, and that our musings were safe with us. When the second guy bid us goodnight in the same manner, we turned our attention to the table behind us to meet the people there.
Three Swiss musicians, only one of whom spoke Italian well, were sitting at the table. We shared stories and talked, switching to English once the native Italian half of our team went up to their room. These guys were pretty awesome, and the peace and humility pouring off of them was wonderful to see. None of them had had easy lives, and yet here they were, praising God through their circumstances. It was inspiring.
I got to talking with one chap in particular, as there were three of them and the three of us left from team Italy, and I talked about my plans to go on to grad school and study international education. I felt that it might be time for me to give Italy some space. He listened, told me more of his story, about his involvement in social work among other things, and by and by we all bid each other goodnight.
The next morning as I was walking in the cafe upstairs, from clear across the room this sedate man yells to me, "You are a great woman of God!" I was surprised, and I think he was too. I thanked him, albeit a bit awkwardly. God was working something in me and I was feeling exposed. Every time I came to a moment of doubting, something like this would happen.
Then the next day in the restaurant I passed the Swiss table at breakfast. I greeted them and bid them good morning. Again this particular guy had a word for me. He asked me, "What are your plans now?" I truthfully responded with an anguished and awkward, "I don't know..." I had a feeling about what was coming next, and when he said, "I think you should stay in Italy a while longer." I wasn't terribly surprised. He broke it to me nicely. I think he realized that the tower of security I had been building for myself was being torn down to make way for God's much better version. Given that he was a social worker, he probably understood that I wasn't particularly ecstatic about the process.
You see, I like the known. Sure I like to travel and meet new people, but I like it all to happen in predictable and familiar patterns. A vacation, an internship, a job and an apartment. Something well structured with a comprehensible and me-controlled beginning and end. But you see, God is the beginning and the end and I can't possibly hope to fully understand or even partially control God. So I have resolved to step into the unknown. God is so patient. I had to come to this conclusion about twenty times during Sukkot before anything started sticking. Thank goodness God is so merciful!
European Communion and Reconciliation pt II
Now, I may have convinced myself that I didn't need to hear an apology from someone but God knew better and he gracefully provided for me.
Later during the morning meeting, the youth (under 30) were called up to receive prayer and Alisa came to pray for me. No one else from team Italy had come to this particular morning meeting so it was just me and her.
She began to pray over me and before I knew it she started tearing up. She confessed that she didn't realize the burden she had been carrying for her family's part of the slave trade in North America. Her family had owned slaves in Texas, and while they hadn't had a huge operation, just one slave in her opinion was already too many. She then asked for forgiveness and I felt something crack and shift inside me. No one had ever before apologized to me. I freely forgave her and thanked her for apologizing, and in short order we were both sobbing all over each other. I imagine we got a few strange looks.
We may have had puffy wet faces, but I think both our hearts had a new lightness to them, and also a new link.
While Alisa continued to pray for me the message she had for me was to think BIG. She received for me that there was a ministry of my own prepared for me, and that if an idea scared me, than that was the bigness I was to go for. She said, "Thing big. If it scares you, that's good."
The funny thing is that she didn't even remember saying any of that to me. Apparently she doesn't remember most of the prophetic words she receives. Either way, it was nice to hear.
Her words were also timely, because I am now at a point where I have to make a decision for God, and I need to make it soon or risk missing the train. This restored heart for Italy and Europe is an important part of it all, I am sure. It was with great joy and mindfulness that I entered into communion with everyone over the rest of the week, and the final communion, in which everyone present broke break together, was especially nice for me. Whatever the heart of anyone else, I know that at least on this issue my conscience is clear before God. Certainly there will be more levels of healing that come through the years, but that burning anger and defensiveness is gone, and I am free.
Later during the morning meeting, the youth (under 30) were called up to receive prayer and Alisa came to pray for me. No one else from team Italy had come to this particular morning meeting so it was just me and her.
She began to pray over me and before I knew it she started tearing up. She confessed that she didn't realize the burden she had been carrying for her family's part of the slave trade in North America. Her family had owned slaves in Texas, and while they hadn't had a huge operation, just one slave in her opinion was already too many. She then asked for forgiveness and I felt something crack and shift inside me. No one had ever before apologized to me. I freely forgave her and thanked her for apologizing, and in short order we were both sobbing all over each other. I imagine we got a few strange looks.
We may have had puffy wet faces, but I think both our hearts had a new lightness to them, and also a new link.
While Alisa continued to pray for me the message she had for me was to think BIG. She received for me that there was a ministry of my own prepared for me, and that if an idea scared me, than that was the bigness I was to go for. She said, "Thing big. If it scares you, that's good."
The funny thing is that she didn't even remember saying any of that to me. Apparently she doesn't remember most of the prophetic words she receives. Either way, it was nice to hear.
Her words were also timely, because I am now at a point where I have to make a decision for God, and I need to make it soon or risk missing the train. This restored heart for Italy and Europe is an important part of it all, I am sure. It was with great joy and mindfulness that I entered into communion with everyone over the rest of the week, and the final communion, in which everyone present broke break together, was especially nice for me. Whatever the heart of anyone else, I know that at least on this issue my conscience is clear before God. Certainly there will be more levels of healing that come through the years, but that burning anger and defensiveness is gone, and I am free.
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