Getting to Poland

Hello folks! Let me tell you the story of how I arrived in Poland....

It all started one unseasonably warm evening at the airport commonly known as Logan International.  As I was walking to check my guitar into the oversized luggage area, I was stopped by a woman and a man holding a very bright light attached to a large camera. Reluctantly I agreed to talk about ebola, which of course is what anyone traveling internationally right now wants to talk about right before they get on an airplane...

Well, it turns out my interview was picked up for the 11:00 news and I aired repeatedly on television for days. Cool. Totally prophetic. Totally.

I then made it through check out in record time, chatted with a few loved ones while waiting to board, and then slept like a baby the entire flight, waking up only when people came around with food and Swiss chocolate. Miracle? I think so.

After arriving in Poland better rested than I thought I would, I meet the person picking me up only to find out a ride to the next city I'm heading to isn't in the picture. Apparently I have to take either the bus or the train. After much indecision I opt for the train.

Judging from the story of the Italian team, neither option was a good choice. For the train, we first had a 30 minute delay, and then, when we're literally a few minutes away from my stop, the train crashes into something. Crashes!!

Considering the train ride was already like another five hours added onto my traveling day, I was about at my breaking point. Being so close certainly didn't help. Still, despite my brain shooting a running monologue of all the things that could now go wrong, I managed to get in contact with the emergency person given to me.

After much conversation through google translate, I was assured that the person, who also didn't speak English, was now coming to get me, and that I need only wait calmly.
Riiiiiight.

Right.

So I wait in what can only be described as a state of supernatural peace for an hour and a half until the super hippie Polish guy with long grey hair comes to pick me  up. I then leave, in the dead of night, trekking through the mud on the side of the train tracks to reach his car, which is parked behind the police cars and fire trucks.

It helped that the firemen were fans of Bob Marley and we had a Marley jam session with my guitar while I waited. In retrospect, it all seems a bit far-fetched...

I arrive at the hotel, check into my room, joyfully reunite with my missionary partners, and then slept happily ever after.

The End

Chances

The journey of creative response to a week's worth of worship begins! My first actual session is coming up in no less than two hours! Despite the fact that that translates to 2-4AM my current time, it should be fun fun fun. The late-night crowd is always a treat. :)
In the meantime, I leave you with today's impression from sitting in on other people's worship sessions.

Chances
 It's always like this, isn't it?
I love Your Presence!

Overflowing, overflowing

I burst with joy
Joy over Your great love, Your great forgiveness, and Your willingness to give millionth chances.
I'm not foolish enough to think this chance is only my second.

I am aware of, enraptured with, a God who is love, who is just, merciful, and all-encompasses me with His knowledge of me. His view of me.

He sees me as beautiful, He sees me as His bride, His beloved, made pure and holy by the blood of the Lamb. Perfect and being perfected.

Ready, Set...

Life holds no punches.

I'm a bit bruised from the bumpy ride I've been on as of late, but as is usually the case with me, I wouldn't change it.

I'm now packing for Poland, looking at TSA approved containers and trying to find ways to wear the same articles of clothing seven times over seven days without anyone noticing. The most important item to come with me, aside from my hair moisturizer (I'm serious), is my guitar. If that means skimping on my fashion sense, so be it. It'll be an awesome challenge.

I fly out tomorrow.
To say I'm excited would be an understatement.

I'll be linking my Poland blogging endeavors to another site, so I'll let you all know if I'll just post links or do some sort of re-blogging.

Til next time folks!

States side

Somehow living in the U.S. makes my life not as interesting anymore. Well, I can't be sure it ever was all that interesting to begin with.

Still, despite the fact that I am older and have taken the steps to live a responsible, more secure life, I have managed to not even do this in a normal or semi-normal fashion.

I have, praise Jesus, found per diem work as a substitute teacher for the Somerville school district (and hopefully also Cambridge). This means that I can take no-strings-attached time off for missions trips and weekend concerts in some glamorous location halfway across the country. Or globe.

The first trip on the schedule is the Feast of Tabernacles in Kalisz, Poland. You might remember the posts from last year. They were numerous, and I expect they will be this year as well. With the help of an incredible friend and partner, I can make this year's feast, flying out of Boston.

This will of course be balanced with hopefully leading worship at the house of prayer attached to my lovely new home church, and working on fabulous music collaborations with my new music partners.

I don't think I could have planned this any better myself.

Really.

My plans never turn out quite the way I expect or want them to.

So, here's to entering a new stage in life's adventures, and here's to hoping you'll continue to join me along the way.

Happy trails folks!

Making Home

I like the idea of building a home, though the concept has not always been an easy one for me to grasp. I am the free spirit, the baby bird who jumped the nest just a bit before her wings were able to fully carry her. I have left a trail of broken hearts across the globe. People who hoped I would stay, people who hoped I wouldn't. I've caused my own heart to be broken more times than I care to recall.

All the same, there always seemed to be a nest of pine needles to soften the impact when my wings couldn't quite make it anymore.

And now that bed of needles (soft and fresh scented) is a place I like to call Boston, MA, USA. It is a group of people I like to call family more than friends.

Family is something Italy taught me, and that I had hoped would translate well to American culture upon my return here. It would seem that it has.

I have an incredible new church family, and I am (slowly, but surely) reconnecting with friends and family throughout the USA.  I love it.

But I am also aware that there is a cushion for my falls still there for me in Europe. I am aware that there are still people there who are more family than friends, places that feel more "home" than "temporary dwelling place". I love it.

Once you've made some place home it never stops being that, even if you've moved away and found ways to make "home" somewhere else.

I am now at place in which it would behoove me to solidify what home and family are to me. Especially since I'll be building those things with someone else.

But then I think, I already have it, and any building will be added onto the foundation of all the fabulous experiences that have come before. I am loved. I am valued. And because I know that so surely, so strongly, it is no problem to want to make others feel that way too.

TLoEHR: Cultural Literacy

Let me start this post by affirming that I am not, by far, the most culturally literate person out there. I can say however, that when someone's lack of cultural literacy has something directly to do with you, you tend to feel a little bit on the up-and-up as far as things like that are concerned.

With that introduction, let me take you through a few of the more interesting moments of intercultural exchange the took place whilst I was in Albania.

1. "American Culture" vs. "British Culture" or Wii Gone Wrong?

While in Albania I stayed in a most fabulous hostel, called Propaganda Hostel. The staff are super friendly and the prices are quite manageable, etc etc. In short, loved it.
However, there are a few bad apples in every barrel. In this case it was the older British man who insisted on complaining or griping over anything that didn't go his way. For those not into the crazy party life when they are indoors and trying to sleep, this is the hostel for you. With that in mind, I aimed to take advantage of a wii and my games to, you know, have some fun. Some end by 8:00PM even though quiet hours start at 11:00PM fun.

Still, someone saw fit to complain about it and when I was helping bring in our pizza orders, muttered that I could at least be teaching something cultural to the high school boys I was gaming with. He then added, "But then again American culture isn't really culture, is it?"

This was a new one for me, as I am used to these comments being either race or gender based. Nice to know there's another angle.

At any rate, this guy comes in the gaming area in the middle of "Sweet Home Alabama" on Guitar Hero (here's where things get good) and tries to shame me because the song is racist. Ummmmm....

So I say, "If I can forgive you for what you said about American culture, I can forgive these people for writing this song. If I went around worrying about what other people thought and said of me I would be angry all the time. What matters is what God thinks of me. Nothing more, nothing less."

Bam! He shut right up, I ended up in the class journal of those high school boys, and the acts of forgiveness and kindness I continued to show that man were remarked upon with awe, leading someone to say, "It's because she has Jesus." (No one else liked him and pretty much everyone avoided him like the plague.)

2. Cornrows
Another awesome moment occurred when, after singing "Our Father"-Bethel Church in Albanian with a buddy, this buddy's grandmother became open to going to church (whoooo!), and apparently, also to cross cultural interactions. The most momentous moment like this being when she braided my hair in straight-backs. That's right folks. My friend's Albanian grandmother braided my hair.  Awesome.

3. ?
This moment was so baffling as to cause difficulty coming up with a title.
So I met this woman who was married to an American. Being thusly united, I assumed a certain level of cultural literacy. Wrong.

I am standing with my guitar when this woman asks me if I'm from Africa. In Europe this question is pretty standard and actually makes sense given that most immigrants of color actually are more directly tied to the continent. Anyway, when I said I was American, she apologized and said she wasn't sure why she thought that. I told her there were a few giveaways that would give her that idea, and that it was perfectly fine for her to think I was from Africa since, in effect, that's where my roots trace back to anyway.

Then she says something about dance and I say something to the effect that yes I like to dance, and yes, I suppose it is important in African American culture, but no, I wasn't here to dance today.
Then she says, complete with a broadway-esque hip high hand flare with spirit fingers on the word "dance", "Oh, I just walked in and I saw you and I thought, here's this African woman and she's gonna dance for us!"

At this point I kindly ended the conversation while trying not to laugh. I did laugh later though. No harm done ;).

Back From Outer Space

Hello Folks!

I wanted to be diligent and get all of those Albania blog posts up before moving on to other things but alas, things did not turn out that way. But don't worry. I'll still finish the series. Just not in order...

Anyway, I am back home now and it feels more as if life has grabbed me by the horns.

I remember telling a friend when I was leaving Italy that I realized there were dreams and desires that I had buried in America, pushed aside for the idea of being the missionary living abroad in Italy. Somehow I would feel more a missionary if I was living abroad, not to mention my degree feeling more useful. I mean, how cool is it to major in Italian, something no one thinks is useful, if they're honest, and making it such by living and working abroad in none other than Italy? Really cool.

I've noticed though that since being back things have come together at an alarming rate. I'm back in America barely a month now and it's like a valley of dry bones coming to life. I'm seeing new things happen in my relationships with family and friends, I'm having an amazing time with music, I'm already connected to a house of worship and prayer which in turn has led me what I expect to be a wonderful new church family, and there even seems to be some romance on the horizon.

It almost seems to be too good to be true, but my lack of employment and therefore money, keeps me well grounded. One good thing about the ground though, is that there's always room to rise.