halfway across the world

Now that jet-lag is long-gone, I thought I'd get back into the blog-world by posting a bit about China. Some pictures, a few short thoughts...nothing ground-breaking. Here's one of my favorite shots from touring in Beijing. We spent most of the morning at the Great Wall. Words barely scratch the surface and a picture could never capture the full weight of the experience. It was incredibly humbling to be there, knowing the historical significance of the Wall.

We then moved on to the Forbidden City, which was built by Chinese emperors during the Ming Dynasty. Like the Great Wall, it was incredible to be standing in such a significant place in Chinese history. The beauty of the palace was breath-taking; pictures alone could never fully capture it.

And finally, I couldn't help myself with this last picture...I made a few friends along the way :) Love Asian tourists.

I think I fell in love with China--the people, the language, the culture, the history, and even some of the food (just say no to chicken feet). Going into the trip, I thought I would be overwhelmed by spirits of oppression and warfare simply because of what I had heard or read about China, but this was not true. Something shifted in my heart while I was there, something that I'm still trying to name and describe. I do know this--I left part of my heart with an 8 year-old with cerebral palsy in an orphanage in a small city in southern China. (He could use chopsticks better than me, by the way.) I don't meet the international adoption requirements in China yet, so I couldn't bring him home :) There's no way I could detail the whole trip here, so for now this will have to suffice. It was incredible, and I can't wait to go back.

Haiti

I'm not gonna lie, I've been slightly glued to the coverage of the earthquake in Port-au-Prince. TV, internet, random twitter feeds...I can't seem to soak in enough information about the extent of the disaster. It's different than just rubbernecking at an accident on 285, though. There's a different feel to it--it's more than just tragic, it's a profound sense of loss for this people group I know almost nothing about. But as I've been watching TV, reading articles, or looking at the macabre photos, I've been struck by a few things.

First, I'm still not quite sure what to think about the extent of the media coverage of the situation. On the one hand, there is no way that anyone outside of Port-au-Prince could even begin to comprehend the extent of the destruction without in-depth media coverage. Furthermore, we Americans (myself included) are typically a selfish, rather narrow-minded group of people. We are a rich, powerful country, yes, but we need these gruesome photos to kick our asses into action. Otherwise, I think we'd just continue to flip through channels and take our clean drinking water and reliable electricity for-granted. By the same token, is there a boundary between journalism and exploitation of a devastated people group? I don't think that's the heart of most of the journalists/broadcasting companies, but I'm sure there are some that are there looking for the next "Time Photograph of the Year."

Second, I've been flipping between CNN and Fox News on TV (as well as online), and I've noticed that there's a difference between the two. (Yes, I know the two are quite different to begin with. I'm not that blond.) Most would say that Fox is more conservative, and their perspective is more "in line" with the "church." After all, wasn't Jesus a Republican? CNN, on the other hand, is more on the liberal side and therefore set "against" the church. Go look at each of their websites--one is covered with coverage from Haiti. If you're looking for news about the rest of the world, you have to scroll down and look for it. Even then, the headlines are sparse. On the other site, there's a picture with a headline from Haiti, but the other side of the page has headlines from the status of healthcare reform and the Massachusetts Senate race. Go look at the websites and you decide--was Jesus really a Republican? Or do you think he might have been a bit more like say Dr. Sanjay Gupta, who is staying in makeshift hospitals caring for the wounded and sick with a mere stethoscope and very primitive medical supplies?

The pictures are horrifying, particularly those that Time has posted. I just heard that traffic was blocked on one road not because of debris from buildings but because of piles of bodies. An article I read said that the "scent of death is everywhere," and that's why all the pictures show people wearing masks or bandanas or stuffing orange peels in their noses. The destruction is beyond anything I could ever fathom.

At the end of the day, all I know is that we were not created for this. We were not made for death, we were not made for destruction. This was not the original intent for creation.

"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, also groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."

-Romans 8:22-25

church, part two

So, I've been back to Grace Midtown the past two Sundays. A friend/co-worker has gone with me each of the past two weeks, and we were talking this past Sunday about Grace and what makes it so appealing. The church is small, and their agenda is quite obvious: love God and love other people. Imagine that, huh?

There's something about being at Grace that is unnerving, though. Maybe it's the authenticity of the people there, or maybe it's the simplicity with which they approach the whole idea of church. I don't know, to be quite honest. But at the same time, there is something so comforting about being there. Uncomfortably appealing, those were the words I used on Sunday to describe it.

Maybe it's unnerving because I've never had a "church" experience like that before. Maybe it's unnerving or a little bit uncomfortable because it's a big step outside of the box given the churches I was "raised in."

But at the same time, I think that's what makes it so appealing.

love that will not let me go

oh joy that seekest me through pain,

I cannot close my heart to thee;

I trace the rainbow through the rain,

and know the promise is not vain;

that morn shall tearless be.

quote

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is hell.

C.S. Lewis, "The Four Loves"

church

Last Sunday, I went to a small church in Midtown--Grace Midtown Church, a plant of a church out in Snellville. I had heard some good things about the church, so made a spur of the moment decision to go when I woke up last Sunday. I'm so glad I went--it was by far the most refreshing "church" experience I've had in a long time.

The service started with a few songs, followed by some announcements. The announcements had very little to do with marketing Grace Midtown, but rather they were primarily about what the church was doing in the community. One announcement was about a group of people going to Piedmont Park to hand out bottled water and love on the people walking in the Atlanta Pride Parade, and another announcement was about a weekly outreach to adolescent girls at-risk for being trafficked into prostitution. When was the last time you heard those announcements from the "pulpit?"

The sermon was on 1 Corinthians 13, the "love passage." Here's a summary: Jesus is the ultimate model of love, in the way he went about his ministry as well as the ultimate display in the cross. Our aim, as followers of Jesus, should be love. The world, your city, your school, your co-workers, will know who you are and what you are about based on the love that you show for others. (Reminds me of the documentary "Lord, Save Us From Your Followers" that I saw recently...but that's for another post.)

After the sermon, the table was set for communion. What followed was time reserved for worship, prayer, and communion. You were welcome at the table as you felt led; there was no "peer pressure" to take communion as I often feel when I'm at other churches. At the end of this time, a guy just walked up on stage and started praying for Grace Midtown and everyone who was in the building that morning. I've never heard a white person in America pray as fervently and as earnestly as that guy did.

It was simple, yet so beautiful. So refreshing to be in a place where the agenda is twofold: love God and love other people. That's it. I'm actually a bit eager to go back.

Dear Bebe

Dear Bebe,

It's been a year since Mom called me to tell me about your visit to the doctor. It's been a year since you were diagnosed with cancer. It's been a year since you went to Piedmont. A whole year. So much has changed, so much you've missed.

Lee graduated from Riverwood, and now he's a freshman at UGA. He pledged Sigma Chi--a frat boy just like Dad and Steve! Emily graduated from Samford, and she has a job at Mt. Paran Christian School up in Kennesaw as an athletic trainer. Will is a senior. He's got colleges after him for baseball, and he's still dating the same girl. Ruthie started school at Georgia State this fall, and she's working her tail off! You would be so proud of your grandchildren, Bebe!

I wanted to call you last week to tell you a funny story about one of my patients. I wanted to call you the week before that to tell you about my new apartment. I wanted to call you a few months ago and tell you all about my new job, my trip to Seattle, the apartment search. Your number is still in my phone, I hope that's okay. I've wanted to talk to you so much recently. I still can hear the sound of your voice and the warmth of your laughter. I hope those memories never fade from my mind.

We miss you like crazy, Bebe. It's been a year, but yet the grief remains. It's been a year, but we're all still learning to walk with a limp. Thanksgiving will be hard, but not hopeless. Keep saving our seats, Bebe.

Love,

your Anna

quotables

My job involves working directly with people. People, no matter what the age, are always interesting. I've only been at my job for 3 weeks now, but I've already been told some pretty funny things. I thought I'd record some of them here to give myself a way to "keep track" of them...

1. First day seeing patients, the first patient I go see: We're working on swallowing therapy, and this particular patient requires thickened liquids. He hasn't said much of anything for the whole session, but as I'm about to leave he pipes up: "Next time, bring thickened beer." Me: "Sir, I'd love to, but I think you'll have to talk to your doctor about that." Patient: "I bet doctor come drink beer with me." Whatever you say, sir...

2. 6 year-old boy, in the middle of speech evaluation: "I was gonna tell you somefing but I not supposed to...but I gonna anyways." (I'm expecting some major secret his mom or dad have asked him to keep.) "I have six Stah Wahs moobies." :)

3. 8 year-old girl, when asked what kind of music she likes: "Well, there's this one song that's kind of in the middle." Me: "What song?" Girl: "Baby Got Back. That and Bad to the Bone." Seriously?

4. 3 year-old in the waiting room: Picks up the phone in front of the secretary's desk and says "Hello Batman!" He then said it was for me and handed me the phone to take a message.

This is only 3 weeks in, I'm sure there will be many more quotables to come!

powerful flick

I just finished watching "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas." I can't remember the last time I was so riveted by a movie. Wow. Powerful, to say the least.

Set in World War II, the main character is an 8 year-old boy whose father is a high-ranking Nazi official. The family is uprooted within 10 minutes of the opening credits--they must leave Berlin and move into a house in the country. Unbeknownst to the mother, the new home is near a concentration camp. The main character, Bruno, is an adventurous kid. He eventually makes his way over to the camp, and forms a forbidden friendship with another 8 year-old, a Jewish boy named Shmuel. I won't go into details as to how the relationship or the rest of the plot plays out; you've just got to see the movie.

I've never been so impacted by the power of relationship. How is it that an 8 year-old, a child, a second or third grader, learned more about authenticity and the value of a person through one situation than I think I have in years? Maybe we adult-folk are jaded by life's experiences. We've listened with a careful ear to the pundits, to those who deem it in their authority to tell us just what another person is worth. Instead of forming our own opinions or discovering for ourselves the true worth of friendship, we let everyone else fill our heads. They're _____, so of course they'd do something like that, you hear your neighbor say as you recount a recent headline or observed event.

Somehow, a person has become the sum of his or her labels, a mixture of skin color, socioeconomic status, and/or religious background, with a demeaning stereotype that ties it all together in a neat little package. While still living in Berlin, Bruno is portrayed as exactly what he is: a boy. He plays with his friends, running through the streets pretending to be an airplane. He isn't yet jaded; he hasn't yet listened to those pundits I've listened to for far too long. When he is finally confronted with the propaganda of that era, he bucks the system. There are a few scenes where it's obvious he's wrestling with it all, but Bruno ultimately chooses to see his friend as a person and not a stereotype.

Powerful movie. Check it out if you have the chance.

unsettled

what is it about quiet, about being still, about writing, that is so terrifying?

wrestling

Just picked up the book "Same Kind of Different as Me" by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. My supervisor at Northside this summer told me it was one of the best books she had ever read, so I figured it was worth a read. I found the following passage absolutely hilarious, and thought some of my friends out there might enjoy it as well :)

As newlyweds, Deborah and I were just your basic Sunday-go-to-meeting Methodists. We parked ourselves in the pews most Sundays, and definitely every Easter and Christmas, since in those days it was still the widely held opinion that only hell-bound heathens--and possibly lawyers--skipped church on Easter and Christmas. We kept up that pattern until 1973 when some friends from a Bible church invited us to their home for a six-week "discussion group" about life.

As it turned out, we had actually been labeled "lost," "nonbelieving," and "unsaved," possibly because we had no fish stickers on our cars. (Which reminds me of one friend who, though newly "born again," retained the bad habit of flipping off other drivers while barreling down the road in her Suburban. Even with her newfound religion, she couldn't control her middle finger, but according to her husband, the Holy Ghost prompted her to scrape the fish off her bumper until her finger got saved.)

I laughed out loud when I read that. The chapter goes on to talk about when the author and his wife first became believers. He describes the "six-week discussion group" and how he felt almost pressured to "pray the prayer" before the group ended. "After five weeks," he writes, " I had it figured out: If you hadn't accepted Jesus by the sixth Sunday, you were probably going to hell on Monday. So, on the last night after we went home, I told Deborah I was going to pray that sinner's prayer Kirby had told us about."

What an interesting perception. Sadly, I think it still rings true today. Hall goes on to say that his wife refused to fall into that line of thinking, that since her dad had paved the Methodist church parking lot in her hometown, she was sure to be "saved." Before the end of the chapter, Hall goes on to mention that his wife "cross-examined the gospel like a prosecutor on a federal case" before she became a believer as well.

I was brought up in a church that leaned more towards the performance and praying the "sinner's prayer" that Hall described. While I call myself a believer (even though I buck at using terms that can be used as labels), I hope that at 25 I am learning to approach Jesus and the gospel more like Hall's wife, where I am cross-examining and wrestling with truth instead of blindly and passively accepting it, just because someone who is older or "wiser" than me told me to.

change is gonna come

Change. I do not like it. We are not friends.

So much change in such a short period of time.

Graduate school is done. One of my closest friends moved across the country with her husband to start a new chapter of life in Seattle. Another friend is moving back to Charleston, another to Austin, Texas (from NYC) to take a dream job. My lease runs out in 63 days--I have to tell them by Saturday that I won't be renewing. I currently have a master's degree but no job. One offer rejected, another one basically handed to me on a silver platter just this afternoon.

Bebe isn't here to talk to about any of this.

Change, so much damn change.

I'll be honest, I've lost touch with God in the midst of it all. There's so much mess that's been brought to the surface but never dealt with. There are big decisions to be made. There's starting over to be done, with a new group of people, a new place to live, new job, new...everything, it seems. What do I tell him? What do I ask for? I don't even know where to begin...

I just finished reading Rob Bell's "Velvet Elvis." Great book, really makes you think about some things. Chapter 4 was by far my favorite--I read it three times before I moved on to finish the rest of the book. In this chapter, Bell gives a summary of a portion of his story. One part in particular has stuck with me--Bell is describing his time spent in a counselor's office, and he says the following:

And then he said, in what has become a pivotal moment in my journey, "Your job is the relentless pursuit of who God has made you to be. Anything else you do is sin and you need to repent of it."

Pursuing who God has made me to be? Relentlessly?! Intimidating, to say the least. My newly relocated friend Sarah told me about a book she's heard about (or read?) that talks about the importance of dealing with your childhood and family mess. The thrust of the book argues that you can't move forward spiritually until you have dealt with your crap.

I can't tell you how many times my family mess has been brought to the surface in my life.

Currently, I feel like I'm slamming my head against a brick wall with God.

I'm wondering if it's time to take a step closer to the mess, maybe let some of that shit hit the fan instead of hoarding it all to myself. (That's a disgusting image, isn't it?)

I'm wondering if the relentless pursuit of God and who he made me to be involves sitting down with a counselor. I'm almost certain it involves staying in Atlanta, at least for now. For me, moving is definitely a form of running from my mess.

And for me, being willing to sit down with a counselor is just one more item of change I can add to my list.

good read

I finished A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis earlier today. Great book, wow. I picked it up a few weeks ago, and it's been so good for my heart. It's an honest account of Lewis' grief in the wake of his wife's death. While there were some sections I couldn't identify with because my loss was not of the spouse variety, on the whole the book gave a voice to much of the hurt I've felt recently. I thought I would share a passage I particularly enjoyed.

The more we believe that God hurts only to heal, the less we can believe that there is any use in begging for tenderness. A cruel man might be bribed--might grow tired of his vile sport--might have a temporary fit of mercy, as alcoholics have fits of sobriety. But suppose that what you are up against is a surgeon whose intentions are wholly good. The kinder and more conscientious he is, the more inexorably he will go on cutting. If he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless. But is it credible that such extremities of torture should be necessary for us? Well, take your choice. The tortures occur. If they are unnecessary, then there is no God or a bad one. If there is a good God, then these tortures are necessary. For no moderately good Being could possibly inflict or permit them if they weren't. Either way, we're for it.

I'm learning that this is not a "test of my faith," nor is it an exercise in detachment where I just ascribe everything to the "sovereignty of God" and keep going about my day. This is a part of my story, like it or not. This hurt, this sorrow, is a process, is a journey. Slowly, I'm moving through it. Timidly, I'm opening my heart to be healed. For some reason, in the midst of all my bitching, all my screaming, all my anger and frustration, God hasn't gone anywhere. Why he sticks around for someone like me, I don't know that my finite mind will ever comprehend.

Dear Bebe

Dear Bebe,

It's a big month for our family, and we're all acutely aware that a key player in all the celebration is missing. Oh Bebe, you are dearly missed. My heart breaks just thinking about how much we all miss you. You would be so proud of your family, though. I can imagine what it would be like to talk to you on the phone, I can hear your voice in my ear. Since I can't call you, I'll write you. 

Emmie graduates from Samford in 9 days. You were always so proud of how hard she worked in college. You told me all the time how you thought she really blossomed in Birmingham. She graduates with a degree in Athletic Training. She doesn't have a job yet, but I know that's okay with you. She'll figure it out, and we all know she's gonna be great at what she does. Oh but Bebe, you would be so proud of her. Ruthie will be wearing your green hat that morning, so in your own way, you will be there. 

Lee graduates from high school on Memorial Day weekend. "The boys" always held a special place in your heart; you talked about them all the time. He hasn't decided where to go to school next year, but he has some options. I don't know this for sure, but I would imagine that he's graduating somewhere near the top of his class. You should have seen the prom pictures--he's so handsome, Bebe. You already knew that, though; you told me all the time how handsome you thought both of the boys were. He's going to college in the fall, and you would be so excited for him. I'll be wearing your green hat that afternoon when he graduates, so in your own way, you'll be a part of the celebration.

Will still has a year left in high school. He has a cute girlfriend--I know you would talk about this incessantly :) Like Lee, he was so handsome at the prom. You would have loved to see his bright, wide smile in the pictures. He's doing well in baseball, and he's hit his share of home runs this year (including a grand slam!). You would be so proud of him, Bebe.

Ruthie is doing well with her classes at GPC. Last fall, she made dean's list! I can hear it now, you sucking in your breath the way you did when you were really proud or excited about something. You would have shouted this from the rooftop! She's doing well back home in Atlanta, and she's really thinking about her future. You would be beaming with pride over her, I just know it.

Oh Bebe, everyone in the family misses you so much. The next month will be pretty hard for all of us; I desperately wish you were here. Mother's Day is Sunday, our first one without you. I went to Target with Sarah to buy cards for Mom and Nanny a few days ago. I read all the funny ones, looking for one that would fit you. I bought two cards for Mom instead.

I miss you so much, Bebe. As I write them, I feel like those words barely scratch the surface of what I'm really feeling. I treasure the conversations we had, the pieces of advice you gave me, the funny stories you liked to tell. You were so much more than a grandmother to me. I wish I had told you that.

You would be so proud of your precious family, Bebe. We all miss you so much, and can't wait to see you again one day. Find Shep and save us all some seats.

Love,

your Anna

remembering

I remember the moment in a small sitting room at the Atlanta Hospice Center. I remember it with intricate detail; it is a moment I hope I never forget. I don't know that I've told many people this story. It was only a few days ago that I wrote it myself.

I had just gotten off the phone with a dear friend I have known for almost 20 years. My family knew Bebe's time was coming soon, so I was calling Ashley to tell her that. I needed a quiet place to talk to her, so I wandered the halls until I came to what was the chapel area. Chairs were lined up in rows, begging for some sort of service to commence, inviting one to hope. The room was bright--sunlight flooded the room through the double French doors at the back of the room. The stark white walls were contrasted by the rich mahogany pews that lined them. A chaplain came in, I assume because she heard the tremor in my voice as I relayed the latest update to Ashley, 1,000 miles away. She saw I was on the phone; she smiled and left. I hung up with Ashley a few minutes later, both of us in tears, with promises to talk again within the hour. I looked around the room. Open and bright, the room was created to lift spirits and instill some sort of hope. All I could feel was a deep darkness, a death in my heart almost. I had to get out of there, so I walked across the hall to a much smaller sitting room. A short, overstuffed couch sat diagonal from an armchair, and a small wooden table held a lamp in the corner. "Perfect," I thought. "I'll sit here and let my heart crumble just a bit more." I sat on the couch and let loose; the tears flowed as if they had been dammed up for years. My head in my hands, I thought I might drown in the flood. I couldn't find the words to name the depths of the pain. "Don't take her, please don't take her," was all I could muster. I begged with God, pleaded with him to intervene. "Don't take her," I cried over and over again. After what seemed like an eternity, all I heard was "I have to."

Bebe's story came to an end two days before Thanksgiving. What kind of end, though? Her physical death was one end, but I would argue that the ending of Bebe's story was much more beautiful than that. Dan Allender writes in "To Be Told:"

An ending can be either good or bad. There are excellent novels that held my attention and moved me for hundreds of pages, only to end in a way that made me regret reading the story. Sadly, the same can be said of many "good" lives. It is not enough to live well and serve humanity, care for your family, and lead an honest life. A good ending involves much more than making a moral point or teaching a lesson. And a good ending is more than the resolution of the tragedy and tension of an exciting plot. A good ending doesn't have to be safe or nice. It only has to bring the story to fullness.

For months, a part of me has been so angry at God for saying what he said to me. He could have stopped it, he could have healed her on the spot. But now, four months later, I can see that Bebe's story had come to a fullness of ending. I'd argue that the weekend of her 80th birthday celebration was the culmination of that. Yes, Bebe died a physical death her on earth, and the quickness of her physical decline has left most of our family reeling in confusion and sorrow. However, God is using her death to bring about hope, redemption, and beauty in my story in a way that might not have happened if she was still here with us. I'm wondering if he's doing the same with others in my family as well as her closest friends.

I still miss Bebe. I miss her every day. But somehow, I'm not so angry anymore.