Thoughst of College, Smells and Sounds of Home

Down to the last few days before leaving the Great Plains back for the ol' South and my last semester. Did I mention yet it was my final semester before I have a Bachelor's in Science? No? Its my last semester. I only have ONE left.
One
Last
Semester!!!!
To be honest, I can't wait. I haven't a clue what I will do once I'm done. Revel in the glory of no more assigned reading, no more writing assignments where I have to b.s. my way through the required page amounts when I feel I can succinctly say the same thing in five (or one) sentances.
Yes, I AM considering further education. However, the dynamics of that degree and school will be completely different.
This season of life has been, in a word, hard. I've been sick with some very serious illnesses, discovered I have genetic complications that run in my family, watched people I deeply care about suffer - either through no fault of their own, or completely because of their own stupidity, but either way, still hard - been constantly told that I must revise this ro change that or mold myself to fill someone else's definition of 'correct.'
Has there been good in it? Of COURSE. I've met amazing people, made amazing friends, seen God work in amazing ways in my life and in others. I've seen Him redeem time, mistakes, people, choices.
But I'm ready to be done. I'm ready to stop living in a bubble of correct doctrine and conformity. I'm ready to see what God has next.
Do I sound cynical? Maybe. Mom and the littles started homeschooling last week, and today was full of trying to stay out of the way, watch them fight old battles that Mom and I used to butt heads against when I was under her skilled tutleage, and trying to decide if I NEEDED to overcome my deep desire to continue procrastinating reading Theology or just continue giving my brain a rest from acadamia before re-engaging it on the 24th.
Anyhoo. Mom wants to go watch Stargate Atlantis with me. :-) I made Souffle for dinner and decafe black tea is simmering on the stove. The littles are bouncing around, finishing final school assignments and asking to play computer games or watch with us, and Kendra is in the kitchen sweeping and muttering how she will NOT stoop to the level of SGA with us but not sure what else to do :-)
Ahh... sweet sounds and smells of home :-)
~Princess Ouch~

Procrastinating

I somehow clicked something and my words began appearing in Hindi instead of English. Wierd.
I have made noble strides towards effectively procrastinating today. I have downloaded new Christmas music from old CD's onto Itunes on my computer, cleaned Mom's kitchen, cleaned out my text inbox on my out-of-date phone, continued making preliminary plans for seeing more family during the middle of the month. Etc.
All good things.
Still procrastinating.
See, I'm taking Theology 1 this semester, and
I
don't
want
to.
I don't mind sitting in class, its just the textbook is a bear. Its very interesting for about three pages and then it becomes an excellent cure for insomnia.
I don't want to read.
I don't want to read.
I don't want to read.
I actually don't have to read, however it would be smart to begin reading it now so that I'm ahead of schoolwork. And, as my boyfriend says, 'we like being smart!'
We do?! I'm perfectly fine with dumb right now, thank you!
*sigh*
I'm sure in five months once I've graduated I'll look back fondly with remembering the good ol' days of college. At least, thats what my middle-aged friends tell me. My friend who graduated last May says that she is still of the opinion that it is all lies, and she is GLAD she has no more homework! She is GLAD she gets to read for pleasure!
Oh well. This is my final semester as an Undergrad. My final semester of trying to balance cramming classes in so that I can get al my requirements complete before the scholarship runs out, as well as trying to balance my inner need for socializing with learning which socializing persons and events need to be 'culled from my schedule' as well as making sure I"m working enough hours to cover living expenses and have a little wiggle room for inevitable unexpected medical or travel expenses (of which I've had many! yeesh!)
I'm excited to be finishing this season and anxious to learn what God has for the next season. However, He's never let me know ahead of time what is to come, very last minute. So I'll continue Serving Him Blind and praying that I'm doing so faithfully.
It struck me the other night as I was brushing my teeth just how blessed I was. I have access to clean water, surrounded by people who, however irritating they get, love me and I love them, am safe from invasion or kidnapping, have acccess to good Churches and faithful Christians. Transportation isn't always dependable for me personally but there are multiple people willing to give me free rides to wherever I need to go. I'm educated, intelligent, happy, and Saved. Life is good.
Happy New Year!

Christmas break sum up so far

I've been really bad this year. Last year, I was blogging regularly during the break, had even changed the music on my blog to fit the season. This is... what, the first time I've updated my blog in over a month? And how many posts this year?
Oh well. I'm sure my faithful few followers will survive. :-)

To sum up my break: Moved out of my apartment on campus and put all my stuff in storage. Am staying at a friend's house until February, and then I will move into a house with five other girls. *eek!* I'll admit I have a little apprehension about my new living situations, but the old place simply wasn't working any more for several reasons. So I moved out. I had packed up a bookshelf's worth, but my boyfriend and his dad came up one saturday and we blitzed the apartment and got the whole thing packed, loaded, moved, and unloaded. God bless men!
Visited Ohio for Thanksgiving, finished situating things around Louisville and beyond as far as storage, and somehow didn't drive Amber (my friend I'm staying with) Kyle or his parents crazy. Or if I did, they graciously kept it to themselves. Kyle took Amber and I to Nashville to meet his grandparents, (Pap worked building Ford car's engines for several decades, and likes to play with whoever's car is acting funny. Mine was IT, so he got it for the break) for lunch, see the new Muppet Movie (which was SOOOO good! And funny!) and then go to the Opryland Hotel Christmas Light display. Fun. Fun. Fun.


Then I flew to South Dakota to visit family. The weather was mercifully, gloriously, and amazingly not the frigid arctic blast that I've come to expect, but rather quite mild! Its been in the high 30's to 50's the entire time I've been here. The wind has blasted on occasion, but not as often as usual. Everyone is surprised and I am not complaining one whit. :-) Kendra and Derek are working at a farm close by where the farmer raises 200 culled bull calves to sell for meat once they've grown. So I've been getting up with them to help so they can get done faster. They do get paid by the hour, but they had to work Christmas day and on the day we thought Ethan had a birthday party, so I went to help them get done earlier.

Apart from working and getting sore and too tired, Christmas was really fun. It was one of our more frugal Christmases (as in there weren't piles and piles of packages under the tree this year) but it was still really nice. Mom cooked an AMAZING meal (again) and she and Dad bought me the "John Adams" mini-series and we started watching that together. Well acted, well written, amazing soundtrack, etc. Happy happy happy.

My dear boyfriend was supposed to arrive on the 28th but he got a nassssty 24-hour flu that kept him from flying out that day. Thanks to heroic effort to his dad and no thanks to the airlines or travelocity who charged them another arm and a leg, he was able to fly out the next day. He was smiling but a little drained. Despite all setbacks, we had a nice visit. I've never 'brought a boy home' before, so there was absolutely NO precedent for anyone to follow. Add to that he had been sick and in a part of the country that was as foreign to him as another country, I'd say he did pretty well. He even let Hannah decorate him, as you can see ;-)

He and Ethan bonded over lego's, history, and similar personalities. So the little's vote is very favorable towards him, and Ethan keeps telling me how much he misses Kyle and how fun he was. He DID however inform me that I was 'sappy' with my boyfriend. He determined this to be neither good nor bad, but familiar. I think that's okay... seeing as we've been dating for eight months now!
Many a comment and hopeful question was voiced by friends back at school as to whether or not I would return to school with an engagement ring. I knew I wasn't, but nobody believed me. I turned out to be right and am fine with that. I've enough stuff to figure out this final semester without having to plan a wedding and remain sane and pleasurable company to anyone within a ten-mile radius or phone-conversation with me :-)

Mom and Dad have done an amazing job in rebuilding the house. The contractor is no longer in the picture and they are doing all of the second floor, basement, (attic?) and final touches of the first floor by themselves. The house looks amazing but very very different from when I lived there. Its still the same house, just completely different while still similar.
In the same way, the family has changed. Still the same people and same family, but different. Figuring out how dynamics are supposed to work now that I'm an adult but still their child has been challenging. I don't live at home yet while I'm at home I ought to contribute to the family but at the same time things are completely different. Its been an internal war with myself of not knowing how to jump in or not thinking of ways to jump in soon enough or simply not wanting to jump in as once I go back to Louisville I'll have to hit the ground running again.
Oh well. Sanctification is never a bad thing. I will confess, however, that once I graduate my goal is to be able to get my own place with absolutely. no. room -mates. Selfish? Maybe. Ambitious? Probably, as I just haven't been able to work enough hours to afford it while still taking five classes. But we'll see what God does and where He takes me. I'll also confess I really need to work on some New Year's resolutions: like praying and seeking God more, getting much more disciplined about managing things better, scheduling my time more wisely, etc.
Alright I'm lapsing into musing and therefore rambling. Sorry :-)
I'm flying into Chicago on the 12th and staying with my dear Great-Grandma for a few days before Kyle drives up and gets me. We're still trying to decide how visited-out we will be, and if we want to try and bum around Chicago for a while and then stop in Ohio to see relatives there, or simply zip back to Kentucky. My preference would be to bum and visitate a little more, but will see. :-) Logistics aren't always conducive to idealism. ;-)


~Princess Ouch~

Old pictures, thoughts and memories

Found some 'old' picture CD's while going through some old boxes and found these. While it doesn't look like I'll be taking any trips in the near future, my traveling foot is itching. So I thought I would post some of them, and also give you an update as to what God has been doing recently.

I think its been partially due to the fact that there's been some helpful attempts to cure me and a good friend of mine of that horrid condition, sans husband. And my reaction is to either take them to school as to why that is not helpful, or to simply run away. I know, neither of which are helpful or functional... but its still my immediate reaction.

While she and I both appreciate the good intentions behind the gestures, neither of us see the need for concern from anyone, as the Lord has been doing a huge work in both of us as far as finding our contentment and fulfillment in Christ alone. May sound over spiritual, but that is what it is. And God has blessed us with some great friends.

If we weren't single, I don't think we could enjoy all the platonic friendships God has been showering us with.

Or be available for all the different ministry opportunities that keep coming our way. Its been weird having to turn down stuff the last few weeks. Saturdays are crazy, and there's always opportunities to fill them with more stuff.

While I'm thankful that there is too much instead of not enough, its been a new challenge trying to discern what to keep and what to cut out, how to manage time... balancing relationships of all kinds with what needs to get done.

And learning the difference between what I NEED and what I WANT. And how to clearly represent the difference both to myself and others when talking about it. Or learning how to just not talk about it at all, except in prayer.

And seeing the Lord provide tiny gestures of compassion and grace in small things, and thanking Him for them.
And trying to be still and at peace so that I can overflow with blessings upon others. I've really been convicted recently of trying to discern if what I'm saying is edifying or just jabbering. I don't have it down to a fine art by any means. Its funny how when I have the best of intentions, things are still so poorly communicated. I'm not sure if thats a lack on my part or others' issues, and I've been praying about it.
(And I'm feeling rather melodramatic right now because I've got these cool pictures that I took a couple years ago that I really feel should be on some halmark card somewhere, and I'm listening to the 'Blood Diamond' soundtrack ;-) And its late and I've had a crazy busy fun day with waaaay too much sugar in it and a ton of different accents. :-D)

There's something really nice about typing with the lights off with it raining gently outside in the dark with good instrumental music with a minor key's lilt to it. :-)

We read through the book of Romans this evening, and then shared some interesting stories. A Pastor was beaten up in Rajasthan, India a few days ago, and his church is really scared right now. A Christian girl was kidnapped in a Muslim country... a thousand Pakistani's came to Christ last week... a church leader or two was assassinated in Pakistan. So we prayed for them, we prayed for us...
We prayed for where God is going to take us in the future and that no matter what we would be faithful and a light for Christ. On the one hand it was rather intimidating, asking for these things, knowing that when one submits to the Lord, anything will happen. But at the same time it was exhilarating, knowing that when one is submitted to the Lord, anything will happen! And it will be His will!!
And I wondered once again, thinking about where my family has been and is and where I have been and am... why does God give an extra measure of Grace and provision and comfort to some, despite being in the midst of the Fire... while others feel left alone by Him? And one of my dear friends said to me, "you cannot ask God 'why this and not that,' you can only thank Him for what is and seek to be faithful to those who don't have."
I was talking with another friend last night and we were talking about church leadership and dysfunction amongst laity and how to be a Christian serving in a secular workplace without being obnoxious for the Faith and at the same time not being invisible for the Gospel. Its a fine line and we didn't figure it out, although I did determine by the end of it that people are gonna be mad either way, so mights as well have them mad at you for holding onto the Truth rather than compromising, feeling guilty and STILL having people mad at you.

And I have concluded I have no idea what God is going to do with my future. My friend laughed and said in mock exasperation as I talked animatedly about yet ANOTHER mission field in ANOTHER country, 'I hear a different country from you every time we speak! You just can't make up your mind, can you?' Well.. they all need the Gospel and sound COOL as far as culture and language and clothing go, so...

All that to say I don't know exactly what God is doing or where He is taking me or what is going to happen in the future. But I do know that He is giving me opportunities for Sanctification. And I also know I miss Magda's coffee. And I miss Geza and I arguing about beverage health benefits or lack thereof. And I miss wandering the village, meeting familiar faces and being greeted by a handshake. But I know I'm where God wants me, and I know that He has a purpose and is blessing me on a daily basis with new friends and old friendships deepening and new opportunities opening up. And I'm excited to see what God has.

Trip home summed up

Yeah, I think this about says it all. ;-)

How were your holidays?

Kendra and LOTR

Kendra was reading the section of "Fellowship of the Ring" where the Hobbits and Aragorn are fleeing the Black Riders after WeatherTop, trying to make it safely to Rivendell. Pippen - to whom I often relate - dashes back to the group reporting a Troll sighting. Aragorn says bravely, "Then let us go and meet them!" and picks up a stick.

Kendra stopped, as I was fairly sure she was, to interject.

"a STICK?! He's going to go after TROLLS with sticks?! What are they, his pet dogs??? Aragorn WOULD have a troll for a pet. What is wrong with him! He's got that dumb sword he never uses; what about THAT?"

"The sword is BROKEN, Kendra." I answered, choking back laughter.

"It's still got a pointy end! He could still use it to thrust into the enemy! What's wrong with him, I thought he was a WARRIOR and would KNOW THAT!!!"

With a huff and a harumph she continued, and then discovered that the Trolls were stone, and Aragorn new that.

"Well, he could at least stop being a pessimistic wet-blanket! He is so mean to those hobbits. Whats wrong with him!"

*sigh*

"Well, if you were fleeing black-riders and there was a good chance that the end of the world as you knew it were about to transpire, and the fate of said world rested in the hands of a happy-go-lucky-hobbit who kept getting into dire distress that only you could bail him out of, I suppose you'd be slightly grumpy, too."



This is merely a small sampling of the running commentary that flowed whilst Kendra read five chapters of Lord of the Rings out loud today. See, we're snow-locked during the beginning of Winter, and suddenly the ancient Scandinavian Bards and intricate carving and needle-work is making so much more sense now. I often wondered, when we lived in warmer climates, who on earth would have time to make all the detailed-sagas and life-like wood monsters and stone decorations that decorate Northern Europe. Having suffered long winters in the land in which that people goups descendants immigrated to, I suddenly understand.

You either become very certain of your opinions and create long, flowery stories to better communicate those opinions, or you almost loose the gift of speech altogether.



That being said, it is funny hearing Kendra's rendition of the heroes of Middle Earth. I got quite a bit done on the House-Blessing cross stitch I'm working on, Mom has discovered why Dad and I are so nuts about Tolkien, Ethan is entertained and getting his horizon broadened beyond mere Star Wars and Bionicles, and we are altogether having a fun time passing winter afternoons together.



Am soaking it all up before I have to squeeze all my creativity into organizing my life so that this next semester goes more smoothly academically and socially than last Semester.



~Princess Ouch~

Update

"This... is Berk. It snows 9 months of the year and sleets the other 3. The food is hardy, tough, and tasteless; the people more so."

This is one of the closing lines of "How to Train your Dragon," and pretty much all of the descriptions - minus dragon slaying - you can apply to the area my parents are currently located in. To many southerners chagrine, we haven't settled in any one place long enough for me to say with confidence that I'm 'from' there.

But be that as it may, my most formative years were in California and New Mexico, so apparently I have the driving skills of a maniac and the social skills of one who is scary yet endearing at the same time.

I've been home since November, and its been fun reconnecting with family, reading what I want, when I want with no assignments or quizzes following, cooking up a storm (my mom keeps asking why and how I've gotten so 'domestic.' I think it comes of having a myriad of friends from various cultures who all have exotic spices and fun mixtures, and wanting to combine them and see how they turn out. The plus is that, since they are from developing countries, they require healthy foods. A little more pricey than the usual menu my family has been keeping, but not so much that they discourage me when I start banging pots and pans around), having small people to tickle whenever the occaision calls for it, and observations to swap with mom and dad.

We went rock climbing as a family and then toured "Falls Park' and their annual Christmas-light display on the 23, went to a candle light service then did advent on the 24, Christmas morning as a family and then a friend from Dad's bible stuy who is also from the Ivory Coast for lunch/dinner.

The 26th we celebrated my birthday, and the fun thing was ont he 27th mom found more presents stashed away somewhere so I had a second birthday :-)

It snowed and snowed and snowed, which has been fun, but it got warm, which was nice. HOwever I didn't realize it was nice and warm outside yesterday. "Ah, no worries. I'll just go play in the snow tomorrow." HOwever today is tomorrow and I am looking outside to PUDDLES as the darn RAIN clouds assist in melting away the playing material. The forecast for the next 3 days is sleet and rain. I am not happy.

Ethan has a whooping-ish cough so he and I are home today while Mom and the others go grocery shopping. When we have several-day-storm-forecasts, we stock up and burrow. Rather fitting, as Ethan is reading "Redwall" and all about mice and moles and rabbits stocking up and feasting. *sigh*

Speaking of which, I should go refill his tea and drag him out of the world of talking animals and into the land of human interaction of some sort. He likes it when I read Redwall outloud, as I like to do funny voices and accents for the various characters. The trouble is I have to START the books so I know which voice to assign which character, and he hands me a half-devoured tomb of Jaques'. When I tell him this dilemma, he grins endearingly and says, "Oh I'll just TELL you what voices to give them!" Great. I am now your own, personal, 'do it at home' radio theatre. I think not! I choose my own voices, sir!!

Just over one more week of break before I head back to the 'Ville for Jterms and a new semester. I'm excited about all my classes, just not about diving back into the grind of working 15 hours a week and taking 5 classes. But it must be done to graduate on time and pay the bills. So I grind away.

New Years resolution is to be ORGANIZED this semseter, and have a healthy balance between homework and socializing. Thats it. Its a big one though, so waggle your fingers at me not. I made last years resolution which was to start working out. Again, no schedule, but I do it regularly, special thanks to my friend Emmanuela, who is from Cameroon, and a work-out-addict. :-)

The boy has roused. I'm listening to "The Last Samurai" soundtrack, and he is bouncing around making battle noises and taking Samurai pozes and stances, waving an imaginary saber. *sigh* Must off to smack him back down into resting towards healthiness (not literally!!)

Reminiscenses, Rabbits, and Rickshaw essays

I always mentally refer to them as 'the Tornado kids."
Thats because whatever room they've been in, it looks like a tornado went through there.
The last time I walked into a room they had subjected to their energy, we found soda spilled on the table and the floor, its carton woefully crunched in the middle of the table; cereal that I had bought for the morning scattered everywhere with the wrappers tossed about, bread crumbs sprinkled around, and various clothes articles dropped here and there. And that was just the kitchen.
Ramona and I took turns snarling while we cleaned up the carnage and tried to figure out what we were going to eat, because our plans for dinner had been scarfed down amidst the sprinkling and spilling and scattering.
However, the three Caba kids did have redeeming qualities. When I saw them next and almost boxed their ears, they all pulled the Compassion Poster Child look and Smiles International grins and cooed their apologies along with offering the small peace offering tokens, promising to be good children. I think there might have even been some flowers involved.
None of them were biologically related yet they all somehow ended up with similar eyes and their voices sounded the same. It was funny because none of them were even from the same ethnicity let alone family. But they all referred to Corina as 'Mami" and all were slightly afraid of the oldest, Ramona (one of my best friends in Romania) and all were high energy, loud, bossy, funny, and had a talent for causing chaos wherever they went but were so sincerely charming and remorseful when caught.
One time when I was there, Sarah was quite put out that I was only staying for a few days. The last time she had seen me I had stayed six months. Corina and Ramona were dissapointed but understood that Mission trips have to be scheduled around the Mission, not the trip, and there weren't any kids at the orphanage or really anything that I could help with other than drinking coffee with Corina and talking and laughing. (Sometimes just reminding people in Ministry that there are level-headed people who don't hate you or aren't out to kill you or swindle you can be very ministering)
Anyway Sarah kept interuppting to ask why I was only staying a few days. My Romanian grammer is awful and my vocabulary comes and goes and often is confused with Hungarian that I also speak when in Transylvania. But the Caba kids were always very patient and, for the most part, pursued understanding with me and didn't manipulate the language barrier to their own ends.
I tried to explain that I was going to college in the fall and needed to go home after working with the Gypsy church plants so I could spend a little more time with my family and make money. The big take away for Sarah was that I needed money. So she scampered off, emptied her piggy bank, and returned with two fistfulls of coinage.
"Is this enough?" She asked, her brown eyes doe-like and pitiful.
Corina explained that I needed DOLLARS, not Romanian coins, and that certainly wasn't enough, please stop interrupting. Sarah sighed and left Corina and I to finish our conversation.
Today I got on Yahoo chat and saw Corina's ID online. I haven't talked with her for a while and hoped it was her online, but it turned out to be her youngest, David.
He wanted me to go Skiing with them after Christmas.
Now skiing in Transylvania sounds like something I would L-O-V-E to do, however not something financially possible at this point in life.
David REALLY really wanted me to come. He even offered to dip into his savings for a new bike and help pay for the ticket.
I thanked him for the generous offer, however the bike fund amounted to about a twentieth of the ticket cost, or simply the fees the airlines charge for checked baggage these days.
He was VERY dissapointed I couldn't use his bike money.
I've been really missing Romania the last few months. The magenta landscapes, the friendly villagers, the curious traditions and mindsets, the beautiful language, the good food, the quaint coffee shops and stores, my friends scattered throughout the countryside.
The trouble has been the last year my family and I have been put through the wringer on several leves. I'm sensing the season of pain is coming to a close, and its left us sort of gasping for a breath. I'm just tired. A couple of people have asked me where I want to go and what I want to do and my answer has been mentally, "Move successfully from survival mode to thrive mode!!!"
Its just been a long season of rearranging priorities and mindsets and worldviews and misunderstandings and clearing up arguments and realizing stuff about myself and trying to repent and mature and apologize and make up and justify or figure out etc.
It would be so nice to go back to the village; the place where Time moves in a circle instead of a line and certain things don't change no matter what. Where I can just wander and observe.
My grades have been slipping the last two semesters and a couple of people have told me I need to slow down. The trouble is my scholarship ends at the end of spring 2012, so I've been trying to decide between continuing the pattern of blasting through or taking it a little more slowly, adding another year, and doing things WELL. Both options have about the same amount of pro's and con's. Its been bugging me for a couple of months now, and there's no clear answer in sight.
All that to say, I'd really like to pack my family up and escape to the land of the Tornado Kids.

Barring that, I'd like my exhaustion towards books to go away so I could get focused on reading for my J-term (the Theology has been a painful blend of infatuation and apathy for me the last week). Or at least finish Elisabeth Elliot's biography on Amy Carmichael - which I've been working on since summer. So far my response to books has been to blithely ignore it and watch DVD episodes of "NCIS" with mom three-at-a-time. ;-)

Anyhoo. It was fun chatting in Romanian with David. Now I need to go find my brother so he can show me which trees on the property need 'wrapped'. Not with Christmas paper, with this guaze-type-stuff designed to keep away rabbits and deer.

Apologies to those who have wanted me to post more regularly on here. However, my attitude towards the written word in general has been one of classic burn-out. The 25-page paper I had to write the last week of school kinda took it out of me for a while. :-)
Will try to do better, however the computer is in high demand as my 16-year-old brother is also trying to finish chemistry homework, and the 10 year old has had multiple research papers to write on Vikings, Copper, and Rickshaws. He's writing 1-page essays and I am highly envious. I have mostly upper-level classes next semester; I'm looking forward to all of them, but I'm also expecting plenty of papers due for them all. And they won't be little piddle-ee-dink one pagers either.

~Princess Ouch~

What I would have said

The last two weeks has been a flurry of funeral, festivities, and freaking out. Funeral for my Grandpa (Mom's dad). Festivities for Thanksgiving and greetings relatives that I had seen a year ago at Aunt Sue's funeral (Mom's older sister) and didn't think I'd see for another five years; as well as long lost cousins of my mom's who she didn't think she'd ever seen again and hadn't seen since she was 20. Freaking out as my family minus dad crashed at my apartment, ate, went to TN for the funeral, came back, and I tried to get finals (that I didn't study for) done, finish papers, find rides down to TN, ask for an extension, get my apartment somewhat clean, return sleeping bags and pillows, pack for South Dakota, say goodbye to those I could, and then drive with family to South Dakota. Only to realize once I reached here that my packing had been done in the mindset of college girl and not in the mindset of farm girl. My 16 year old brother graciously offered to loan me whatever jeans and t-shirts I wanted. However, the dear boy has no hips. Therefore jeans = don't fit.
. And on top of all of this, trying to push off processing the fact that Grandpa is no longer there on the edge of my peripheral vision, with his random appearances every year or so into my life.
Most funerals you get to say something about the departed, especially if you are related to the deceased. However, for whatever reason, this funeral didn’t have any of that. So I am now going to take some time to pretend that we are back in the Episcopalian church where Grandpa attended the last few years of his life and pretend that I have the microphone in front of the black clad crowd. And I am going to say what I would have liked to say, or the gist of it anyway, and in typical 21st century send it out into the void of cyberspace where it will do very little good but at least get it out of my head.

I was able to see Grandpa this summer, which was really fun. After we got over the awkward fifteen minutes of, “Well, we are related yet we somehow don’t really know each other’” we were able to start swapping stories, comparing movie opinions, playing the piano for one another, and looking at herbs and flowers in his garden.
I have been described as eccentric the last few years, and sort of wondered where I got it from. But visiting Grandpa this summer sort of cleared that up. He was loud, dramatic, loved oddities of culture, history and religion, tried new foods and cooking methods regularly, and when he dropped me off for my friend to take me back to camp, clean forgot to put on his shoes. We stood in the parking lot of a restaurant with Grandpa barefoot, laughing at something I had said and exuding charm and good manners at my friend, who apparently never noticed the lack of shoes.
He and Grandma, who passed away in 1999, loved to travel. The more you traveled, the higher you climbed in their ladder of estimation. The more cultures and languages you had under your belt, the more prepared you were to grab life by the horns and wrestle all the fun possible out of it.
They weren’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. The ability to depend on them and their consistency levels were about nil, because they were too busy having fun in their various ways. And heaven help you if you got on their bad side. However, as a grandchild, I was protected by cuteness and the wonderful forces of nature which make grandparents biologically susceptible to grandchildren’s doe eyes and alligator tears.
Grandpa loved performances, of any kind. Whether it was me merely tinkering on his piano or my cousin delivering a speech at his mother’s funeral, Grandpa would offer hearty praise and edifying critique. Then he would ask if we wanted to improve, because he had a store of ideas for how we might do so. If we didn’t, though, he assured us that we were gifted and talented and he enjoyed the production very much.
After Aunt Sue’s funeral, we all crashed at her house. The boys stretched their long frames out on the couch and Mom and Monica dove into old photo albums, laughing and commenting on how people had grown and changed. Grandpa and I gave each other neck rubs and foot massages with some kind of ointment that filled the room with lemony, peppermint smells.
The day before his funeral we all gathered at the house he and his wife, Corinne, had shared for the last several years. Kendra and I pranked Monica by telling her Kendra was getting married when the unsuspecting cousin asked us what was new. Aaron and I took turns playing the Piano in between Uncle Mark and I discussing Eastern European culture and which languages we had learnt or were learning. I gave and Kristi a shoulder rub and Mom enveloped various cousins in bear hugs and commented on how they had grown while laughing with Monica about her difficult girls. At one point, Yahiya – ‘Grandma’ in Greek and Uncle Mark’s mother, but who we all call Yahiya and she calls us all sweetie – said, “Roy would have loved tonight. All the laughter and performances and the kids; it’s a party and he would have loved to be here and enjoy this.”
The evening after his funeral, we all gathered around the table in the kitchen with our various beverages and laughed long and loud about our crazy family. “Remember when you did this embarrassing thing and Grandpa said this” or “He did that and Grandma said this and then we all did such and such” stories were told. Some old ‘hush hush’ family secretes, and stories us Grandkids hadn’t known but the kids all did and had forgotten to tell us, or hadn’t wanted to before, or stuff we grandkids hadn’t thought to tell but the kids were shocked to hear, came out. And it was good and healthy and fun and loud. There was laughter and tears and cries of good natured indignation.

I’ve been really close to my Dad’s side of the family, and they have helped form and shape me into the person I am. They also love music, and traveling, and gardens. While my Grandma claims that any herbs I may sneak into the dishes when I cook for her are ‘grass and cow food’ she likes it in the long run, and what makes it especially nice is that they grew in the garden Grandpa has in the backyard. They occasionally do sporadic stuff as well, such as when my Grandma heard of the Czech couple who were going to just arrive in the US and go backpacking and insisted they stay with her until they had sufficiently learned how America works.

But it was nice to get to know my Mom’s side of the family as well. The obnoxiality is a bit more loud and in your face, and you can always count on some kind of mishap to occur and words of indignation to be expressed and if it is loud and people overhear, so be it.

I’m not going to end with any remarks of Grandma and Grandpa watching down on us in love and pride, because that doesn’t follow what I see Scripture telling us about the afterlife. If one has made a profession of faith in Jesus Christ and accepted Him as Lord and Savior, then once one dies and goes to Heaven, one is too preoccupied with the majesty of God’s glory to heed anything happening in our fallen and depraved world. This makes the grief a bit harsher at first, because one must completely let go.
However, there’s no lingering or holding on to the past.
And honestly, Christ is sufficient.
So for the foundations of both sides of the family, I am grateful and proud, because they enable me to so much more effectively serve my Savior and live out convictions.
To the ones who are now in the past of my life and no longer in the present, I am grateful for what was, wish there had been more, and say farewell.
To those who have been in and out of my past and hopefully will reoccur in the pages of my future, it was fun despite the pain and I hope there is more fun to come.
To those who have always been there, I hope you will continue to be there for many more years to come.
And to Jesus, who has given and taken away all of this, I say, The learning curves have been steep and the road bumpy and the sky rainy for quite some time. Any time You want to let up… sooner rather than later would be nice! However, as deplorable as sanctification may be, I know You work all things together for Good. So Thank You. Although I might be saying that through clenched teeth every now and again.

The End.
Now I'm not sure if I've offended, and if so I humbly ask pardon. But as I said, those of my maternal side of the family are not ones to sugar coat what they think or feel, they just put it out there. So I'm merely following my genetic predisposition. :-) Which is inconsistant with my views of sanctification and biblical living, but thats a discussion for another day. :-)

Quick testimony

I hate writing book reports when you've only read half the book. The trouble is I LIKE all these books, I just don't have time to finish them. Doggonit. Anyway. I came across this cool story in my Political Science class and felt the need to share. I finished 1 book report. 3 to go tonight. *sigh* But I have successfully found warm meals for my family for tomorrow night and the morning after, and comfortable beds for all of them to sleep in. Now I just need to find a way to get to the funeral after I finish my horrible math final. AAAGH! Prayer please. I'm not going to sleep much this night.
Anyway here ya go. Hope you enjoy.

It was a Saturday evening in Belfast, September 25, 1982. As twenty-year-old Karen McKeown drove her mother, Pearl, home from a special service at their Protestant church, she was still humming the song the choir had sung: "I will enter into His courts with Praise."
mother and daughter talked about Karen's classes at Queen's University, Pearl's early shift the next morning at the hospital, the contact lens Karen had lost.
Pearl watched Karen, thinking her daughter had never looked prettier. Her dark hair was glossy and thick with a determined curl that karen spent much of her energy trying to tame. Her new white sweater and skirt set off her dark eyes and pale complexion beautifully. She has so much ahead of her, Pearl thought proudly.
Karen dropped off her mother at home, waved good-bye, and headed back to the church to help clean up for Sunday services. She pulled into the church parking lot, got out, and was locking the car when a young man appeared by her side.
"I want you to know that I'm going to shoot you," he said, placing a heavy pistol against the base of Karen's neck.
He pulled the trigger.
The bullet ripped into Karen's neck and tore through her spinal column. She collapsed onto the concrete, bleeding and paralyzed, unable to breathe. Her assailant ran away into the night.
Friends in the church ehard the crack of the gun and called the ambulance, which took Karen to the Royal Victoria Hospital. By the time Pearl and John McKeown arrived, their daughter was fighting for her life in intensive care.
Pearl refused to believe that Karen was the latest victim in Belfast's endless violence. Only as she sat day after day by her daughter's bedside, did the full implication dawn.
Karen could still communicate, and Pearl would lean close to her face as she mouthed her words. It was through those words that Pearl learned the answers to the bloody bitterness of Northern Ireland.
One afternoon when she arrived to visit, she found Karen propped up on several crisp white hospital pillows with tubes coming out of ehr throat, nose, and arms. Machines, screens, and dials monitored her every breath.
Karen's eyes brightened when she saw her mother. "Mum," she mouthed, "Could you squeeze my hands?"
Pearl gripped the slender fingers.
Karen's eyes fell. "I can't feel anything," she said. After a pause she continued,"But it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that we trust the Lord and never give the Devil a victory."
The inverted glass container of an intravenous tube was dripping a solution into Karen's veins, and the drug made her sleepy. Her eyelids batted a few times; then she drifted into sleep.
Pearl sat down in the armchair next to the bed, bowed her head, and wept. A few minutes later she looked up and discovered Karen awake again.
"Mum," she whispered, "you think you have troubles. But just think about the troubles his mum has.
When he said he was going to shoot me, I thought he was one of the boys from church, and i laughed," Karen continued. "It was as if the Lord put His arms around me. When I hit the ground I was still laughing."
Late that evening at home Pearl went into Karen's cluttered room and picked up her thick leather Bible. It had been a Christmas gift a year and a half earlier and was already worn, its pages marked with Karen's notes and underlinings. Pearl looked at the inside cover page where Karen had witten, "To be a brave disciple is to be a bond slave to Jesus Christ, and to find that His service is perfect freedom."
In teh book of Job she found more notes. "this is not an explanation but an inspiration. Job's soul was a battleground without his knowledge. Could this be the reason for suffering today? In all cases, God is supreme and just. The Devil functions within God's purpose." Karen's underlining clotted the chapters of Job. "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in Him.... You will lie down, and no one will make you afraid."
pearls eyes filled with tears. Here in her daughter's strong, square script were notes that clearly prefigured what had happened. If this is how Karen views suffering, Pearl thought, then this is how I must see what has happened to her.
Meanwhile, the forensic results came back from the crime lab; the bullet taken from karen's neck was from the same gun used to assassinate a prominent attorney. The gun could be traced to the INLA, the Irish National Liberation Army, a Catholic terrorist organization.
The next day Pearl went home, tired and frustrated, to pick up the mail before returning to Karen's bedside. A thin white envelope fell out of the stack of get-well cards and letters. The handwriting was unfamiliar. Her eyes went to the return address: Her Majesty's Prison, Magilligan.
She slit the envelope and unfolded the sheet inside. The writer explained that he had heard about Karen's attack through a Bible stud in his prison. He was, he said, an ex-INLA prisoner who had become a Christian. he was no longer a member of the organization responsible for Karen's attack, but he wanted to ask Mrs. McKeown's forgiveness and permission to pray for Karen. Would she mind?
Pearl stared at the letter in her hand. The signature read "Liam McCloskey." she thought about ehr daughter's peaceful face, about the underlined verses in her Bible, and about her forgiving spirit and absolute trust in Christ. She realized Karen would welcome this man's request.
Pearl jotted a quick note to Liam McCloskey, enclosing an old photograph of karen and telling him a little about her daughter and her faith.
...One autumn evening as the men in the Magilligan Bible study met for prayer, a young girl named Karen McKeown headed their list. Dr. Holley had told them the week before about the young Protestant girl who had been shot by the INLA. Their prayer list always contained victims of the Troubles, but Liam had felt a special responsibility for Karen's suffering. He had written to her mother.
"I head from Mrs. McKeown," Liam said, passing Karen's picture around the circle. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about her."
The group bowed their heads and joined hands. Then, one by one, the former terrorists - Catholic and Protestant - prayed for Karen McKeown and her family, asking that God heal this latest young victim of Belfast's violence.
Liam closed the prayer with the words he ahd first prayed during his months on the hunger strike. "Not ours, Lord, but Thy will be done."

By the end of her second week in the hospital, Karen slept a little more each day. Pearl treasured the moments she was awake. By the third week, meningitis set in, and Karen slipped into a coma.
Then, early one morning while the rain fell outside the hospital windows, Pearl watched her daughter die.
Shortly after that, another letter arrived from Liam McCloskey.
"Pearl, we make strange friends in this troubled land. It is to the glory of God and He who makes it possible. Remember John 8:51, 'And I tell you most solemly. Whoever keeps My Word will never see death.' Karen has left us, and even though it was no choice of mine, yet you can make a conscious decision in your own mind to see it as a gift of God. Your beautiful daugher to our beautiful Father who knows best. Surely the peace of Christ will be yours."

(Later, when Liam was released from prison and was speaking at a Prison Fellowship meeting)

Pearl climbed the stage steps and walked slowly toward Liam, arms outstretched. They hugged. Then Pearl held Liam's hand as she tearfully explained how Karen's death had been to God's glory.
"Liam told me his prayer is now that of St. Francis," she said. " "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is death, life. Where despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy." And Liam has been God's instrument of peace to me," she concluded in a chocked voice. "For he is the one who has showed me how to love God again."
By now tears glistened in many eyes as the audience strained to capture the incredible tableau: The two former terrorists, Catholic and Protestant, once sworn enemies, now standing together as brothers in Christ; the bereaved Protestant mother and the Catholic terrorist, holding hands.
Such is the reconciling power of God in Northern Ireland.

Charles Colson, God and Government: An Insider's View on the Boundaries Between Faith and Politics. Copyright 2007. Pages 394-396, 414-416

Szia Baratom. Bye friend. And Happy Mother's Day

This was the first picture Erzsebet Borzasi and I took together in 2004. I was 17, had no fashion sense, and was just beginning to seriously ask myself if I was called to long term missions. I had been feeling my heart tugged the entire week that Romania was someplace I could and would spend a considerable amount of time long-term in my future.

My first memory of a decent interaction with Erzsebet was when I was on my way to the outhouse and the dog decided to jump up at me and bark/snarl/snap at me. Scared me to death. I jumped back and let out a yelp myself. I turned around and there was Erzsebet, trying to communicate something to me in Hungarian. finally she made a thumping motion on her heart and with her eyes dancing with exultation at finding the right English word said, "Fright! Fright! yes?" Those were the only words in English I ever remember her saying, but it was by far not the only communication we had.

The day I left Ipp in 2005, Erzsebet came to me and gave me a hug and we took that first picture. She turned to me and asked me a question. Her grandson translated: "Will you come back to Romania?" I looked in the dear old lady's eyes and knew I couldn't tell her a flippant comforting nothing. Could I commit to coming back to Romania? I said a quick prayer and felt the Lord's peace say, ''yes." So I told her. "Yes, one day I will come back." And I did, a year and a half later, and two years after that, and a year after that.

Last summer as I was once again preparing to leave the Borzasi's house to travel to a Gypsy village to do ministry, Erzsebet found me packing in the bedroom. "When are you coming back?" she asked. We looked at each other. She nodded. "You don't know. Well, we pray it will be soon, and I look forward to seeing you again." Me too, Erzsi.

The thought at the time briefly crossed my mind, "What if something happens to Erzsi? She is old." But then I felt assurance that I'd see her again.

Two days ago I checked my email and saw the message with the subject, "Funeral" from Erzsebet's grandson. I thought it was one of the many humerous forwards he often sends me. Instead it was a brief message that caused me to try not to cry there in the library. Erzsebet had gone home to be with Jesus an hour before he wrote that message.

His cousin Johanna gave me more details this morning. Erzsi had been sick for a while and suffered a stroke last week. Apparently she had shown some recovery, but Friday wasn't feeling good. That evening, with Magda her youngest daughter there, she died. Her older daughter, Marta, was in the village but not present when she went.

This picture was also taken in 2005, and is Magda and I just before our vans left Romania. Magda and I have been good friends from the first. Our relationship has been rather odd, as we muddle our way through stilted English and worse Hungarian. But she's put up with my cultural 'woops' moments and I'm sure I've accidently insulted her more than once as I've tried to piece together my thoughts into a foreign language and grammar. She's held me while I cried and smiled while I ranted at the various momentary crises I was going through at that particular moment. And she's always had a cup of tea and hot meal waiting as I return from various adventures and eagerly listened and even asked for stories of said adventures.

When I had mentally registered the fact that Erzsebet was Home, my first thoughts went to Magda. Erzsebet and her husband, Marton, lived in their younger daughter's home. I knew Magda would be hurting. Talking with her on the phone today confirmed it. Having gone through some rough times myself recently, I knew words could only do so much. She asked me twice if not three times, "Just come here. Just come visit. When are you arriving? Please come." Ohhhh my friend. If only the doors were open, but they are closed now. As soon as they open, be sure I will come and sit by you in the garden once again. All I could tell her though was the truths I've clung to throughout the storms of the last seven months: God loves you. God is with you. Its okay to cry. Be strong, but don't see tears as not being strong. Its okay to cry. I love you. God loves you.

I know Erzsebet is in Heaven now. while I loved reading Psalms to her in Hungarian, I'm glad she doesn't need someone to read to her anymore or use those big cumbersome spectacles; she has a new body and is staring in the face of Jesus. Although I loved laughing with her about how we were both a minority in the village with our blue eyes, I'm glad she is in Heaven where she doesn't have to worry about her blue eyes getting weak and sore throughout the day. While I miss hearing her shuffle down the hallway, I'm glad she can jump for joy at God's goodness now. While I am sorry I won't hear her rasp when I visit the village again as she walks, I'm so thankful she can breathe easy now. Our loss, her gain.

This is Magda and Marta, Erzsebet's daughters. Marta is herself a Grandma, and Magda hopes to be one soon. :-) The Hungarians of Transylvania are a strong breed, and as I told Magda, now her heart is hurting but soon she will smile again. And I am thankful that I too am smiling again. My mom scolded me once last year because she said I always brought home the saddest stories from Romania. Well, yes, that's true. But they make me so thankful that these aren't MY story, and they help me realize how much I have to be thankful. This mother's day, while I'm grieving for my friend Marta's loss of her mother, I am reminded again how blessed I am to have my own mother still around.

She's not a Transylvanian Hungarian, she's an American of Germanic heritage. She isn't quiet, but full of snap and spice. She doesn't wait for me to come back from my adventures, she is right there helping me plan them out (often obnoxiously making me very much aware of the holes and problems of my ideas, making me re-think them and improve them so much more than I would have on my own) She helped make me who I am. While we have plenty of miscommunications -even though we both speak English fluently - we always laugh and hug at the end of them. She's the best mom ever, and I love her a lot.

So Happy Mother's Day, near and far!

Christmas greetings from the tundra

Back home again, jiggety jig. Well, that is to say, back with family. We are currently residing in a rather new rental home that is gorgeous, but entirely not what we are used to here in the Great Plains. There is a dishwasher, for pete's sake!!! I actually had to ask my 6-year old sister how to run it when Mom and Dad were out having dinner. She didn't know either, so we spent about a minute looking at the machine full of dishes, and finally one of the two of us suggested putting the newly-discovered dishwasher solution in the designated compartment in the door. Miraculously I pushed the right buttons in the right sequence, and the thing produced automatically sterilized dishes in about an hour.
Now the thing about dishwashers is that they don't ever actually WASH the dishes, they simply squirt water and soap suds at the dishes and then rinse it. Therefore we have to make sure the dishes are mostly clean before we put them in, which in my mind is half the job so why not do the other half while we're at it? However since there are now 7 people living here, 'just doing the other half' would take the hour that the dishwasher covers. Okay then.
Anyhoo. Am done with Christmas shopping and did about two thirds of my wrapping last night with my sister. She brought down two mugs full of egg-nog topped with some gourmet cinnamon purchased at the World Market and a bowl full of peppermints and we listened to christmas music on the computer whilst sharing war stories of how this or that was purchased. half the fun of Christmas is not neccesarily the GIFT but the story that goes WITH the gift. We don't do huge gifts here, like i-pods or what have you, but a small collection of tiny gifts that we put lots of thought and hopefully less money into. It drags the time gathered around the Christmas tree out longer, more laughts, more time to eat whatever ambrosia my Mom has concocted for that year, more stories shared.
Looks like we'll get a white Christmas, which is awesome, and the temperatures have stayed above 0 for two days. Happiness!
It's wierd living in this new house (the farmhouse was almost 100 years old) with mocha-colored walls and new kitchen appliances. But its been fun, also helping mom pick out new furniture and hear amazing stories about how so many people around the country even have chipped in to bless the socks off my family.
Now I have to go finish reading a book for class (two more chapters left!!) write a report on it, figure out what reading reports I have left on it, and then that class will be DONE. Which will be 3 out of 4. Whahooo!!

~Princess Ouch~

Plans... as it were

So I am making my way across the Upper South/General Midwest back home to the Great Plains. This might be the worst-planned trip I've done in a while. My communication - especially with those at home - has been random, spur-of-the-moment, sporadic, and sparingly done. I was going to stay with my friend Kristi but we had a mix-up as far as communication went and that ended up not working out, so I'm staying with Amy. Which is fine, fun, and not a problem in either camp, just not what was planned on. However the PLAN wasn't really well developed or communicated in the first place.
The good news is that Amy, Kristi, and I are all Missions Majors, single, and young, and therefore perfectly fine with hopping around, switching plans, revising things here and there and postponing things or adding things or what have you.
However, on my family's end that doesn't work so well. There are far more people involved, car situations to manage and figure out, work schedules and co-ops to work around, parents don't enjoy driving for hours and hours in the wintertime as my peers and I (who think we've accomplished something all grown up and independant when we semi-risk our lives pulling a stunt like hours and hours driving thru cornfields after missing the right exit on the interstate and not wanting to back-track so pull out the map and revise our plans so that we keep moving forward, albeit at a far slower pace than on the interstate) and have been under intense stress and bizzare living arrangements for a while which makes spur-of-the-moment plan changes or sketcy communication an unwelcome complication.
So then therefore, I once again must pull myself back out of the clouds and back into reality where people are considerate of one another and communicate, and don't do things madly dashing about without thinking things thoroughly through and planning logically.
I will say its a good conviction to have such wake-up calls to my absent-mindedness, but I'll also admit to the irritation I feel when people can't do things as haphazardly as I do. In my mind, it's not that big of a deal and merely something to work around: a puzzle to be conquered.
But that's the thing about considering others. My own mindset is not the only one to consider. One day I too will quite possibly be managing a large(r) number of people, be working with adverse circomstances and challenging scenarios.
It's always a huge debate within myself between what my friends at college call "The Gypsy in Rachel" - to simply drop all and travel wherever, whenever, contact people when I show up or when I get to where I'm going .... or afterwards - and the need to be considerate of others and keep them happy and considered and pleased with me. Where I'm at or where I'm going is what is in my mind - where I have been (if I'm focused on where I'm at) or where I am (if I'm focusing on where I'm going) for some reason doesn't register as important. This is useful in ministry in that it helps putting oneself whole-heartedly into whatever is being done immensily... but it's TERRIBLE if there's people in one's life - say a Mom - who care and are effected by decisions.

So... all that to say... apologies all around to those who weren't communicated with effectively this trip cross-country. Hopefully with the acquizition of a cell phone I'll be easier to get ahold of.
Oh... wow... I'll own a cell phone again....
Not sure whether to gasp in pleasure or groan in dread.

Off to do some reading before bed.

~Princess Ouch~
(literally in this case)

update yet again

Technically the semester is over for all the undergrad students. The graduate students - including my dear Roberto - have this week off for Thanksgiving and then finals are next week. Most undergrad's are rejoicing in the completion of the end of the semester. I am smiling, and trying to work up the discipline to finish up the half-semester's worth of homework I fell behind on.
I am truly pitiful in this regard right now. I simply
don't
want
to
do
it.

I want to go play in the leaves, cook delicious, unhealthy food with my friend Samantha, go for walks or sit on a bench with Robbie, play with my new hair-style my Ukrainian friend Olya gave me (Thanks Olya!!), goof off on the computer, listen to the Seminary guys debate minute details they have to think about for THEIR homework while I semi-blissfully blow off mine.
I also need to start thinking about going home for Christmas, transportation there and back, moving off campus next semester, fixing my van's windshield and registering it, packing up my room.
But its been a gorgeous Indian summer. Some girls have left for the holidays but lots of my good friends are still in the girls dorms and full of laughter and funny stories that I missed out on while all the chaos was raging around me earlier this semester.
There's blog posts from my mom to catch up on, new videos from the ministries I worked with in Romania to watch, international students with intriguing languages to try to learn, new holiday recipies to try.
But this paper needs to be written, the car NEEDS to be registered, that book needs to be read and reported on.
Blast.
And so I do the responsible thing. Flee to the Library where I can LOOK like I'm being mature and adult-ish and doing homework, but in reality am zooming around cyberspace, doing zilch.
So please pray that I will DESIRE to get stuff done in a timely manner, that I won't be overwhelmed by all the tiny details of responsibilities that must be done in the next few weeks.
See that's the thing. Its only two more weeks before all the deadlines hit, and then once thats done it's all over with. I just need to hold out for TWO MORE stinkin' weeks, then I'm FINISHED.
But I want the two weeks to be NOW. Shoot. C'mon Rachel, put your nose back to the grindstone for just a TEENSY bit more, then you can relax.

I'm also going through the realization that when I go home, there won't be an 8 foot Christmas tree waiting for me and an old farm house full of twinkle lights and holiday secrets hidden away in random corners of the house. There won't be an obnoxiously small, outdated Kitchen with half-working appliances somehow choking out festive, frothy drinks and delicious, unhealthy treats for us to munch on after getting in from the wind-swept, frozen 10 acres and chores.

If there is a house, it will be a rental house. The furniture won't be dilapidated yet full of fun memories of tickling siblings or naps after mission trips or fun movie-watching/quoting/commenting/anaylizing/diagnosing sessions. It will be new and might even match, and therefore not really mine.

Its hitting me that at some point I'll have to see the burned-out house, and that I'll probably cry, and thats not something I really want to do. I don't want to be emotional or sad or weak. It's Christmas, for freakin' crying out loud. I want to be the happy, bubbly Mary Poppins for my siblings who swoops in all cheery and sunshiny, with fun stories about college and girls dorms for my mom and sister and theological questions for my dad and fun stories about what the guys said and about what a particular guy said and getting Dad's all-wise, always knowing, usually humerous take on it.
And there will be a good deal of that, but it will also be a lot of processing, grieving, seeing the anxt and worry and grief my family is going through. Seeing the new lines of stress and worry on my parent's face and the new gray hairs in my dad's beard. Trying to be an encouragement for my sisters but not having the answers they want or need. Trying to hold up my brothers but not knowing how to really soothe where its hurting.

These thoughts pop in between the thoughts about where to take the car to get fixed, how to pay for this bill or that bill or thinking that bill was paid but it wasn't really, and that paper needs written and it'll be easy but I just don't want to do it.

And so I've successfully killed another 1/2 hour of time, not really getting anything productive done however getting some processing and venting done. Booh.

So now I really am off to write that paper.

~Princess Ouch~