food in the land of boiled meat and mutton

some of these are repeats for those who also look at my Facebook photos, but FB wasn't letting me upload more recent ones of our хуушууp.

Бууз- dumplings filled with meat (I'm not sure what kind of meat these had as we just kind of guessed and picked up a bag of them at the supermarket). We ate them with rice.





хуушууp- fried dough filled with meat (beef or mutton) and onions. Holli and I added tomatoes to ours in order to get some veggies, but they aren't normally served with them.





They are a fan of mutton (and meat in general) here in Mongolia. As several Mongolians have jokingly said, it's because you need the meat to keep from freezing during the winter. The thing is, they laugh while saying this, but there is a certain truth to the statement.

Today, as part of language class, we went to a market near our apartment with one of our teachers. The meat market was a sight to see- whoa dead animals laying out on counters, hanging as full carcasses and being chopped up for sale.

We stuck to practicing our fruit and vegetable buying skills, as I think it will be quite a lot longer before either Holli or I feel brave enough to buy meat from the meat market.

It's been a blessing to have a kitchen in which to cook and bake. Today we foraged three stores for cake and biscuit making supplies.

The cake turned out pretty well- we only have one pan and its not really a baking pan, so the bottom/edges of the cake burned and stuck to it, but once we managed to get it out of the pan, it tasted fairly good. I'm just happy that cake baking is an option.



And then Holli made us biscuits for dinner (we ate them with soup). We were a little nervous about how they'd turn out because she had to make her own buttermilk (and substitute regular flour for self-rising flour).

But they turned out delicious:



A successful day in our Mongolian kitchen!

I'm also hoping to learn how to make хуушууp. The wife of one of the Mongolian staff members said she'd teach us, so I'm excited to get some cooking lessons:-)

laugh, my friend.

I've been using the word adventure to describe many of the happenings of these past two weeks. And those adventures, both big and small, have brought laughter to Holli and I.

At some points, tears streaming down your face, hold your sides laughter.

My lovely roommate, fellow Mission Intern and fellow adventure-er wrote this post describing some of the quirks of Mongolia and UB that we are learning to enjoy and I thought it was worth sharing here as well.

And as a bit of addendum to her list....

We're still sans hot water. To paraphrase one of the Mongolian staff members, "Sometimes the hot water just doesn't come." :-)

Aren't you glad you don't have to live in close proximity to our non-showering selves?

One of our Mongolian teachers called Holli (on her cell phone) this evening and made her practice one of the few Mongolian dialogues we know before telling her that we should be prepared for tomorrow because we're going to take a taxi with our other teacher to the market and buy something.

Do your teachers call you at home to warn you?

While laying on the floor of our living room doing yoga this evening, I heard the faint strains of the Black Eyed Peas' song "I Gotta Feeling" playing in the apartment below. Add the sounds of a Mongolian child trying to sing along. Then picture me calling Holli into the living room, both of us sprawling on the floor (she wrapped in her comforter), listening to Fergie through our carpet and laughing.

Joy does indeed make for a good, good night.

"..and who decides which words get to be masculine and which are feminine?"

Six days into our ten days of language classes and I am once again reminded of how humbling it is to try and learn a new language.

I have been reflecting on how it requires some form of comparison. And by that, I mean that we learn second and third and fourth (and so on) languages by how they relate to our first.

My mouth tries to pronounce Mongolian words by how their sounds match up with the English alphabet.

My mind tries to form sentences by thinking about how the structure differs from that of English.

Concepts of conjugation, grammar and tenses are all learned by how they do and do not differ from that of the language I've spent the past 20 some years speaking, writing and reading.

I can (attempt) to learn Mongolian by comparing it to English. My framework for conceptualizing language is English and it is there that I try to build new ways of understanding words, meanings, sounds, sentences.

Yet the goal is that at some point such comparison will no longer be necessary. That I will be able to stop thinking in English and translating into Mongolian. That I will be able to stop comparing suffix endings in Mongolian with different tenses in English.

The comparison gives me a starting point, a foothold, a place where reflection and observation and understanding can begin to take place.

The learning, the practice, the daily use will hopefully allow for the words, the pronunciations and the grammar to be internalized.

To become a part of the framework instead of puzzle pieces trying to fit within a border that cannot fully or properly contain them.

Is the same not true of our hearts, our concepts of life and all that it contains?

Moving from one context, one space, one community, to another- we start with what we know and we ask what is the same, what is different, what fails to make sense in light of what we have left.

And then we live life in this new space.

We cook and we shop and we work and we speak and we worship and we rest.

Suddenly we are no longer comparing in order to comprehend. We ourselves have been enlarged. We have found that the context that was once outside of us is now a part of us. That in a multitude of quiet, small moments, we have reconciled what we knew with what we now know.

Our realities shift from being sharp, contrasting edges to soft, shared colors mixing together to create a whole new image. A whole new space from which we may live and see and know God.

12 days is simply that- 12 days. 12 mornings, afternoons, evenings. And in these 12 days of being present in Mongolia, I have been reminded of what it means to be in this place of a framework that cannot fully hold what is trying to find its way in. Only time can bring such reconciliation.

But I am praying that the process would begin anew. That any hesitant vestiges of the old framework would be torn down. That God's grace would be with me as I try to live in the tension of this way.

(Holli and I made a video of us explaining the way we remember the Cyrillic alphabet, but neither of our computers are wanting to download it from my camera. We'll see if I can figure it out, as it's pretty amusing:-))

pilgrimage

Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may have her young-a place near your altar,
O Lord Almighty, my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you.
Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rain also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.

-Psalm 84:3-7

The sun is not yet rising, darkness awaits outside my window, coldness seeping in even as pipes rattle with the sound of hot water coming to bring warmth. The dark shadows of mountains in the distance hint at morning light to come. It is early, it is new, it is a resting place not yet worn by countless nights.

The Psalmist's words echo in my soul. May my heart be set on pilgrimage.

Steps muffled by rugs, stretching out on our living room floor, pondering which substitute for running will best satisfy my need to move and breath and surrender in the rising morning hour. Jump rope? Jillian Michaels and her circuits? Hip Hop abs? Yoga podcast? Thoughts circle, settle and circle some more as motion begins.

May my heart be set on pilgrimage.

Remembering to switch the water from the sink to the shower head. Clothes slipped into in layers, day-long warmth found in bulk. Breakfast, prayer, scarves, coats, gloves, backpacks. Steps into the day, into the city, into the streets, into Mongolia.

May my heart be set on pilgrimage.

A bus to school, green and curiously adorned with Mandarin characters. Language classes that fill my mind with letters and words that my mouth struggles to pronounce. Home again to find lunch from our cupboards, our breath still visible in the air as we walk; lost in thought, lost in translation, lost in the wandering land of verbs and vowels and "survival" dialogues.

May my heart be set on pilgrimage.

Flashcards dutifully made and used.
Crumbling sidewalks and street dogs our companions as we walk and explore.
Bundled little ones so encased in winter clothing they can barely move, their eyes peeking out from between hats pulled low and scarves pulled high.

Curious looks as we pass by, questions in the eyes of those who see our hair, our eyes, our skin and know.
In a game of what does not belong, I am the spoon between two cups.

May my heart be set on pilgrimage.

A pilgrimage is a journey, set apart because of its reflective nature. It is a journey of movement, a journey of attentiveness, a journey hoped to transform.

Psalm 84 speaks of one's yearning for God's dwelling place, that the temple might come to mean for us a search for our heart's full dwelling in His presence.

A pilgrimage cannot be embarked upon without a willingness to follow the path as it unfolds.

One can physically move themselves around the world and never set their heart on a journey towards his dwelling.

One can remain physically at home and yet set their heart on pilgrimage.

Mongolia stretches out before me as I awake and live and sleep in these days.

Discovery greets each simple thing made an adventure.

And as I find myself laughing about cows in parking lots and crazy driving patterns and new foods, I find myself praying that my heart would seek his face.

That I would not fail to remember that his path leads not only to physical spaces of country, city and town; but to his presence.

That out of this journey there might spring forth a deep understanding of his call, of his love, of his heart for his children.

That as transition and change and learning fill my mind, that I would not fail to set my heart adrift, amidst...willing to discover what is to be found in the unknown.

May our hearts be set on pilgrimage.

success is small

It is the teeny, tiny things that you do without hesitation or a second thought in your native country that become small victories against the great unknown new-ness.

Between yesterday and today Holli and I have managed to:

Shower
Eat breakfast and make tea
Navigate snow and ice covered steps without any kind of guard rail and not fall
Go to the bank and get Mongolian money (I don't know how to spell the word yet or I would)
Buy blankets, pillows and some food
Sleep a somewhat normal amount at somewhat normal hours
Workout with my Jillian Michaels DVD and some jumping rope
Take a walk and find the Parliament House (by accident, but still)
Not freeze while taking that walk
Find our way home from the walk
Make lunch- pasta and spaghetti sauce!
Watch crazy TV in Russian, Korean, Chinese- a few channels even have English subtitles. (If you can believe this, we actually get some form of Russian MTV- which included a dubbed over episode of "Pimp my Ride")

It is these matters of survival, no matter how tiny they are, that remind me that even in the midst of fear and anxiety and head-spinning change, God is wrapping his faithful, loving arms around us and saying, "This is possible. Just breath. Just focus on these small acts of survival right now and the rest will come."

As Holli and I were praying together this morning, I was struggling to come up with some way to describe how it feels to be here- to be surrounded by a language I don't understand in the slightest, to be surrounded by people I don't yet know, to be in a culture I don't really understand right now and to yet still somehow be present in this reality.

And the best that I can think of is this; that it feels like my heart and my life and my mind have been turned upside down and shaken all around and everything is swirling.

And there are moments, in prayer and in conversation and in reflection, where God's peace wells up in me and I can feel stability in the midst of the swirling. I am so grateful for that grounding.

And yet I think there is still going to be a lot of swirling for the time being.

Pray that the swirling would keep leading me to my knees- that dependence on the Lord would be an act that brings joy even as it is a matter of survival:-)

Thinking of my dear ones all over the world on this day and feeling grateful- for my fellow missionaries, for my family, for my friends, for all that stumble upon these stories through one avenue or another.

It is my prayer that all of us might come to further know what it means to live in the hope of His faithfulness.

hello, ulaanbaatar

We made it.

We're here and have made it through our first night and day.

All of our luggage made it too and we've already managed to unpack and begin making our apartment a place where we can be comfortable (and hopefully warm:-))

We don't have Internet yet at the apartment, but once we do (we think maybe in a few days) I promise a longer, more detailed post.

Until then, know that I'm in the midst of lots of processing and praying and that Holli and I are being shown the ropes of life in Mongolia by some wonderfully kind GBGM folk.

a together credo

Created by weaving together parts of what each of us as Mission Interns and US-2s shared to be our credos:

These statements are rooted in our stories, unified to make this everchanging credo.

We believe...

There is beauty in nature, the simple and the very complex.

We are created to be in relationship and community.

Rededicating ourselves to the long and bitter-but-beautiful struggle for a new world.

There is unity in our diversity.

Grace is an invitation to the beautiful.

Blessed is this life and we're gonna celebrate being alive.

We can either stomp or sway in the struggle.

There is love in the midst of fear.

Struggle is where we learn the most.

God is everywhere singing.

Peace can happen though love.

Life begins with joy, grows with love and is rooted in grace.

We sang, we prayed, we laughed, we lit candles and lifted up the places in which we will live and serve and celebrate.

We exchanged Christmas presents, a tiny gold tree hosting our gifts selected for one another. And we spoke words of truth and joy and life to one another, that each of us might remember we are not alone.

Together we journey with Christ towards what is next.

Our flight for South Korea is scheduled to leave this afternoon at 2 p.m. and then we board another flight to Ulaanbaatar. If all goes as planned (:-)), we should be in Mongolia around 11 a.m. eastern time on Thursday.

As soon as I have Internet access again I'll post to let everyone know we're safe and sound.

I am walking into the adventures of the unknown, grateful that I am not alone.

transitory

"This is the miracle of seeking to understand. When we try to understand another, we reveal ourselves, and in revealing ourselves we are able to be understood. Our heart declares itself to another heart, and that which is common between us becomes the bridge over which understanding crosses."

-Pg 86, Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace: Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of Saint Francis, by Kent Nerburn


(sunrise over the mountains in Stony Point, NY)

The reality of any kind of training is that it consists of a lot of listening, dialogue, power point presentations and note-taking.

We've had discussions about poverty, the theology of missions, diversity and communications.

We've learned how to submit reimbursement forms, received insurance forms and talked about how words like home and community will be fundamentally changed by our becoming missionaries who live and travel in between places and people.

And we have laughed and danced and laughed some more.

How I wish I could convey the scene of 20 some missionaries of all ages and from all kinds of places playing elbow tag and dancing to Aretha Franklin, Journey and the Macarena yesterday evening. It was hilariously fun.

The words we've shared and the presentations we've heard have helped us to hear one another.

But I think those moments of side-splitting laughter have allowed us to understand one another.

We've had plenty of information thrown at us in the past two weeks.

But perhaps what has been the most helpful has been the creation of a physical place of transition.

A place not familiar but not yet foreign.
A place in which it is safe, healthy and good to be in between...in between places, work and physical realities of routine and patterns.
A place where a transitory time of life can be shared with others who are there too.

frequently asked questions

What are you doing?

I'm serving as a Mission Intern with the General Board of Global Ministries of the United Methodist Church.

For more information on this specific program, check out this webpage.

There are five other Mission Interns who will be serving in South Africa and Cambodia (as well as one with me in Mongolia) and five US-2s who will be serving for two years in various parts of the United States.

Both programs are committed to enabling young adults to serve as missionaries in contexts where we can explore issues of social justice and what it means to serve our neighbors both internationally and nationally.

Where will you be serving? How long will you be gone?

My commitment is for three years.

The first year and a half is spent in international service.

I will be living and working in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. UB is the capital city of Mongolia.

My flight for Mongolia departs on October 14. I don't know the exact date of my return except that it will be roughly 16 months from now.

The second year and a half is spent in the United States.

My placement in the U.S. won't be determined until closer to when I'm supposed to come back to the U.S.

Where is Mongolia?

It is in Asia, with Russia to the north and China to the south, east and west.



Will you be there with anyone? Where will you be living?

I will be living and working with another Mission Intern, Holli. I'm already incredibly grateful for her friendship and for the fact that they've chosen to send us together.

Holli and I will be living together in an apartment that has been found for us by the current United Methodist missionaries working in Ulaanbaatar.

What exactly will you be doing?

Nothing is certain, but this is what I know:

There are four United Methodist missionaries who we will be joining in UB. They lead several United Methodist churches, a hospice program and two mission centers.

I will most likely serve primarily at the mission centers and churches. It seems that we will be helping with the children's ministries, after-school programs and youth ministries, as well as with anything else that arises.

The reality is that it is difficult to know what exactly I will be doing until I'm there.

Why the blog title?

This post explains it in more detail, but the short answer is that it comes from a phrase I used when telling bedtime stories to some of the children I used to baby-sit.

If you have other questions you'd like answered, leave them in the comments section and I'll update this post accordingly. (Assuming they are of public interest of course:-))

until later

I can distinctly remember my first few agonizing weeks at SMU.

Laying on my dorm room bed, wondering if Dallas would ever become home, if it would ever be a place of comforting familiarity instead of the lonely unknown. It was a time of transition, a few tentative steps towards discovering life in a new city.

And then, last week, it was time to leave instead of come. To pack up instead of to settle in.

Discovering and exploring Dallas was a gift. Loving and learning in the midst of the people there was a deep, abundant blessing.

It was here that I began to discover what it means to live in the rhythm of the Holy Spirit.



What does it mean to reclaim the rhythm of life and beauty and love?

To reclaim it as the Lord's- to sit around in a circle with brothers and sisters and to read the Creation story and to make music and to reflect and to worship and to say:

This, this goodness that cannot be expressed with words- it is His and we reclaim it as the story of lives lived in his presence, at his feet, in his hands.

We marvel at it together; like a silent, invisible share and tell- possible only because we can use one another as reflections from which we can more clearly see it.

Together we mirror the Divine back to one another, together our hearts sing at knowing this glimpse of divinity. Together we praise Him and thank Him and claim his covenant. Together we are his people and he is our God.

I have experienced this gift of the truth of community life in Dallas. Physically leaving it was difficult, possible only because of the peace I feel about what is to come. Possible because Christian community is not limited by the physical bounds of time and space.

And now I'm in transition again, experiencing an expansion of my community as I fellowship with my fellow Mission Interns and US-2s and prepare for Mongolia through training in New York. More to come as details are shared and learned.

"In the faceless crowd we experience scarcity- a scarcity of contact, of concern, of affirmation, of love. But as the crowd is replaced by community, an invisible sense of abundance arises long before the community produces any visible goods or services. True abundance resides in the simple experience of people being present to one another and for one another."
-Parker Palmer, quoted in Urges of the Heart: A Spirituality of Integration