a place

i live in a place where snowflakes fall softly
gracing the mountains with white brilliance
the streets with icy sheets
and the homes with wet blankets.
they fall in the cracks of splintering fences
and intermingle with heaps of trash.
they glide over steep dirt paths, rocky ravines
crumbling sidewalks
and they gather.

i live in a place where water buckets swing back and forth
their carrier's arms not yet heavy with sloshing liquid
the neighborhood well a normal necessity, a daily task.

i live in a place nomadic at heart
skeletal frames propped up, draped with fabric
called home. For a while, for a time, for a season
stoves warm in the middle, billowing chimneys adding to the clouds.

i live in a place marked by struggle
harsh in its taking of life, moments, growth
daily life a triumph of its own.

i live in a place of blue sky
a countryside spoken of with reverence
and pollution that chokes them both.

i live in a place where each rising and setting sun
brings wrestling, rejoicing, grieving, learning, laughing, grasping
loving.

i live in a place where i know nothing at all
and it's beautiful.

palms

"The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. They brought the donkey and the colt, placed their cloaks on them, and Jesus sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,

"Hosanna to the Son of David!"
"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"
"Hosanna in the highest!""

- Matthew 21: 6-9

Reflecting on this passage yesterday had my thoughts returning to a part in Shane Claiborne's Jesus for President. The part speaks of how Christ entering on a donkey stood in contrast to the kings and government officials and "important" people of Christ's time. People who would enter the cities with pomp and circumstance and fanciness.

To enter on a donkey was to subvert the expectations of a king. Christ was not a king as the world expected, but was the King of Heaven and Earth- divine. He was a King who knew that power and authority were not be bestowed upon him by the world, but by God.

And he knew that this would bring conflict. Yet he lived in this conflict-in the world but not of the world.

("If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you." - John 15:19)

What struck me on this Palm Sunday was what happens next.

After making it clear that he is not a king of this world but the King of heaven and earth, he goes to the temple and allows himself to be angry (Matthew 21:12-13).

Anger at how the people have perverted the temple, anger at how the conflict between the muck of the world and the coming Kingdom had allowed the muck of the world to set up shop in the temple.

And he calls them out on it, calls them out on the ways the world and the temple have become intertwined and unable to be distinguished from one another.

Couldn't the Church today be the temple?

And then, as if to further show that the world cannot heal us- he heals the blind and the lame (Matthew 21:14-16), revealing a way set apart from the world, another way. A way without using conflict or violence.

He expresses his anger at what has happened and then we walks away- letting his actions reveal the offering of an alternative- a way of wholeness and love and gentleness. He is fierce- fiercely devoted to the Way- of love, of peace, of healing, of justice and of righteousness.

The children see this and know it for what it is- they see his offering of another way and declare it good- praising God and shouting out his name.

"...and the children shouting in the temple area, "Hosanna to the Son of David..." -Matthew 21:15

Christ lets the children's words stand. He lets them speak defiance to the authorities.

"'Do you hear what these children are saying?,' [the chief priests and the teachers of the law] asked him. 'Yes,' replied Jesus, 'have you never read, "From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise?" And he left them..." -Matthew 21:16-17a

He lets their shouts be the beckoning call- the call to another way.

If only we would be humble enough to hear, to listen and to follow.

favorites: the cloister walk, day five

a busy day of teaching, of receiving grace, of being grateful for understanding words, and of eating a bizarre dinner that one could only come up with when your oven is broken, you're tired and you just want to eat something that sounds good.

ahem, rice, tuna and kidney beans. mixed together.

don't ask me. re-typing it makes it sound gross.

day five quotes:

"It would be impossible to love God without loving others, impossible to love others unless one were grounded in a healthy self-respect, and maybe, impossible to truly love at all in a totally secular way, without participating in the holy." -pg 252

"What would I find in my own heart if the noise of the world were silenced? Who would I be? Who will I be, when loss or crisis or the depredations of time take away the trappings of success, of self-importance, even personality itself?" -pg 295

"His welcome refreshed me and made me see something that's easy to lose sight of in our infernally busy lives. That we exist for each other and when we're at a low ebb, sometimes just to see the goodness radiating from another can be all we need in order to rediscover it in ourselves." -pg 367

And that is five days worth of quotes from The Cloister Walk.

Seriously, it's worth the read.

If I've bored you completely, I promise I'll be back to random mongolia news and reflections promptly.

happy friday!

beauty: the cloister walk, day four

productive days off are so nice. clean laundry, an organized gmail inbox, clean dishes, dinner cooked and the bed made. sometimes I'm so grateful just for a chance to catch my breath and sort through the daily stuff that piles up.

day four quotes:

"Maybe monks and poets know, as Jesus did when a friend, in an extravagant, loving gesture, bathed his feet in nard, an expensive fragrant oil, and wiped them with her hair, that the symbolic act matters, that those who know the exact prices of things, as Judas did, often don't know the true cost or value of anything." -pg 147

The price of something becomes invalidated when we enter into living the Kingdom into existence- for then we discover that the gift we've been given cannot be earned by a price- but is given freely, with grace, with love, with mercy- that we might in turn give wholly of ourselves.

"Real beauty is always both tough and fragile..."-pg 313

Beauty found in balance- how true, how wise, how utterly frustrating at times.

"I often think I live here because I'm a frustrated painter, drawn to painting this landscape with words. And even when I'm not writing about this place...it is the sunrises and sunsets here that ground me in the present." -pg 351

As someone who delights in both sunrises and sunsets, I couldn't help but be drawn to her words about them being something that grounds us in our daily lives- a physical sign of the passing of time, of the beauty of new mercies and the fading of hurts and struggles. Over and over they come and stand as a testament to the unfailing nature of God. And over and over we are invited to stand witness to them, recognizing their call to be present to Him and to what is before us.

ykylimw #9

so somehow I've managed to not post a single ykylimw in March. And it's now March 24.

Oops. Sorry ya'll.

Anyways....you know you live in Mongolia when...

...a coming documentary proclaims that hip-hop started in Mongolia because of the traditional throat-singing.

(You can watch the trailer at http://www.mongolianbling.com, it has some pretty cool footage of Ulaanbaatar.)

And I have no idea if the throat-singing and hip hop connection is valid, but it is humorous if for no other reason than that because of Chinggis Khan and his epic history, basically everything ends up being attributed to having originated from him, and consequently Mongolia.

As Hol said (and she's the one who found this documentary), we live where hip-hop started.

how's that for cool?

poetry: the cloister walk, day three

quotes day three:

"On the other hand, poets speak with no authority but that which the reader is willing to grant them. Our task is not to convince but to suggest, evoke, explore. And to be a poet, which at its root means "maker," to be a maker of phenomena, speaking without reference to authority but simply because the words are given you, is not necessarily welcome in the academic world." -pg 37

I'm not a poet, but her thoughts on what it means to wrestle with words and authority in relation to words echo a lot of what I have discussed and reflected on with friends when it comes to how one writes academically versus reflectively and what feels truer to self for me. For myself, there is a lot more peace in offering up words as simply my experience, rather than to claim them as some sort of truth or authoritative perspective. And yet what would we be without academics who do just that?

"A poem, as Mallarme once said, is not made of ideas but of words, and faith also expresses itself through that which is lived, breathed, uttered, left silent... To make the poem of our faith, we must learn not to settle for a false certitude but to embrace ambiguity and mystery." -pg 62

I find great depth in the thought that our faith finds its expression through our lives, our physical being, our words AND the things we leave unsaid. For it is in the uncertainty, the things we don't have words for that we sometimes find the most beautiful parts of our faith and belief.

The Psalms "defeat our tendency to try to be holy without being human first." -pg 96

The Psalms always bring me back to the realness of struggle and anger and joy and praise- reminding me that feeling is at the very heart of being. And I'm always so grateful for that reminder.

identity: the cloister walk, day two

quotes day two:

"[St. Therese of the Child Jesus] decides that 'perfection consists in being what God wants us to be.'"-pg 27

How transformative would it be if we stopped striving for the world's understanding of perfection and instead understood it to be a returning to the person that God has created us to be? I find that utterly freeing- and life-changing.

"But Jeremiah reminded me that the pain that comes from one's identity, that grows out of the response to a call, can't be escaped or pushed through. It must be gone through." -pg 38

I find deep beauty in thinking about how our identities and calls inform one another and create a tension that we must experience in order to more fully understand both of them. And it brings comfort to think that this tension is one that even the prophets experienced as they wrestled with what it meant to serve and love God with all of their beings.

"To be American is to move on, as if we could outrun change. To attach oneself to a place is to surrender to it, and suffer with it."-pg 244

To surrender ourselves to the places that God leads us to- to the people, the community, the streets, the struggles, the hopes, the dreams, the passages of time.

And to be present. To show up when things aren't easy instead of running away. To acknowledge change instead of hide from it. To know its processes instead of to fear its waves. To rest in the knowledge that we were not created to run away but to experience the unfolding of life as it comes- in places, in people, in ourselves.

a heavy bag: the cloister walk, day one

both of my book bags are in various states of the shoulder strap ripping off.

one is hanging on by a few sturdy threads and had been temporarily retired until I found the time to stitch it back together. the other was doing just fine. until it tore completely this past week and had to be stitched back together by the mom of my student that I was visiting.

the cause of this? too many books in my bag.

there's a scene in Gilmore Girls, where Rory's boyfriend Dean picks up her bag and can't believe how heavy it is. when he asks her, she explains that she has, of course, brought a book with her. To a school dance. Because who knows when you will have a chance to read?

I am that girl (although I will say I never took a book to a school dance :-)).

the books are coupled with a notebook to write down notes on the books, craft supplies and all of my teaching supplies/books. and before you know it you have one heck of a heavy bag.

I am almost at the end of The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris. It's one of those books that you can't help but write down every other sentence because it's so good and you don't want to forget what she said.

Which brings me to the beginning of a week of sharing quotes from The Cloister Walk, so as to avoid posting a novel's worth of quotes and thoughts at one time.

To begin, a brief summary: the book explores Norris' time as a lay associate (or oblate) of a Benedictine monastery, where she lives off and on for about two years- writing poetry, reflecting on religion and faith and learning about the monks and nuns she comes to know.

quotes for day one:

"Liturgical time is essentially poetic time, oriented towards process rather than productivity, willing to wait attentively in stillness rather than always pushing to 'get the job done.'" -pg xix

i love the thought of liturgy and the rhythm of liturgy being something that draws us away from what we can do and into what we are experiencing, feeling, thinking, praying, realizing. that participating in liturgy is not something to get through, but something to be present to.

"...that writing teaches us to recognize when we have reached the limits of our language, and our knowing, and are dependent on our senses to 'know' for us." - pg 11

she talks a lot about what she calls the "poetic way of knowing," a phrase I find utterly beautiful for the way it reveals that we don't always know things simply through words and sentences and facts- but that knowing encompasses all of our beings and senses- bringing us past the limitations of words and into a fuller sense of knowledge. and as one who writes, I find it utterly true that it teaches you how little words can actually say.

"...'attentive waiting.' I think it's also a fair description of the writing process. Once, when I was asked, 'What is the main thing a poet does?' I was inspired to answer, 'We wait.'" -pg 142

To allow waiting to be active, not passive. And to recognize that whether it be waiting for the words of a poem or story or waiting in prayer or fasting or reflecting, we must do it with awareness and an intentional spirit.

intentional

When evening came, Jesus arrived with the Twelve. While they were reclining at the table eating, he said, "I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me- one who is eating with me." -Mark 14:17-18

While they were eating , Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, "Take it; this is my body." Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it. - Mark 14:22-23

What amazes me about this passage is how intentional it reveals Christ to be in practicing hospitality and inclusion.

Christ knows Judas will betray him. And he acknowledges this- giving voice to the struggle, the hurt, the pain of that knowledge.

That he would share in communion with his disciples even as he bore the weight of knowing that Judas would be among those partaking.

What beautiful, stunning, breathtaking love and hospitality his words and actions reveal.

Christ chooses to acknowledge the pain and weight of betrayal to come and then he opens his life, his heart, his purpose wide upon the table and pours out the gift of communing with him- of participating in his death and resurrection and of knowing the unity of being a part of the Body, unified in his blood and body, the bread and juice.

To partake in communion is to partake in this honesty- of sharing our hurts, our grief, our betrayal and then moving into celebrating the ways we are connected, united, bound together by the healing and forgiveness he proclaims over us.

To live a life echoing the Last Supper is to practice hospitality that knows no bounds- hospitality that invites Judas to share in the bread and the cup even as we know his denial will bring Christ's death. That Christ would believe so completely in the inclusion of all in his redemption that he would share in a meal with the brother who will turn away.

O Lord, may my hospitality not end when faced with loving and welcoming those who have hurt me.

May I discover how to practice hospitality in a way that not only moves my selfish and grudge-holding self out of the way, but that changes my heart- making it one that desires to invite all into your love.

erin teacher

In Mongolia, teacher is a term of respect. It is a term of respect that gets tagged on after your name.

So, my students don't generally call me just Erin. Instead, they call me "Erin teacher."

In Mongolian this sounds something like, "Erin bachshaw" (phonetic spelling of the Mongolian word for teacher of course). Or when they can't remember my first name, just simply "Bachshaw."

I confess, it's pretty endearing when an adorable little kid says, "Bachshaw, bachshaw" with great excitement. And if they know some English they'll say, "Teacher, teacher."

However, before I give any mistaken impressions about my ability to exercise authority or be a teacher, a story is in order.

My morning class is always a creature of uncertainty- consistent is about the last word I would use to describe who shows up, how much English they know and what age level they are. In what is supposed to be an elementary-aged class I've had everything from 7 year olds to 40 year olds.

That said, Purevstren has hands down been the most regular of my morning students. I have no idea how she found out about the class (she doesn't go to church at the mission center) but she's been coming basically from the beginning and it's not unusual for her to be my only student.

She's hilarious, full of spunk and determined to learn English. I've never met someone more competitive about being the first to give the correct answer or pronunciation. You want someone to school you on your ABCs? She's your girl.

So today I enter the sanctuary and spot her coat hanging over the chair. Purevstren is missing however and it's not until I turn around that I see her trying to quietly sneak up behind me and catch me by surprise. We settle in to our English lessons for the day, getting by with our normal garbled English/Mongolian pantomime to communicate what we are doing/asking/trying to accomplish.

It's not too long before a lull comes and she starts asking me a question in Mongolian. I manage to catch the gist of her words, which can be summarized as an invitation to come to her house and meet her mom.

When? I ask. Today, at 11 am, she replies.

I try to explain that I can't today because I have to teach English to the hospice staff at 11:30 (and if there's one thing I've learned in Mongolia it's that no visit to anyone's house will ever take only 30 minutes).

She takes this as a sign that I don't understand and motions the church watchman over (who, by the way, doesn't speak any English either) and repeats her invitation to him. He repeats it to me again and I try again to stress that not understanding is not the issue. He manages to explain to her that I have to teach the hospice staff and I try to offer up alternative plans as her lower lip begins to pout. What about Friday? What about next week?

Purvestren is not having it and then begins to say something about "George Bush" and "Barack Obama." I am pretty confused at this point. I shrug and return to our lesson, hoping one of the English speaking staff members will wander by so I can snag their translating help.

We finish up and Purvestren returns to the "Come to my house" pleading. So I take her hand and lead her upstairs, finding Bora in the office and asking her to help me explain the having to teach but wanting to come situation.

The explanation accomplishes nothing. She is dead set on me coming and has now informed me that her mom is waiting to meet me. So I quietly slip into the hospice office, trying not to interrupt their meeting, and quietly ask my boss if I can start at 12 instead of 11:30. She says yes and so I go back out and nod my head at Purvestren, relinquishing any pretense that I was actually going to be able to say no to her.

Moral of today? My authority as teacher extends absolutely nowhere. It just means I cave to every pleading of my students. Including when they want to play games instead of conjugate verbs (They're 10- who can blame them?). Or when they want me to visit their family instead of keep my weekly English class with the hospice staff.

Erin bachshaw doesn't say "no" well. Erin bachshaw doesn't say "no" well at all.

We walked to her home together, full of stories of friends and relatives and dogs and her family members and the visit was an incredibly lovely one- filled to the brim with her wonderful mom and adorable little brother and laughter and jumbled Mongolian/English words.

And I was grateful that I get to be "Erin bachshaw." Even if it reveals how easily I fall for my students and their insistence on everything and anything.

sustain us

Let me live that I may praise you, and may your laws sustain me.

I have strayed like a lost sheep.

Seek your servant, for I have not forgotten your commands.

-Psalm 119:175-176

forgive me o Lord, for how often I forget your commands.
forgive me o Lord, for how often I am the sheep that strays.
forgive me o Lord, for how often I pretend things other than you can sustain me.

thanks be to your holy name that you sustain us, that you create us to worship you, that you seek us.

amen and amen.

Chinggis Khan's mode of transportation

that's right. horses!


big, furry horses that we got to ride through a small part of Terelj National Park this morning.


I won't lie- it was absolutely, positively freezing. And my feet both went completely numb from the cold while we were riding. And that part kind of sucked.

But the fun of hearing the mission team members yell "Choooo" (apparently the Mongolian word for "go faster, horse!") and the beauty of a ride through snow with the mountains surrounding us and cows wandering around made the numb feet worth it.

How can it not be? I get to live in and fall in love with a country where snow-covered mountains greet me every time I step outside.

And I get to sit in a ger and eat mutton and boiled potatoes and carrots with lovely people.

And I get to marvel at the beauty of a place that never fails to surprise me, to take my breath away and to lead me back to thanks.

It is worth it indeed.

(side note- the park we went to today was once a part of the TV show The Amazing Race- isn't that a cool random fact?)

shadows

Life is full of light and shadow
O the joy and O the sorrow
O the sorrow

And yet will He bring
Dark to light
And yet will He bring
Day from night

When shadows fall on us
We will not fear
We will remember

When darkness falls on us
We will not fear
We will remember

When all seems lost
When we're thrown and we're tossed
We remember the cost
We rest in Him
Shadow of the cross

- Shadows, by David Crowder Band, on the Church Music album

We can write our experiences, describe them, form them into words and sentences and ideas- but can we know them?

Can we feel them?
Can we be gripped by them?
Can we allow them to overwhelm us? To take us by surprise? To subside only to return again?

There is an emotional distance that comes with facing the harshness of certain moments, experiences, days, realities.

I often let words contain those moments, building verbal fences around them- pens that contain the wrestling, the struggling, the sorrow, the fear, the grief, the uncertainty and the sense of loss.

As I walked to church this morning, my fingertips numb and my physical body ever aware of the definition of "harsh temperatures," my thoughts drifted to the reality that experiences cannot be separated from our emotions.

Logical, no? And yet so often I do just that- I let moments be facts and ignore the emotions that come with them.

The words of this song from David Crowder speak to me the truth that we need not live in such a fractured state- We are free to experience, to feel, to mourn, to wrestle, to walk through the shadows and to know them to be something that points us to the Light.

We need not fear, we need only remember.

To feel, so that we might be whole. To feel, so that we might be reconciled. To feel, so that we might live in reconciliation with ourselves, with our neighbor and with God.

rocking chair

i spent this morning in a rocking chair with a baby in my lap.

back and forth we went, his little body snuggled into mine as other little ones ran around, coming near to get tickled and then dashing away again, yelling "sister!" in Mongolian as they went.

back and forth we went as others climbed onto my lap, joining us in our rhythm of forward and backward motion, finding space even as I fretted about them smushing each other.

despite the chaos of little ones slip sliding their way around smooth floors in their socks and the noise of Mongolian being flung into the air with excited exclamations, I couldn't help but sit in that rocking chair, a little one snug in my lap, and know peace.

and in these coming days it is that rocking chair that I will return to in my mind when peace feels far and busy has taken up residence in my being.

today marks the start of a pretty crazy busy week which will turn into a fairly crazy busy month.

all of it is exciting, going-to-be-wonderful stuff- a GBGM staffer arrives tonight to work on making a DVD about the Mongolia Mission Initiative, tomorrow our friend Heather arrives for a three week visit, and starting Thursday we have a mission team from San Diego coming into town.

add in the departure of one of our short term missionaries, a snow holiday celebration with my youth, three days of joint worship services with all of the Mongolia UMC congregations and the normal day-to-day teaching of classes, preaching and such and you've got one heck of a month of March.

pray for us, won't you?

in the meanwhile, monday mornings will find me sitting on that rocking chair at the orphanage- my arms, lap and heart full.