paws on the ground

sometimes I think the best decision we made in figuring out how to make a life here was getting cats.

when you move across the world to a country where you don't know anyone, don't speak the language, don't know the culture and have to spend the first two months in swine flu lockdown, adjusting isn't exactly a walk in a park

in fact, it feels a lot more like running into a concrete wall repeatedly while taking breaks to sit on your behind and cry for awhile and then getting up to do it again.

the good news is it gets WAY better and eventually the concrete wall disappears and you can't believe you used to not live in this place.

in the meanwhile you look around and try to figure out how in the heck you're supposed to make this new place into something resembling a familiar space where you can live, breathe and function.

also, when you're busy trying to adapt and adjust and learn and live? you spend a lot of time dealing with a daily flood of emotions that can be incredibly overwhelming and exhausting.

you need things that pull you away from the land of emotions and freak-outs and processing and place your feet back on the ground.

i claim that as one of the main reasons Holli and I both wanted a kitten.

beyond our undeniable love of all things furry (although I make exceptions for mice, rats, hamsters and guinea pigs- ugh to ALL), I think we both needed something that would anchor us back to the present in front of us. Something that would remind us of life outside of all of this crazy adjusting and bring us back to the simplicity of things that sometimes get forgotten in that mess.

simple things like watching a kitten sleep or explore or want to curl up on your lap.

dobby was all of those things for us. as well as source of entertainment and stories with her antics and adamant desire to wake us up at the crack of dawn, refuse any and all affection and have intense separation anxiety. normal, she is not.


Hol was on the we need another cat train. And I repeatedly told her that she was crazy. That Dobby was antisocial and afraid enough as it was and would absolutely, positively hate another cat.

Then I found Luna, crying and tiny on my way to church one morning. And I joined Holli's train, kitten in tow and hopeful that Dobby wouldn't hate us forever.

The past few months have not been easy and for a whole host of reasons that are not meant for a blog. It has felt a little bit like I've come back to that concrete wall.


Luna has brought my feet back to the ground again.

Her little tiny self has made me laugh, has entertained me with her insanity (the joke is that her name is short for Luna-tic) and has kept me company when I just need to talk or cry or sit in silence.

Dobby loves her, we love her, my students love hearing stories about her. She has made our little apartment feel complete.

God has used her to pull me back into reality, into the simplicity of getting up and being present to each day even when my heart and head are full. For that, I am grateful.

baby steps leading somewhere beautiful

it started with a car ride.

mid-swine flu quarantine about a year ago, we got in a car and drove outside of the city with some of our co-workers to look at a town that the mission was maybe thinking about starting a church in.

if you can believe it, we didn't even actually ever get out of the car after driving all the way out there.

we looked at property out the window while scrunched together with 4 people in the back seat of a tiny car and then we turned around and drove back to the city.

that was my first trip to Khonghor.

fast-forward to late spring. land was purchased, my dear friend Naraa chosen to be the lay pastor, and plans were made.

july came and I returned to the village I only vaguely remembered in order to help put up the church. Two days of hard physical labor, fun and laughter and we had a ger. We had a church.

august brought the opening worship service and dedication, complete with an adorable naked baby crawling around and not enough chairs for all of the people who showed up. of celebrating what is born of prayer and obedience in the middle of mountains and valleys.

there was a week of vbs. of camping out and watching the stars and listening to the joyful shrieks of little ones running around. of watching a tent become a church. of watching a church be built upon piles of glitter and little fingers and toes.

and then there was a medical clinic after church one Sunday with a visiting medical team. a chance to go with them. a chance to spend the day catching up with new friends, to share hugs with the kiddos and to have an all-day conversation with a girl and her baby that dug its way into my heart and stayed there for weeks afterward.

there is the now. the Tuesdays. the tiny steps that have led up to the fact that now I'm going to Khonghor once a week. that now I spend my Tuesdays riding the bus into the mountains and walking across the empty, quiet fields so I can enter into a ger and sit on the bed and teach English to whoever comes.

it is the bread crumb trail of grace and learning and discovering that has led me to a new step. to a new routine.

to watching two brothers study as we sit on the floor together. to marveling at how life is these moments that come together unexpectedly and perfectly and exactly as they should be.


of long bus rides and sloping mountains and cows and goats and horses. of Monglish and flashcards and eight girls crowded around a game of pronoun memory. of a motorbike ride with a stranger to the bus stop after a day of teaching.

of knowing that this is what I get to do. that this is the stuff that unfolds when you wait, when you look, when you live.

ykylimw #26

you know you live in mongolia when...

....the version of The Little Red Riding Hood that gets read to the kindergartners includes the detail of Little Red Riding Hood bringing Mongolian хуушууp to her grandmother.

Maybe that's why the wolf ate her grandmother? I don't know many wolves that wouldn't want to eat fried meat pockets that are also one of Mongolia's national food.

(side note: I'm actually quite impressed that such a cultural adaptation was made- props to whatever random publisher translated the book we have in our classroom)

recent reading

"The desert monks were not moralists concerned that others behave in a proper way so much as people acutely aware of their own weaknesses who tried to see their situation clearly without the distortions of pride, ambition, or anger. They saw sin (what they called bad thoughts) as any impulse that leads us away from paying full attention to who and what we are and what we're doing; any thought or act that interferes with out ability to love God and neighbor."

-Kathleen Norris, pg 98, Dakota

it all seems simultaneously simpler and more complicated when you're alone, walking across an empty field of snow, in the quiet of a Tuesday morning.

365

last year at this time I was en route to the airport with my life packed into two large blue suitcases.

well, hello there one whole year of my life. where, o where have you gone?

into the crevasses of dirt roads that wind their way up steep hills, into the peaks of mountains and between the clouds.

into cold rooms and cups of tea and group devotions on sleepy mornings.

into loud gatherings at our apartment, complete with too much food and silly games.

into gers and fires and cooking together.

into singing and listening and worshiping and the beauty of Mongolian tumbling from my tongue into the void that is filled and shared by us all.

into tickle fights and chasing and basketball and little hands.

into the messiness of life and community and loving one another.

into tears and sadness and joy and celebration.

into falling and jumping, being blind and seeing more.

into little ones' voices and dancing in the cold kitchen.

into train rides and camp and splashing in rivers and climbing mountains.

into Cambodia and mission teams and kittens and snow.

into strangers, into friends, into family, into people who became those things.

into the place where I am both supposed to be and want to be.

a good 365 days indeed.

***

I fear sometimes in my desire to share the good that I gloss over the hard stuff. That in my excitement to write about what I'm learning and how grateful I am to get to know and work with my community here that I don't make it clear that it is not all roses and sunshine and fairy tales.

Or that I give the false impression that I have it together, that I have answers (I'm scoffing to myself even writing those words) or that I am somehow capable of the things God has placed before me.

Ha.

I look back on this past year and my heart is overwhelmingly filled with joy. Not because it has been easy or great all of the time. Not because I have it all figured out or am a missionary superstar who can do everything (or anything).

It is joy-filled because God has been so breathtakingly evident in every.single.part. of these past twelve months.

It has not been easy, it has not been without failure and hurt and grief. It has not been without falling apart and being put back together and falling apart all over again. It has been all of those things and more.

This year is leaving me ever more grateful for the call to be present to today. To the Holy Spirit's movements in our lives. To the good and the bad and the wonderful and the awful. To the hard stuff that makes the joy our sustenance.

To the wholeness of knowing that we are not our own but we are the children of the Faithful One.

That is a pretty dang good place for a year to go if you ask me.

things that are different: daily life

It's five days from it being one year of me being in Mongolia and I've got my second-to-last list.

my eating habits have shifted, my language skills have adapted and my daily life has changed.

It turns out moving to the other side of the world will do that for you.


Things That Are Different: Daily Life edition

1.) No hot water on Sunday mornings.

i don't know why this is so, but we have never had hot water on a Sunday morning. which means I usually spend my busiest day of the week with dirty hair and a bit smelly.

2.) We boil all of our water before we drink it (well, when we remember/aren't dying of thirst).

have you ever had a parasite? if so, you know why we do this. I still cringe when I think back to my parasite in Bolivia.

3.) I take micros or buses to get wherever I want to go. And occasionally, taxis that aren't really taxis.

and through the vast adventure of trial and error, I actually now have a pretty good sense of how to get a variety of places without getting lost.

4.) In Dallas, my daily walk to classes meant passing by frat houses and fountains. Here it means I pass by a pile of sheep skins waiting to be sold when I walk to work from the bus stop.

fun fact: often you can still see the blood on the skins.

5.) I cannot be inconspicuous anywhere I go.

i stick out like a sore thumb with my light hair and blue/green eyes, not to mention my accent. it doesn't matter where I am, what I'm doing or what's happening- I am obvious to everyone around me. People stare, people whisper, people yell various English phrases at me. The introvert in me is still not used to this and probably never will be.

6.) My early bedtime habits have only gotten...earlier.

it was a joke (founded in truth) among my night owl Dallas roommates that we never saw each other because I was always asleep by the time they got home and gone before they awoke. With a lack of daylight during our long winters, my internal clock has only become more intent on going to bed ridiculously early. Like 9:30 p.m. early. Now I'm usually up by 6 and in bed by 9:30 or 10.

7.) It is a daily routine to inform people that I am not Russian and do not in fact understand a word of Russian.

8.) Checking the weather is a necessary part of my morning routine. How many layers? Which coat? Which shoes? The great long underwear or not debate? And then it becomes deep winter and it stops mattering again because the only thing you need to know is PUT ON EVERY PIECE OF CLOTHING YOU CAN.

I cannot tell you how many times I have cursed not being properly dressed for the weather here. When I forget to check the weather for the day is always, always when we get bizarre mid-day snow or dust storms or rain or a 20 degree change in temperature.

9.) I went from a dog and two cats at my parents house, to no pets for four years, to two cats here in Mongolia. Two Harry Potter-themed cats at that.

luna and dobby! They make me laugh, they keep me company and they make our apartment a home.

10.) Cooking is an adventure- of ingredients, of creating, of tasting and of eating. I have the time now to cook and it has become the main activity of my evenings- nothing is fast here and that's a-ok by me.

My daily life is not what it was a year ago. And it's certainly not always the same each day.

Mongolia is nothing if not the provider of variation- which is exactly why I've come to enjoy it so very much.

How is your daily life different from this time last year?

world hospice day

today is World Hospice and Palliative Care Day.

prior to moving to Mongolia, I knew next to nothing about hospice and palliative care.

And then I had the opportunity to meet the staff of Grace Hospice and to learn about the ministry of the nurses, doctors and volunteers who daily care for Mongolians who need hospice care in their homes.

I have visited and prayed with patients and families, watched as the staff care with love and grace and listened as the volunteers have shared their care for the people they spend time with weekly.

Most of all I have learned.

About hospice care, about death and dying and God, about struggling with our brothers and sisters, about being there when it's hard and impossible and hurts.

I have cried and I have reflected and I have rejoiced in the beauty that is present even in the midst of brokenness, especially when we allow community to be a part of the process.

"We are members of a body, not only when we choose to be, but in our whole existence. Every member serves the whole body, either to its health or to its destruction."

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, pg 89, "Life Together"

Work responsibilities have meant I have not gone on a hospice visit for quite a few months now. But the visits I have made and the opportunities I have to interact with the staff remind me continually of how important this ministry and work is to our community- and to communities everywhere.

As Christians, death should not be something we shy away from. It is not something we should make people and families face on their own.

Hospice and palliative care form a place where we can meet the needs of our brothers and sisters. It is more than just medical care and it is more than just providing pain medication.

It is about honor and respect and walking the journey with one another. It is about daily life and sharing and being present to everyone involved. It is about family and community and listening.

So today I am celebrating hospices and palliative care units around the world. Today I am celebrating Grace Hospice and its ministry here in Ulaanbaatar.

Won't you join me?


(to support the ministry and work of Grace Hospice in Mongolia you can go here)

things that are different: word edition

One week until my one-year-in-Mongolia anniversary and the things that have changed lists are continuing.

If there is one thing I've mentioned quite a bit on this blog (beyond the cold and my love of little ones of course) it's the language-learning that this past year has held. Mongolian has hands-down been the hardest language I've ever studied.

Wrestling with it has made me question what it means to lose my words. It has meant learning how to send text messages in Monglish. It has allowed me to receive more grace than I ever thought possible. And it has been an element of change as I have transitioned between cultures and places.

So with almost a year of Mongolian learning behind me, I'll say this.

It's still (so, so) hard. My pronunciation still alternates between being halfway decent and sucking. I still need to practice, practice, practice. I can understand way more than I can speak.

Yet there are still words and phrases that have become so familiar, so normal that I'm sure all of my family and friends are going to be way annoyed with my accidental use of them when I'm back in the States.

So here's my fair warning, ya'll.

things that are different: word edition. (did you miss part one?)

oh and I'm typing everything in Monglish because it's just easier than copying and pasting the Cyrillic into Blogger- and you'll be able to sound it out! (maybe :-))

1.) Yana!

an exclamation akin to "oh no!" I say this one a lot. in fact, I kind of get made fun of for it because I once said it very loudly and dramatically in a skit I was forced to partake in :-) Let's just say it was a remake of the Good Samaritan parable and I was very dramatic in finding our poor injured man.

2.) yassin be?

roughly translated to mean something like "what happened?" this is vital when children are upset or crying. or you just want to know what happened in a certain situation.

3.) sain uu?

"hey, what's up?" version of "hello, how are you?" otherwise known as what you use with friends and in casual conversation. Not for use with adults older than you or strangers.

4.) hoy!

the Mongolian version of "hey!" except mainly used in a "HEY, stop whatever thing you're doing that you're not supposed to be doing" kind of way. Or as in "HEY! where are you going?" You know, that kind of "hey."

5.) zugeer, zugeer

this means both "you're welcome" and "it's ok" or even "don't worry about it." basically it's used all of the time and consequently I say it a lot.

6.) yagaad?

oh how my students hate this one. It's the word for "why?" and I am constantly using it to get people to explain things/answers to me. They all kind of groan when I start a question with this because they know I'm not going to stop asking until they answer.

7.) hamagwi (this is not in true Monglish- but I think it would be too confusing otherwise)

means "it doesn't matter." And I love having to say only one word to express what takes three or more in English. Pro for Mongolian is its propensity for saying lots in not many words.

8.) za, za

"Ok, ok." Said all of the time by everyone. I don't think I will ever stop saying this. It's just so much more fun than o.k.

9.) guchin-hoyer

just means "32" -which happens to be the name of the bus stop that I get off every day when I go to work. Hence I say it multiple times a day and still the micro callers sometimes pretend they don't understand me (sigh).

10.) Saikhan amraarai

"good night" although it literally means something more like "rest well." and then in the morning you use this in question form to inquire about how people rested.

and no, I'm nowhere near fluent. and I'm o.k. with the slow process of getting there right now.

here's to continuing to learn, continuing to inevitably make mistakes and continuing to seek to understand.

if you give us a camera...

...we will run around our neighborhood taking ridiculous photos :-) But that's the point of a scavenger hunt, right?

The rules were simple: two teams, one hour and five different pictures to take.

1.) At a market
2.) At the school that one of the team members had graduated from
3.) At a different church
4.) With one of the Sunday school children
5.) At the home of one of our church members

so.much.fun.

the best from the inaugural Young Adult Picture Scavenger Hunt this past Saturday:

this picture...won the competition for them. because if the mascara-drawn facial hair didn't do it for you, there is Ganaa dressed up as the mom and two of our little church members playing their children.

love this- Ogii is pretending to preach and they are respectively texting, falling asleep and bored.

at a church members home...pretending to chow down on her food :-)

market stairs picture


and this...is not one of our five required pictures. But it sums up our afternoon pretty well :-)

luna & dobby: maybes and nows

There once was a morning walk through a ger district, my mind full of early morning dust and jumbled thoughts.

I reached the top of the hill and took in the mountains, the sprawling gers climbing up the peaks and into the low, dusty clouds. This, this is my familiar space. This, this place stretching out before me? It is a comfort to the aches of the unknown and the questions that don't have answers, much as I might want there to be straight lines instead of empty blanks.

The tiny crying comes from the overgrown weeds to my right and I peer into the messy brush to see a teeny, little kitten crawling out from beneath them- her little mouth open wide as she fusses.

I'll admit I didn't think, just scooped her up and held her as she hooked her claws into my scarf and climbed her way up my chest to nestle her head into my neck. I tried to call Holli, tried to ask her what in the world I should do with this kitten clinging to me and crying and so very, very small.

She came with me to church, her presence discovered by the rest of the staff in the warmth of the kitchen, her little legs wobbly as she explored and cried and drank some milk. We found a soft hat and tucked her inside, a makeshift bed that she slept the day away in.

Little ones ran away startled when she opened her mouth to protest her interrupted sleep. Adults professed her cuteness and stroked her little nose. And Holli didn't hesitate one bit in saying, "BRING HER HOME."

And now? The kitten has a name-Luna Lovegood to be exact. Dobby has gotten over being momentarily ticked about this new invasion of her space. Luna has taken to sleeping curled up in front of the space heater. And the two of them have been having way too much fun playing with each other, chasing after one another and sharing their food.

Dobby is about 52 times bigger than Luna but she is mostly kind to her little sister. Luna cries to tell her to back off and she has an adorable habit of doing her best attempt at a fierce pounce whenever they play.

It was a morning walk full of thinking about the what-ifs and maybe-so's and oh-my-goodness-when-will-I-ever-knows that was interrupted by a tiny, unexpected ball of fur. A ball of fur that could easily have ended in a disaster when our definitely not tiny, definitely not particularly friendly cat sniffed her little self. A ball of fur that pulled me back into the present, into the daily life of tiny paws and snuggly noses and baby eyes.

thanks, Luna.