familiar remnants

one of my biggest fears in leaving Mongolia was that I would lose certain rhythms of my daily life that I had come to love.

I feared that I would lose the joy of cooking a meal from the basic ingredients bought from the market or the store down below our apartment.

I feared that I would be saying good-bye to the treasured quiet of nights spent reading or writing in our living room, cats chasing themselves in circles around us.

I feared that I would become dependent upon a car again and miss the quieting of my heart that happened on the long walks to and from bus stops and destinations.

I feared that I would accumulate clothes and books and shoes and things because suddenly they would be easily accessible and available and there for consumption.

I feared that the simplicity and creativity that life in Mongolia required of me would disappear into old patterns and habits of convenience, purchasing and distraction.

As I have made my way through this muddled and messy transition, I have struggled mightily with reverse culture shock. It hit me harder and faster and more intensely than I would have ever guessed. It still hits me in new and quieter ways each and every day.

But coping skills are a necessary and vital part of life and I have put them to work as I have made my way through the mire and the waves.

In doing so I have realized the deepest fear I had when I had to leave.

I feared that in leaving I would never be able to reconcile who I had become in Mongolia with who I had previously been. I feared that in returning to America I would be forced to forget and leave behind all of me that had changed, grown and become different.

I feared that I would have to lose me, the person that I was now, at the end of 16 months and a handful of days in the mountains of a far-away country.

In walking this place of coping and facing and transitioning, I have found strength and courage in tying together the parts of America that I remember and the parts of my life in Mongolia that I treasured so much. It doesn't always make a balanced bow and sometimes my effort to reconcile is more failure than triumph.

But adaptation is what made life in Mongolia possible. Surely it can do the same here.

I am grateful for the remnants of Mongolian life that still live on in my daily life here.

For the reality that I can choose to shop at thrift stores just as I once chose to shop in secondhand markets.

For the truth that I can I still take the time to make good meals from fresh food and enjoy the process, even if the stores I buy my ingredients from won't let me buy one egg at a time.

For the fact that I can ignore my dishwasher and take comfort in washing my dishes in hand, following the example of my Mongolian friends and attacking them as soon as the meal is finished.

For the knowledge that my life is and forever will be tied to my friends and loved ones in that far away country on the other side of the world.

Fear cannot steal from me the choice to be whole.

intersecting the -ologies

"We are indeed made in the image of some God. And perhaps we have no more important theological investigation than to discern in whose image we have been made. Our sociology is predictably derived from, legitimated by and reflective of our theology. And if we gather around a static god of order who only guards the interests of the "haves," oppression cannot be far behind. Conversely, if a God is disclosed who is free to come and go, free from and even against the regime, free to hear and even answer slave cries, free from all proper godness as defined by the empire, then it will bear decisively upon sociology because the freedom of God will surface in the brickyards and manifest itself as justice and compassion."

-pg 8, "The Prophetic Imagination" Walter Brueggemann

If our theology shapes our sociology, what does our current sociology say about the theology of our world today?

bits and pieces

yesterday I was called ma'am by a group of middle school boys.

an hour later I was called sweetheart by a middle-aged sales clerk.

today marks two years since I graduated from college.

so I'm not really sure what to make of all of that.

(and yes I realize I should stop being stunned that it's been 2 years and that the number and distance is only going to keep getting bigger)

in the midst of a very chaotic work week, we also had a gardening event at one of our community gardens that Sheryl Crow came to.

so there's that.

and yes she is as tiny as she looks. If tiny means you take how she looks in these pictures and than multiply it by about 100 for how she looks in person.

the best part was that the kids who we were doing the event for had totally no clue who she is or why she is famous. They knew she was a "famous singer" because that's what they were told by their after-school counselors, but beyond that they could have cared less. While the media trampled the vegetable garden (way to go camera men) trying to get the perfect shot of Sheryl, the kids just kept on planting, painting and otherwise partaking in the activities we had for them.

all they cared about was the fact that they got to leave school early and had full permission to play in the dirt, to paint with bright colors on fun objects and to dig in the mud.

that was beautiful to see.

and it meant they asked adorable questions to Sheryl, like about what kind of songs she played and why she couldn't play a song for them right now.

(ignore the awful green shirts please)

we also got to go to her concert that night and to meet her during the meet and greet.

as I watched her play all sorts of instruments, kiss her adorable son good-night on stage and sing, I was struck by the joy with which she performed.

it was clear that she has lived her life doing the thing (music) that brings her joy and allows her to feel alive. I hope I can have that kind of joy radiating from me twenty-five years from now.

although hopefully it will not be from a stage with an accordion strapped to my chest (did you know she could play the accordion?!?), because we all know that would not bring me joy, but only panic and embarrassment. :-)

the element of time

before Mongolia I was almost always early or on time for things.

Class? You better believe I showed up early and claimed "my" desk.

Work? Always tried to be there at least 5 minutes early if not earlier.

Meetings? Early.

Outings with friends? I was the one mentally calculating the possible-traffic cushion necessary and trying to leave in time for that possibility.

I was timely. I was rarely panicked about being late because I made a massive effort to always be on time.

now I feel like I am always, constantly running behind.

I think part of it is just readjustment. I think the other part of it is the strong sense that timeliness is expected again.

In Mongolia, no one cared if I showed up early or on time or late. They were just impressed I showed up and was planning on actually teaching. Points for me!

Here, culture dictates that timeliness is valued and necessary.

I am finding this very stressful. And I think it's part of why I feel like I'm always late, even though I rarely am actually late.

All of a sudden I know that there are 5 other people waiting for me to show up at a certain time and noticing if I don't and WHOA that expectation is kind of messing with my post-Mongolia brain.

Hol and I used to joke that whenever we were on time for things in UB that everyone else would be really late, but whenever we let ourselves let go of that ingrained sense of timeliness that everyone else would get a secret text message to show up on time, and then inevitably call us and ask us where we were as we started hurrying to our destination (I cannot even tell you how many times this exact scenario played itself out).

The same thing is happening here in the States, except now I am always the one not really paying attention to time and then running out the door in a frenzied state as I realize I have not left myself enough time to get where I am headed. And the whole world except for me is getting the secret text message and its not secret because it's normal. Sigh.

I've lost a lot of grace in this cultural transition and by that I mean two things.

First, I have lost the ease with which I used to navigate American culture and cultural norms like timeliness. Being on time was never a challenge or stress for me before, it just simply was the reality within which I lived. I didn't think about it, I didn't analyze it, I didn't feel burdened by it.

I have, for better or for worse, unlearned how to navigate that expectation of timeliness with comfort and ease. It is no longer second-nature. It is something I have to choose to remember each and every day. It is something that still feels kind of odd and foreign to me. It is something that some days causes me a lot of stress. It makes me a bit of a mess in the daily operating category.

Second, I have wrestled with having grace with myself. I don't think anyone around me has been particularly bothered by my tendency to run late these days. I don't think anyone has been silently thinking, "Well, isn't she always a consistent 5 minutes late to such and such." But I have been. I have been beating myself up for not "having it all together." I have been beating myself up for feeling like I'm always running twelve steps behind, shoving all of my stuff into various bags and running out to my car with wet hair and no make-up.

It has been a challenge for me to sit back and look at the situation and realize that I need to have grace with myself. That I need to stop comparing myself with who I was before and wondering why I can't seem to get my crap together. That maybe it's ok I have lost my ability to be timely. That it's ok for me to not get how to do all of this stuff with ease and normalcy.

My normal is different now and that's ok.

the illusion of choice

I remember being in high school and reading these articles by various church leaders about the importance of young adult ministry.

About how necessary it was, about how people just fell off into this deep hole of not-going-to-church once they were graduated from college ministries and had "real life" to deal with.

Yeah, I used to think, That is so true. (as if I knew)

About how there were so many life-altering and dramatic changes happening in people's lives during this young adult time. Choices about spouses and careers and children or no children and where to live and how to spend paychecks and what to do with their lives.

Yeah, I used to think, that makes so much sense. You have to decide so many things when you are a young adult. (as if I had a clue)

I think I read so many of these well-meaning articles on the state of the church and young adults when I was a teenager that I walked into young adulthood already convinced of all of these things I was supposed to be figuring out.

Hol and I used to spend a lot of time sitting on the floor of her bedroom talking about life. Usually one of us would bring up some huge question that doesn't ever really have an answer (like, when does one really become considered an adult?) and we would sit and mull over our trains of thought, talking through all sorts of reasoning and opinions and general confusion.

A frequent topic of these catch-all pondering sessions was that of the role of choice in our lives.

Combine all of those young-adults-are-in-dire-straits stories and society's general sentiments about the necessity of "settling down" and I was left feeling that I was doomed to have to face all of these huge, big, scary decisions and well, I better not screw it up.

Because we all know where those people end up. And it's not living happily ever after in the suburbs.

And when I sat on the floor of our very cold Mongolian apartment with my cups of tea, usually still in my pajamas at 11 am because it was our day off, those very big life decisions felt like a huge, suffocating pressure.

As we would talk and process and dramatically wave our hands around to make our points, those decisions felt like I was being forced into one of two options.

I was being forced to either succeed at doing everything perfectly and making all of the right choices (forever and ever, amen) or to epically fail and end up a miserable, sad person wondering how in the world she had managed to screw up so completely.

Because that is the construct and narrative we so often hear.

The choices you make now impact the rest of your life.

The choices you make now in your life will shape everything you ever do from here on out.

I wish I had......when I was 20-something.

If I hadn't/had done......then I could have/wouldn't have.......

We create this story that being a young adult is in the only time you have control over the choices you make in your life. That once you make those foundational choices you can't ever make any other choices again.

I get that marriage is a choice that sets the tone and path for your life. I get that choosing a career defines certain things about what will come. I get that having children will change everything.

I get all of those things.

What I don't get is believing that once you turn 30 there is no more changing and choosing and choice-making to be done.

What I don't get is acting as if the 45-year-old sitting in the pew doesn't need discernment and prayer and wisdom and encouragement, just as much as the 23-year-old.

What I don't get is this perpetual sense that we are stuck by the choices that we make. That we do not worship a God who changes us, who calls us, who moves us, who shapes us, who challenges us every single day we awake.

I am starting to make those decisions. The ones the articles talk about. The choices about the future and careers and people and relationships and life.

But I am also remembering that I will need to make those choices each and every day of my life.

That I will awake and choose to be committed to the spouse that I marry.

That I will awake and choose to pursue God through the vocation of my calling.

That I will awake and choose to seek his will and direction for my life, no matter how settled it may seem.

That I will awake and choose to desire learning and changing and being shaped by my Creator.

That I will awake and I will continue to make those big, life-altering decisions each and every day.

And somehow, that makes it less scary.

There is less pressure when I know that I will make those choices today, tomorrow and the day after that.

It becomes more about living than getting it right.

It becomes more about growing than about staying the same.

And that my friends, is reason enough to start making choices that will just have to be made over and over again.

Because is a choice really a choice if it has no end?

warren buffett what?

"A little cover-up on your Adam's apple will make it look smaller, which will make you look like less like a transvestite."

-Michael Scott to Gabe

(the office)

today is the "hallowed" weekend of the Berkshire Hathaway shareholder's meeting.

which to most people in the world means nothing but does mean something if you live in Omaha (or of course, own stock in the company).

or if you know who Warren Buffett is and how he is not the Michael Scott of the real world. although wouldn't that be fun if one of the most successful investors in the world was also absolutely ridiculous?

my co-workers bestowed upon me an event staff pass to the meeting (we get passes because one of Berkshire Hathaway's companies donates garden gloves to our urban gardening project and we get to collect all of the leftover gloves at the end of the event). it turned out that I didn't have to go help get the gloves, but that they thought it would be an interesting Omaha activity for me to partake in.

so with the learn-more-about-Nebraskan-culture goal in mind, I prepared for a day of warren buffett themed exploring.

point one: I am against paying for parking. This is because I am unashamedly cheap. So I parked at our office and walked the little less than 2 miles to the conference center. The weather was beautiful, I got to see more of downtown and I thought it was a win all the way around.

point two: I don't know what I expected, but I did not expect so many people. The arena was pretty full. Even more shocking, it was pretty full and everyone was just sitting there listening to two old white men talk into microphones. Not exactly a Beyonce concert if you know what I mean.

point three: finance speak is another language. it was however pretty amusing to spot those shareholders pretending to actually be finance people (and probably are) in their suits and then to contrast them with those clearly not trying and just walking around in their jeans and t-shirts.

point four: there's little like watching people buy concession food to listen to two old men talk about a huge corporation that makes billions of dollars a year to make you think about how absolutely bizarre America is. Really, people? We're going to eat popcorn while we watch the dog and pony show that is capitalism? Dear goodness.

point five: in an exhibit hall with such diverse companies represented, Dairy Queen will always be more popular than a deserted display on pipes or some other engineering thing. ($1 baby blizzards!) And people will pay $5 for a package of underwear. Or $20 for a strange teddy bear made especially for the Berkshire Hathaway weekend. Sorry, but I call that weird warren buffett.

point six: If you are currently in the throes of reverse culture shock, it is probably not wise to wander past the luxury RV display, where a couple is indeed in discussions with a salesman about purchasing an RV that costs THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. You will want to vomit up the $1 baby blizzard you just ate at the idea of that much money being spent on a pimped-out bus.

point seven: feeling no strong sense of guilt about leaving the shareholders meeting after an hour of wandering around is quite freeing. it means you can then go wander through Omaha and happen upon a health and wellness expo where you can get the hard sell for a portable mini massage thing that you don't want to buy. And then you can keep wandering until you get to the lawn of the old capital building and sprawl out on the grass...

.

and write letters coming to a mailbox near you

and wander back to your FREE parking spot as you pass the art museum.

and have an all-together pretty good day in Omaha.

which as it turns out, is probably something mr. warren buffett would appreciate.