I was at a memorial service on Saturday. It was out of doors, and appropriately, in a gentle, cloaking drizzle. A remembering friend brought this poem to the garden where we gathered. The idea behind it struck me as being about so much more than just death and remembrance. When you say goodbye to anything, to anyone - even if for only a while - words like these hold a softly logical comfort: that what you leave, or that which leaves you, has not discontinued but only moved from the realm of your sight. It still lives and breathes and thrives, but in a place where only your imagination might wander.
THE SHIP - (Author Unknown - or rather, google woule attribute it to multiple)
Along the shore I spy a ship
As she sets out to sea;
She spreads her sails and sniffs the breeze
And slips away from me.
I watch her fading image shrink,
As she moves on and on,
Until at last she’s but a speck,
Then someone says, “She’s gone.”
Gone where? Gone only from our sight
And from our farewell cries;
That ship will somewhere reappear
To other eager eyes.
Beyond the dim horizon’s rim
Resound the welcome drums,
And while we’re crying, “There she goes!”
They’re shouting, “Here she comes!”
We’re built to cruise for but a while
Upon this trackless sea
Until one day we sail away
Into infinity.
I think of leaving and I think of returning. In both directions I will leave people, situations, and things behind knowing that none of it will persist exactly until I stand in the same places once again. The view is always changing, the people continue to grow. But I am not gone, only out of your sight.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
When 6 is too Short
6 days. 6 days?! Let's not talk about how I have to finish cleaning my room, say goodbye to everyone for the summer, and pack - all in the next 6 days. No, let's NOT talk about it. I've done this once before. Shouldn't it come more easily the second time? It isn't. I feel more pressure having been there once, knowing that I should know but can't remember. Can't remember...can't remember...can't remember if I ordered that book...can't remember where I put those shoes...where did I put my vaccination card? At least I know where my passport is...I think.
What to wear? Oh let's not talk about that either. I took very little and mostly the wrong clothes last time. They were modest enough, surely, but apparently so casual by African standards that I looked the equivalent of the preparatory student who dashes out to class in a t-shirt and jeans - embarrassingly unacceptable. I'd like to be a little more culturally sensitive this time. Unfortunately that means packing more. There is nothing I despise quite like hauling around a heavy, useless suitcases. But to fit I must. And then there is the trouble of washing. I haven't met an African soap that didn't wring the color and life out of a piece of cloth. No wonder so many cultures made their clothes so flamingly brilliant to begin with...you wouldn't see them after a few washings if they didn't. I'd like to take clothes that I don't care about so that when they return from the laundress all bleachy and pale, I won't feel bad having ruined another favorite shirt. But if I bring clothes I don't care about then I'm back where I was last summer...embarrassing.
To blend or not to blend? I found that a European attire was much more favorable than appearing blatantly American. Swathing my head and face with a scarf created an aura that demanded some distance and respect. Several times I passed for some flavor of eastern European (might I add that a few lines of gibberish snapped at a gentleman manhandling my friend only solidified my assurance in the costume when he promptly startled aback and discontinued his chase).
Before I let myself stress to far, I would like to remember the mantra I recycled through my head for months ahead of time last year: African time is twice and maybe thrice as long. Have no expectations and therefore no disappointments - only adventures!
...adventures...now where did I put that passport?
What to wear? Oh let's not talk about that either. I took very little and mostly the wrong clothes last time. They were modest enough, surely, but apparently so casual by African standards that I looked the equivalent of the preparatory student who dashes out to class in a t-shirt and jeans - embarrassingly unacceptable. I'd like to be a little more culturally sensitive this time. Unfortunately that means packing more. There is nothing I despise quite like hauling around a heavy, useless suitcases. But to fit I must. And then there is the trouble of washing. I haven't met an African soap that didn't wring the color and life out of a piece of cloth. No wonder so many cultures made their clothes so flamingly brilliant to begin with...you wouldn't see them after a few washings if they didn't. I'd like to take clothes that I don't care about so that when they return from the laundress all bleachy and pale, I won't feel bad having ruined another favorite shirt. But if I bring clothes I don't care about then I'm back where I was last summer...embarrassing.
To blend or not to blend? I found that a European attire was much more favorable than appearing blatantly American. Swathing my head and face with a scarf created an aura that demanded some distance and respect. Several times I passed for some flavor of eastern European (might I add that a few lines of gibberish snapped at a gentleman manhandling my friend only solidified my assurance in the costume when he promptly startled aback and discontinued his chase).
Before I let myself stress to far, I would like to remember the mantra I recycled through my head for months ahead of time last year: African time is twice and maybe thrice as long. Have no expectations and therefore no disappointments - only adventures!
...adventures...now where did I put that passport?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Show Me the Money
I've known it for so long. I have known it. Even a six-year-old can know something as deep as the desire to venture to planet as unknown as deep, dark Africa. That summer, last summer, was equivalent to an appetizer, a tease to the senses. Since coming home, most of my imaginings have gone into scheming a return. It is not a just a "place," or a place to live or a place to be. It is a place that I belong for a great while I believe because A) I have something learn and B) something to give.
I am no longer comfortable with the idea of building a suburban life, erecting picket fences and keeping my neighbors on the other side. The prevailing concept of "enough" I find overwhelmingly too much. What I want is to take my tools and build something. That is why I study for an education, is it not? It is to make and to do, to create and to serve.
When my initial plan to make a documentary investigating the orphan care system of Ethiopia fell through due to a lack of funding, I stared at the wall for sometime. What was I to do with this conviction that tugged so strongly night and day - that so often stole my breathe and spilled my tears? "God, you asked me. I said yes. Where does that leave now?" WAIT? It was far to late for waiting! But wait I did.
Two days later I visited to the head of our study abroad programs. She suggested I make a facebook group as one means of raising support. "A little tacky," I thought, "but sure. It can't hurt to try." In addition, I set up a Pledgie account. Pledgie is an online donation facilitation site available to help any cause raise funding (see http://pledgie.com/).
In an unbelievable six days, you all enabled me to raise more than the essential $3,065.00. Along the way I was astonished and honored by donations from people I hardly knew, many of whom wish to remain anonymous (such as the party who offered to cover ONE HALF (!) of the expense). Your generosity stole what little breath Ethiopia had not already taken. There was one afternoon - I believe it was the third day - that two different women each wrote me checks for $500.00 dollars in addition to the two $100.00 checks from two college mates I barely know!
If I have learned one thing it is that my God requires my willingness only. He covers the rest. When, in my frustration over the financial situation, I said to him, "God, I don't care how and perhaps not even why just yet but I do declare that I am ready and willing to go or to stay, whatever you choose. Just know that I know the financial piece is in your hands and your hands only." I left it at that. My faith has grown so much that I no longer ask God "how?" I ask Him "if." No matter what He asks, I know He will make a way. He always has and He always will.
With sufficient funding, a steal of a plain ticket, old equipment from last year's travels, and housing with a friend's family, I am MORE than covered. I think I am saturated. This is only the beginning.
I am no longer comfortable with the idea of building a suburban life, erecting picket fences and keeping my neighbors on the other side. The prevailing concept of "enough" I find overwhelmingly too much. What I want is to take my tools and build something. That is why I study for an education, is it not? It is to make and to do, to create and to serve.
When my initial plan to make a documentary investigating the orphan care system of Ethiopia fell through due to a lack of funding, I stared at the wall for sometime. What was I to do with this conviction that tugged so strongly night and day - that so often stole my breathe and spilled my tears? "God, you asked me. I said yes. Where does that leave now?" WAIT? It was far to late for waiting! But wait I did.
Two days later I visited to the head of our study abroad programs. She suggested I make a facebook group as one means of raising support. "A little tacky," I thought, "but sure. It can't hurt to try." In addition, I set up a Pledgie account. Pledgie is an online donation facilitation site available to help any cause raise funding (see http://pledgie.com/).
In an unbelievable six days, you all enabled me to raise more than the essential $3,065.00. Along the way I was astonished and honored by donations from people I hardly knew, many of whom wish to remain anonymous (such as the party who offered to cover ONE HALF (!) of the expense). Your generosity stole what little breath Ethiopia had not already taken. There was one afternoon - I believe it was the third day - that two different women each wrote me checks for $500.00 dollars in addition to the two $100.00 checks from two college mates I barely know!
If I have learned one thing it is that my God requires my willingness only. He covers the rest. When, in my frustration over the financial situation, I said to him, "God, I don't care how and perhaps not even why just yet but I do declare that I am ready and willing to go or to stay, whatever you choose. Just know that I know the financial piece is in your hands and your hands only." I left it at that. My faith has grown so much that I no longer ask God "how?" I ask Him "if." No matter what He asks, I know He will make a way. He always has and He always will.
With sufficient funding, a steal of a plain ticket, old equipment from last year's travels, and housing with a friend's family, I am MORE than covered. I think I am saturated. This is only the beginning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
