I liked my sister’s heading on her blog, so yes, I copied. But that’s what I am. I’m just a product of other people’s good ideas. My father always says that. When people ask what the secret is to his success and such creative ideas with his occupation in framing, he readily responds, “I’m mearly a copycat. I use other people’s good ideas.” What he means is that he notices things. He sees things. He picks up the small details in furniture or signs or how one color is meshed with another. He's aware. He discoveres the beauty of shapes, colors, and forms ideas by taking intricate notice to the everyday that encompasses each of us. The difference between him and others is that most walk through the everyday and will probably walk through this November’s thursday passively. My father doesn’t walk passively. His eyes are always looking, always seeing, always discovering.
I’ve learned that from him. I’ve learned to watch, to look, to take in, to discover beauty as I walk through my thursday and tomorrow’s friday.
So Kyrie, good job on your blog title. Who’d you steal that idea from? :-)
It’s sailed into friday and I’m lying in my cabin on Signe’s bed. She’s gone out for the evening with a boy from Sweeden. His name is Dirk Jan. He goes by DJ. He’s a charming fellow. Has a chaming accent and I laugh at him too much. He’s constantly using his tenses wrong. “Where’s Signe?”, I ask, “She came back.” I look at him again, slightly confused. “What? oh you mean, ‘She’s coming back’?” “Yeah, yeah.
He’s funny. He calls me “She-enna” (because of his accent). I laugh everytime. I’m laughing right now. I try to wait until he leaves the room but sometimes it’s too hard. I know one thing. I’ve never seen Signe so happy. She glows. She’s been wearing her hair different too and it looks adorably beautiful. She pulls her bangs back, mom, remember, like I used to. You’d always tell me you loved my hair like that. I’d get annoyed because whenever I kept my bangs down, you’d never comment but when I pinned them back, you’d love it. You’d tell me. I pin them back alot here. I think of you when I do.
There was “Cabin Inspection” today. Captain Jurryan walked through all the cabins on B deck and checked whether they were acceptable or not. Then we got a sheet pinned on our door telling us how we did. There are about 60 cabins on B deck that he walked through. Whenever he inspects, one cabin is chosen for the “Captain’s Award”. It actually gets pretty competative between a few of the crew. I’d be into to it more if it weren’t for the reward of $1, which I find humerously unmotivating. I’ve never been a neat freak. I’ve never been messy or unorganized but I like my space to looked lived in. I like it nice and neat but lived in. My cabin mates prefer the non-lived in look. So I deal. We got the AWARD though, so I guess it’s paid off. Anna left the cabin for dinner and ran back in waving the piece of paper in the air wildly. “LOOK, Look!! We got it...!!” So we pinned in to the front of our door and are all anxious to brag to the rest of the ship. “Kiss Asses” has already tainted our certifcate. Our next door naighbor, Scott Harrison (the photographer of the Anastasis), is a sore loser and scribbled his feelings (in fun) on our reward.
Sam’s place got pretty low marks, he’s just told me. Cully’s too. They passed, let it be known, just barey though. I laughed as Sam told me that his next door naighbor got “UNACCEPTABLE” written on his note by the captain. I’m sitting here trying to contemplate the state of a cabin with “UNACCEPTABLE” marks. It’s definitly got the “lived in” factor that I prefer.
We visited the school today in Roysville. My children are young, very young. Three and four. I was discouraged today as I found it challenging to communicate with them. They rememered my name though. They kept saying “Sienna” which made me smile. Pray for me though. I want to affect these kids. I want their attention. I want thier understanding. I hate awkardness. I hate silence. I hate no repsonses. I get all these things. God’s refining me, I keep reminding myself. I’ll come through stronger and better for it, I know. Still, the path is difficult. I stuggle for ideas. I stuggle for words to choose as I speak to these small liberian children. From their expressions, I’m barely convinced they understand.
Pray that I’ll persevere. Pray that even in this situation that seems, many times, hopeless, that my Father in heaven will use me mightly. Pray that he’ll give me words that these children can understand. It’s a difficult situation. I have to be honest, I don’t normally look forwards to placing myself in these positons; going to orphanges, helping out at schools. It requires alot from me when I’d rather just be in my room listening to music. I know, I’m selfish.
Pray that God will change me.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Finally, I Have a Story and am Inspired to Write...
Human Resources took the morning off. Our very own, Ana Schierbecker, in charge of housing the crew in HR, suggested we take one morning off one day a week and head out in a land rover to work with Liberian children. She asked the department during our staff meeting two weeks ago and since no one objected, it was put into action. HR closed its doors at 8:30 this morning and tacked a sign on the door, “We’ve run away. Be back after lunch.”
Steven, Sandy, Ana, Marilyn, and I piled in the land rover. I pulled myself in and slammed the rusty door. We had managed to get one of the nicer vehicles. A treat. It was a 45-minute drive along the dirt roads, covered in markets and woman with babies strapped to their backs. The dust was inescapable. Little boys balanced tubs of food on their heads. I stared. I wondered how they learned this art. We turned off the main road and entered into Royesville. The school was in Royesville. The dirt road was long that led to the school. Deep pools of muddy water littered the streets. The old land rover took a dive every time as we prayed not to get stuck. She tore through like a champion. Mud splashed up on the sides as our bodies were thrown around like rag dolls. Jungles of tangled vines and muddy swamps surrounded the long road ahead. Topless woman were seen picking fruit off the trees with baby on their back. No shoes. No expression. Sweat coated their dark faces. A National Geographic moment, I was in the midst of. So it’s true. There are those who live in mud huts. There are those who walk all day long along the dirt road to bring home dinner. I thought about it.
We neared the end of the seemingly eternal road. We pulled into a field with a large building full of children. Their waving hands could be seen from the glassless windows. Children, ages 3 through 18, inhabited this school in Royesville. A small boy (4 years), named David, approached our vehicle immediately. Ana jumped out. “What’s wrong David? Why do you look so sad?” David said nothing. She felt his forehead. “You’re burning up. Oh honey.” Ana took David’s small hand and asked him if he had taken any medicine and then told him to go home and lie down. “You need rest.” She held his hands and asked him if she could pray for him. The children know Ana. She had worked at this same school when the ship had been in Liberia last March. David has the presence of a much older boy than 4. It shocked me. He answered very calmly, “Yes.”
We walked into a classroom of 83 kids. Their ages ranged from 3 to 10. I was put in charge of the 3-5 year olds. We were given an hour with them. This Wednesday, what we did with them, was completely up to us. Ana asked that we introduce them to ourselves and just try to get to know them a bit. The following weeks Ana will prepare Bible lessons with songs and crafts for us to teach the children. I took my class of 18 by the hands and led them outside their classroom. They followed me to the side of their school as I motioned for them to all “Sit. You can sit. Here, sit. Like me. Come on, right next to me. That’s it, right here.” I motioned. I encouraged. They looked at me with suspicion. I was lucky and delighted to have David in my group. Though he’s merely 4, he helped me immensely. The children and I speak the same language but still are unable to understand one another. The accents are so thick on both sides that even though I may understand some of what they say, it’s very hard for the little ones to understand me. So I smile. I motion. David seemed to get what I was saying and I kept asking him to “Tell them.” They started giggling though and I was awed by their perfect faces. What beautiful and intricate faces African children have. I asked them in they knew the song, “Jesus loves me” or if they knew how to play “Duck, duck goose”. David translated. They nodded and burst into some song, I’d never heard, proclaiming how “Jesus was born in Bethlehem. Praise God. Hallelujah.” They were into it! They carried the tune perfectly. I asked if they knew “This little light of mine” and they held up they’re finger. “Yes. That’s it. Sing it with me.” I started in the song, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine...” Oh, it was shameful. I couldn’t find the tune. I searched. I kept trailing off into this awful hum. I laughed in spite of myself. I was surrounded my 3 and 4 year olds more musical then I, myself, could ever hope to be. Though frustrating, there was something beautiful in the scene.
So I sat with them. Tried to teach them ring-around-the rosie with little success. There were some silent moments where I had not a clue what to say. They were quiet as they stared at me. As I rose, to head back to their classroom though, they clung. Their small hands lurched into mine and I smiled and looked down at them so excited that I’m going to be able to see them every week for the next 8 months.
We go back next Wednesday. Liberia’s looking brighter by the day.
Steven, Sandy, Ana, Marilyn, and I piled in the land rover. I pulled myself in and slammed the rusty door. We had managed to get one of the nicer vehicles. A treat. It was a 45-minute drive along the dirt roads, covered in markets and woman with babies strapped to their backs. The dust was inescapable. Little boys balanced tubs of food on their heads. I stared. I wondered how they learned this art. We turned off the main road and entered into Royesville. The school was in Royesville. The dirt road was long that led to the school. Deep pools of muddy water littered the streets. The old land rover took a dive every time as we prayed not to get stuck. She tore through like a champion. Mud splashed up on the sides as our bodies were thrown around like rag dolls. Jungles of tangled vines and muddy swamps surrounded the long road ahead. Topless woman were seen picking fruit off the trees with baby on their back. No shoes. No expression. Sweat coated their dark faces. A National Geographic moment, I was in the midst of. So it’s true. There are those who live in mud huts. There are those who walk all day long along the dirt road to bring home dinner. I thought about it.
We neared the end of the seemingly eternal road. We pulled into a field with a large building full of children. Their waving hands could be seen from the glassless windows. Children, ages 3 through 18, inhabited this school in Royesville. A small boy (4 years), named David, approached our vehicle immediately. Ana jumped out. “What’s wrong David? Why do you look so sad?” David said nothing. She felt his forehead. “You’re burning up. Oh honey.” Ana took David’s small hand and asked him if he had taken any medicine and then told him to go home and lie down. “You need rest.” She held his hands and asked him if she could pray for him. The children know Ana. She had worked at this same school when the ship had been in Liberia last March. David has the presence of a much older boy than 4. It shocked me. He answered very calmly, “Yes.”
We walked into a classroom of 83 kids. Their ages ranged from 3 to 10. I was put in charge of the 3-5 year olds. We were given an hour with them. This Wednesday, what we did with them, was completely up to us. Ana asked that we introduce them to ourselves and just try to get to know them a bit. The following weeks Ana will prepare Bible lessons with songs and crafts for us to teach the children. I took my class of 18 by the hands and led them outside their classroom. They followed me to the side of their school as I motioned for them to all “Sit. You can sit. Here, sit. Like me. Come on, right next to me. That’s it, right here.” I motioned. I encouraged. They looked at me with suspicion. I was lucky and delighted to have David in my group. Though he’s merely 4, he helped me immensely. The children and I speak the same language but still are unable to understand one another. The accents are so thick on both sides that even though I may understand some of what they say, it’s very hard for the little ones to understand me. So I smile. I motion. David seemed to get what I was saying and I kept asking him to “Tell them.” They started giggling though and I was awed by their perfect faces. What beautiful and intricate faces African children have. I asked them in they knew the song, “Jesus loves me” or if they knew how to play “Duck, duck goose”. David translated. They nodded and burst into some song, I’d never heard, proclaiming how “Jesus was born in Bethlehem. Praise God. Hallelujah.” They were into it! They carried the tune perfectly. I asked if they knew “This little light of mine” and they held up they’re finger. “Yes. That’s it. Sing it with me.” I started in the song, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine...” Oh, it was shameful. I couldn’t find the tune. I searched. I kept trailing off into this awful hum. I laughed in spite of myself. I was surrounded my 3 and 4 year olds more musical then I, myself, could ever hope to be. Though frustrating, there was something beautiful in the scene.
So I sat with them. Tried to teach them ring-around-the rosie with little success. There were some silent moments where I had not a clue what to say. They were quiet as they stared at me. As I rose, to head back to their classroom though, they clung. Their small hands lurched into mine and I smiled and looked down at them so excited that I’m going to be able to see them every week for the next 8 months.
We go back next Wednesday. Liberia’s looking brighter by the day.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Another's Words
I’m lying in my bed. It’s 11:13pm. The day has been long. I rose early with the sun and prayed with Sandy, a faithful friend of mine, leaving for India in a few weeks. The ship’s mandatory Tuesday gathering started at 7:45, lasting ¾ of an hour. Work immediately followed. Today was training day. My title will change from “HR assistant” to “HR Operations Facilitator”. This is basically a fancy term for a much more important job. I’m intimidated. Please pray. Training is stressful and requires much of my effort. I sit in the chair beside Cristin, watching as she shows me her routine I must learn to imitate before the week’s end. I struggle to listen. I feel like a little girl. I sit in my chair, nodding my head attentively, my eyes glancing from her to the clock. My leg vibrates as my body is anxious for a visit to the snack bar. I glance over to Steven’s desk for some relief of the mundane. He doesn’t see me. My day proceeded with this anxiety. When the clock read 5pm, I was grateful. I printed emails from home, gathered them up, and headed to my cabin. I read the heartfelt and encouraging words of my asian sister and my dear friend, Jack. I caught some shut-eye after that.
This past week I struggle to find a story to tell you. I struggle for substance that will inspire my writing. Today Sam wrote his weekly newsletter to his supporters back home and I was privileged to read it. I have decided to post it here for you to read. Take a break from me for a few minutes and read what Sam has to say about this ship. His words and discoveries; his experiences and descriptions, are exactly what I have desired for you to hear but have struggled to put into words. So hear them from him. Be blessed by the words of Sam Belz. I sure was.
"Today is election day in Liberia. October’s election reduced the fifty original candidates down to two for a second round of voting—George Weah and Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. George Weah is the common man’s man. He earned international fame and money through his soccer career at Milan and Chelsea in Europe. And to prove his genuine concern for the welfare of Liberia, he gave away most of his money to the people, even before they considered him for the presidency. He is young, honest and specially appeals to the young men, the former combatants. The ‘’bookmen,’’ as they call them here, scorn Weah for his lack of education. (He dropped out of school when he was sixteen.) He is one of the natives by blood, not descended from the advantaged American slaves of the middle 1800’s. That quickly classes him with 90% of the country. He is, to the people, one of them.
Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf looks a little like Janet Reno. I have heard that both Christians and women are her biggest supporters. The rich like her too. She went to Harvard and worked for the World Bank and the UN. But Liberia is weary of only the semblance of worth and not substance in their leaders. Charles Taylor himself is an Ivy Leaguer, but none of that matters if the shepherds of the people won’t go and guard and nourish the flock. Ellen stumbles at one major point. Years ago, she worked for Charles Taylor. Liberians won’t forget that.
Whomever Liberia elects, let it not be the man or woman that this country deserves. Let a king David reign, who will execute judgment and justice to all his people. May God bare his mighty arm, and make all things new, that all the earth would see his might. Let sinners see that righteousness exalts a nation.
Anyway, Saturday, Mercy Ship doctors and nurses screened patients for surgery at JFK hospital. On the same day, though, George Weah hosted a big rally downtown near the hospital. So the captain held back most of the non-medical crew from going. I awoke Saturday, not at all expecting to go. Not only did I have to work in the galley, but I hadn’t signed up, and teenagers weren’t allowed to go. Triply barricadoed! Downstairs I read my Bible and just as I finished, the captain announced ten open spots. I ran upstairs, met Walter Fuhrer, chief steward of the galley, at the door, who made a quick phone call, and Chris Guillebeau rallied me down the gangway. I jumped into the back of the last land-rover as it slowly pulled out. I surprised myself with the turn of events.
The streets were full of people. I saw youngsters, with their whole bodies dangling out of speeding jeeps, cheering, with George Weah posters on their faces and bodies. One bare-chested youth said (It was told me), ‘’We are gonna put Ellen in the kitchen, and she gonna cook for George.’’ As we got near the hospital, chilling nerves hit me, not unlike the morning of the Cono relays at Coe College, as I would prepare my legs for the mile run. Long lines of people with wide-wasting diseases stood outside the hospital. I settled on a prayer group, which prayed for people that Mercy Ships couldn’t help.
One woman came to us with her toddler son. He could hear but he couldn’t speak. While the women prayed with her, I took the boy on my shoulders. We walked all over the hospital courtyard. He was timid at first. He clutched my face with his sweaty infant hands. I bounced him on my knee and gave him a balloon. Still no sound from his lips. Finally, I took them both to the exit out of the hospital. As they walked away, the boy turned his head to me and his face was beaming. It was a hot day, but there was thick shade where we prayed. I played with some boys, who were rolling a home-made toy, called a ‘’whee.’’ I laid my hands on a man with a very gently throbbing neck tumor. It was a very successful, peaceful screening.
Pray for courage to get involved with the people. Not just for me, but also for Cully and Sienna. The ship is a padded refuge. It would be easy to stay here all the time. On the ship, just days ago, the captain opened up the laundry room for crew laundry. I washed and folded my clothes and sheets and towels for the first time since we left Cape Town. It was wonderful. Yesterday the heat made even the air conditioned spots on the ship uncomfortable. I shunned the heat, and sheltered in a cool linen closet. I got a lot of reading done. Cockroaches and their loathed intrusion are around every corner, on every surface."
This past week I struggle to find a story to tell you. I struggle for substance that will inspire my writing. Today Sam wrote his weekly newsletter to his supporters back home and I was privileged to read it. I have decided to post it here for you to read. Take a break from me for a few minutes and read what Sam has to say about this ship. His words and discoveries; his experiences and descriptions, are exactly what I have desired for you to hear but have struggled to put into words. So hear them from him. Be blessed by the words of Sam Belz. I sure was.
"Today is election day in Liberia. October’s election reduced the fifty original candidates down to two for a second round of voting—George Weah and Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. George Weah is the common man’s man. He earned international fame and money through his soccer career at Milan and Chelsea in Europe. And to prove his genuine concern for the welfare of Liberia, he gave away most of his money to the people, even before they considered him for the presidency. He is young, honest and specially appeals to the young men, the former combatants. The ‘’bookmen,’’ as they call them here, scorn Weah for his lack of education. (He dropped out of school when he was sixteen.) He is one of the natives by blood, not descended from the advantaged American slaves of the middle 1800’s. That quickly classes him with 90% of the country. He is, to the people, one of them.
Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf looks a little like Janet Reno. I have heard that both Christians and women are her biggest supporters. The rich like her too. She went to Harvard and worked for the World Bank and the UN. But Liberia is weary of only the semblance of worth and not substance in their leaders. Charles Taylor himself is an Ivy Leaguer, but none of that matters if the shepherds of the people won’t go and guard and nourish the flock. Ellen stumbles at one major point. Years ago, she worked for Charles Taylor. Liberians won’t forget that.
Whomever Liberia elects, let it not be the man or woman that this country deserves. Let a king David reign, who will execute judgment and justice to all his people. May God bare his mighty arm, and make all things new, that all the earth would see his might. Let sinners see that righteousness exalts a nation.
Anyway, Saturday, Mercy Ship doctors and nurses screened patients for surgery at JFK hospital. On the same day, though, George Weah hosted a big rally downtown near the hospital. So the captain held back most of the non-medical crew from going. I awoke Saturday, not at all expecting to go. Not only did I have to work in the galley, but I hadn’t signed up, and teenagers weren’t allowed to go. Triply barricadoed! Downstairs I read my Bible and just as I finished, the captain announced ten open spots. I ran upstairs, met Walter Fuhrer, chief steward of the galley, at the door, who made a quick phone call, and Chris Guillebeau rallied me down the gangway. I jumped into the back of the last land-rover as it slowly pulled out. I surprised myself with the turn of events.
The streets were full of people. I saw youngsters, with their whole bodies dangling out of speeding jeeps, cheering, with George Weah posters on their faces and bodies. One bare-chested youth said (It was told me), ‘’We are gonna put Ellen in the kitchen, and she gonna cook for George.’’ As we got near the hospital, chilling nerves hit me, not unlike the morning of the Cono relays at Coe College, as I would prepare my legs for the mile run. Long lines of people with wide-wasting diseases stood outside the hospital. I settled on a prayer group, which prayed for people that Mercy Ships couldn’t help.
One woman came to us with her toddler son. He could hear but he couldn’t speak. While the women prayed with her, I took the boy on my shoulders. We walked all over the hospital courtyard. He was timid at first. He clutched my face with his sweaty infant hands. I bounced him on my knee and gave him a balloon. Still no sound from his lips. Finally, I took them both to the exit out of the hospital. As they walked away, the boy turned his head to me and his face was beaming. It was a hot day, but there was thick shade where we prayed. I played with some boys, who were rolling a home-made toy, called a ‘’whee.’’ I laid my hands on a man with a very gently throbbing neck tumor. It was a very successful, peaceful screening.
Pray for courage to get involved with the people. Not just for me, but also for Cully and Sienna. The ship is a padded refuge. It would be easy to stay here all the time. On the ship, just days ago, the captain opened up the laundry room for crew laundry. I washed and folded my clothes and sheets and towels for the first time since we left Cape Town. It was wonderful. Yesterday the heat made even the air conditioned spots on the ship uncomfortable. I shunned the heat, and sheltered in a cool linen closet. I got a lot of reading done. Cockroaches and their loathed intrusion are around every corner, on every surface."
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.
No photos equals no happiness, I know. I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to post any for you. I thought purchasing a laptop would handle the problem and it has only solved part of it. I’m finally able to unload my pictures from my camera and start taking new ones. I have a place to store my photos now but the Computer Manager left the ship about a month ago and ever since, the Internet server hasn’t been too reliable. The entire crew has been refused picture sending. It’s quite awful. I’m a little devastated over it. Hopefully they’ll be able to get it running again but whenever I ask I’m only given a look of disgust and frustration. The IT department doesn’t exactly encourage questions but they’re all geniuses and so we all ask and I think it might get annoying. So I am sorry, for me and you, that I’m not able to share my photos. Maybe I will be able soon but for now, my words will have to make the pictures. I have an IMovie program and the past couple evenings I’ve been working on some slideshows with music and images. I’ll be able to burn them on a CD and send them home. It’s definitely a battle for me. I’m no technical genius and I’m constantly running to Cully for guidance. He knows everything about this machine. When I ask he’ll usually encourage me to find out for myself and give me the manual that I’ve gave him to read. He read the entire thing, cover to cover. I skimmed it but I find the reading material completely un-engaging. So I ask Cully. Sometimes he gets annoyed but then I look at him with my very lost, pathetic eyes and explain how I really do know a lot but this new Apple system completely confuses and frustrates me and he’s just going to have to be patient with me and explain it. Why should two people read that entire manual when one already has? I’d much rather talk to a person that read those un-engaging words. Then he gives in.
This morning the ship had to meet in The International Lounge for Tuesday morning devotions. It’s a time of announcement, instruction, welcoming new crew, bidding farewell to departing ones, singing, and prayer. I look forwards to these meetings. I like it when the ships all together. Most people prefer to skip them, even though they’re mandatory, but there’s just something about them that I really enjoy. I look forward to them. Corinna does too.
A funny thing happened though. After the meeting a lady named Holly Fotheringill, came up to me. She’s the department head for Hospitality. Hospitality prepares everything for new crew and functions and is kind of just hospitable. They have a lot of responsibilities. She tapped me on my shoulder and said one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. Now this may only be funny to my sisters, Chalice and Kyrie and Brae too. Chalice will especially laugh. Holly explained to me how she was standing behind me and that during the singing, “I could hear you so well and you have the most amazing voice. I just can’t believe it. Mike (her husband) and I were just blown away. I mean, it’s one of the most beautiful voices.” What? It’s always been the joke of the family that Sienna doesn’t sing well. She loves to sing but it’s just not one of her specialties. She’s not bad but she’s not good. Chalice will especially testify to this. My immediate response was “Oh...no no. That was Cristin. Cristin led the worship. You must be getting me confused with her. No, that wasn’t me, I didn’t lead worship. I just attended.” But Holly would have none of that. “No, it was you. You were standing right in front of us.” I started laughing, wishing to the heavens that Linnea or Chalice were there. I thanked Holly for the compliment and very confused, I walked away. It didn’t end there either. The next morning she walked by me, “Mike and I could hear your amazing voice this morning too, even though you were rows away from us.” I am officially confused. But it gave me a good laugh for the rest of the day. I kept laughing when I would think about it. I was annoyed that I couldn’t share my story with others. It’s probably not even that funny to most of you but to my family, it will be. Sam and Cully would have just looked at me, smiling and said something like “Oh that’s nice Sienna. Good job.” Or maybe Sam would have said that, Cully would have just slapped me on the back or looked at my oddly or something.
That’s my funny story. Day’s later, I’m still laughing. Now when I sing, I’m suddenly conscious of where Holly Fotheringill is. I rather not be confused by her any more. I’m now running on “reserved battery”. I must go.
This morning the ship had to meet in The International Lounge for Tuesday morning devotions. It’s a time of announcement, instruction, welcoming new crew, bidding farewell to departing ones, singing, and prayer. I look forwards to these meetings. I like it when the ships all together. Most people prefer to skip them, even though they’re mandatory, but there’s just something about them that I really enjoy. I look forward to them. Corinna does too.
A funny thing happened though. After the meeting a lady named Holly Fotheringill, came up to me. She’s the department head for Hospitality. Hospitality prepares everything for new crew and functions and is kind of just hospitable. They have a lot of responsibilities. She tapped me on my shoulder and said one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. Now this may only be funny to my sisters, Chalice and Kyrie and Brae too. Chalice will especially laugh. Holly explained to me how she was standing behind me and that during the singing, “I could hear you so well and you have the most amazing voice. I just can’t believe it. Mike (her husband) and I were just blown away. I mean, it’s one of the most beautiful voices.” What? It’s always been the joke of the family that Sienna doesn’t sing well. She loves to sing but it’s just not one of her specialties. She’s not bad but she’s not good. Chalice will especially testify to this. My immediate response was “Oh...no no. That was Cristin. Cristin led the worship. You must be getting me confused with her. No, that wasn’t me, I didn’t lead worship. I just attended.” But Holly would have none of that. “No, it was you. You were standing right in front of us.” I started laughing, wishing to the heavens that Linnea or Chalice were there. I thanked Holly for the compliment and very confused, I walked away. It didn’t end there either. The next morning she walked by me, “Mike and I could hear your amazing voice this morning too, even though you were rows away from us.” I am officially confused. But it gave me a good laugh for the rest of the day. I kept laughing when I would think about it. I was annoyed that I couldn’t share my story with others. It’s probably not even that funny to most of you but to my family, it will be. Sam and Cully would have just looked at me, smiling and said something like “Oh that’s nice Sienna. Good job.” Or maybe Sam would have said that, Cully would have just slapped me on the back or looked at my oddly or something.
That’s my funny story. Day’s later, I’m still laughing. Now when I sing, I’m suddenly conscious of where Holly Fotheringill is. I rather not be confused by her any more. I’m now running on “reserved battery”. I must go.
It Rained Today...and yesterday
We’ve arrived. The land of Liberia fills the scenery when I look outside my porthole. The air is moist and the sun has never shown brighter. Today it rained. It rains a lot here. I don’t remember it raining in Cape Town. I love the rain. I didn’t use to love it as much at home. I’m humoured as I remind myself of my mother. She loves thunderstorms. I never understood her. I just looked out my porthole though as the rain beat hard against the sea and it made me smile. Rain fits here. It suits this place. The rain makes us thoughtful. It brings to light what were here to do. I’m beginning to realize that it’s not always going to be enjoyable. I’m beginning to realize how uncomfortable living in Liberia may turn out to be. I beginning to love the refuge this ship is to the overwhelming streets of Monrovia. I feel guilty for not wanting to leave it. Here, it seems dreary. Cape Town was rich in colour and entertainment. Massive mountains and valleys, stunning rivers and streams filled Cape Town. This land looks flat and lacks every ounce of colour that Cape Town so richly possessed. You can taste the devastation. The country has been without war for a mere two years. Bullet holes are seen on the building walls. UN soldiers patrol the streets with machine guns. The roads are crammed with deep potholes and small children. Woman, with bright patterned fabrics draped across them, walk along with a child strapped to their back and something balanced on their head. The toddlers walk with babies on their hips, no mother in sight. One of the small children asked me where my mother was. I told her that she lived in the U.S.A. and that I wouldn’t be able to see her for a very long time. She immediately asked if she could come live with me when I told her I lived on the Mercy Ship. Her hands went in an up and down motion as she asked if we “floated”.
The attitude is much more solemn here than it was in Cape Town. I guess this makes sense, but it’s a change I didn’t see coming. The mood was optimistic and exciting in Cape Town. The discomforts of the world are all too real here. Eight months seems like an eternity. I’m instantly exhausted when I stop to think about it.
I’m going to be honest with my audience here. I’ve been struggling with this specific entry. The only reason I finally sat down to write something was because my older brother emailed me and told me to stop this silence stunt. Early Thursday morning I received very sad news from home. I’ve been discouraged from my writing. I struggle for where to begin. On one hand I’d rather not talk about my news. On the other hand, I do want you to know my heart. I want you to know my sadness and understand the possible difference in my attitude. I want you to pray. I want you to know. But I fear people feeling sorry and I fear questions and so many words. At 2:30am on Thursday morning I received devastating news that my father has been diagnosed with cancer. I tell you so you can pray. I tell you so you can maybe understand any noticeable difference in me. My ship family has showered me in love. They’ve come to my door with food and encouragement. I’m in a strange place now though. I don’t really want to tell you this but I choose to be vulnerable so you can pray for me and for my family. I’m in Liberia and yet I’m not. My drive has been deflated and my vision, not as clear as before.
I do know that when we come forth from our trials that God will have refined us as gold. I do know that I can’t accept the good and not the bad from my Maker. I do know that my Saviour’s compassions and mercies are new every morning. I focus on those mercies when I get down. Please pray for my family. Pray that love will continue to unite us and that The One who is able to do all things for the good of those who love him will guard our hearts and minds against bitterness. May He be glorified.
The attitude is much more solemn here than it was in Cape Town. I guess this makes sense, but it’s a change I didn’t see coming. The mood was optimistic and exciting in Cape Town. The discomforts of the world are all too real here. Eight months seems like an eternity. I’m instantly exhausted when I stop to think about it.
I’m going to be honest with my audience here. I’ve been struggling with this specific entry. The only reason I finally sat down to write something was because my older brother emailed me and told me to stop this silence stunt. Early Thursday morning I received very sad news from home. I’ve been discouraged from my writing. I struggle for where to begin. On one hand I’d rather not talk about my news. On the other hand, I do want you to know my heart. I want you to know my sadness and understand the possible difference in my attitude. I want you to pray. I want you to know. But I fear people feeling sorry and I fear questions and so many words. At 2:30am on Thursday morning I received devastating news that my father has been diagnosed with cancer. I tell you so you can pray. I tell you so you can maybe understand any noticeable difference in me. My ship family has showered me in love. They’ve come to my door with food and encouragement. I’m in a strange place now though. I don’t really want to tell you this but I choose to be vulnerable so you can pray for me and for my family. I’m in Liberia and yet I’m not. My drive has been deflated and my vision, not as clear as before.
I do know that when we come forth from our trials that God will have refined us as gold. I do know that I can’t accept the good and not the bad from my Maker. I do know that my Saviour’s compassions and mercies are new every morning. I focus on those mercies when I get down. Please pray for my family. Pray that love will continue to unite us and that The One who is able to do all things for the good of those who love him will guard our hearts and minds against bitterness. May He be glorified.
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