I just recieved this email from my sister and I appriciate the way in which she turns her thoughts to words. She has good things to say. I wanted you to read it...
you know you talk about savoring those perfect moments. i remember
lowen
told me once : "the minute you start to savor things, your childhood is
over." you think that's true? i mean, as a child you never know when
your
living in a good memory or not. you just kinda skip from one happiness
to
another in your mismatching outfits and knotty hair. then as you get
older, your more aware of when things are good. when things should be
savored. so it's this bittersweetness. savoring moments and then
knowing
why you are.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
So it goes...
This morning work has been murder. It would’ve been alright if I had food to eat at 10 or 11. Normally I always have a bowl of peanuts on my desk or a bag of chips. Jens Schierbecker, the manager of our Community Development team, always waltzes in my office around 11:15 each morning asking for the “snack of the day?”. Just recently I’ve had to tell him there is none. I have to stop snacking. I’m not satisfied by this habit of mine. It runs in my family though. I laugh. I am aware that this trait isn’t an odd one. It’s actually quite common among the human race. But the last thing I want to do is have an office job where I eat all the time. It’s really easy to do that. I so look forward to food. My body sways back and forth, in dance when I make my way to the dining room. The morning is the worst. I count down the minutes until 11:45. Steven comes by around that time and picks me up. Today I was a bit anxious and grabbed the phone to ring his office when I heard behind me, “You ready?”. I slammed down the phone. Oh I amuse myself. Lunch was quite good today though. Macaroni and cheese - it has no equal.
Lunch conversation consisted of our anxiety and depression in the 5th season of 24 going on with out us, the new liberian children being adopted by our executive directed, Warrie Blackburn and her husband Brian, and Marilyn Riechert landing safely in New York and visiting the two high points; the Statue of Liberty and Startbucks. She sent photos of each.
On Sunday afternoons Corinna and I walked down the gangway and into town for about an hour to visit our two friends, Koolah and Blessing. Corinna met these girls last March, when the Anastasis had been here before. Koolah is 17 and Blessing is her niece. She’s 4 years old. We walked the dirt road to the home where Koolah and Blessing live. Every time they see us coming, Koolah will open the door as little Blessing pushes her way out. I’ll kneel down, a smile consumes me, and let Blessing run into me. She’s in my arms and Koolah, not far behind. Koolah offers few words but her eyes light up when she sees us. I know it sounds cliché but they do. She welcomes Corinna and I each time with open arms and this smile that’s so obvisouly displaying gratitude and love. She loves. Even if it not be in many words, I see it in her.
Corinna and I took the girls to the ship on Thursday evening. They had dinner with us and later we attended, together, the Community Meeting. When the offering was taking place, they asked all African crew to come up front and announced we were going to do offering African style tonight. When you go to church in West Africa, the offering plate isn’t just passed around. They’re set upfront, near where the preacher stands and the congregation dances their way to plates. This Thursday evening the plates were set on the floor and as the African Crew began their song and dance, the rest of us, non-africans, made our way towards the front. All I remember was how excited I was to have Blessing in my arms. Immediately, as the music started, her head began moving back and forth. Then came her shoulders. Then her waste moved (exactly in synce with the music). This girl had it going on. She was all of 4 years old and this music, this rhythm, was in her bones. I smiled down at her as I stepped away from my chair, following Blessing’s lead, and made my way to the front.
Lunch conversation consisted of our anxiety and depression in the 5th season of 24 going on with out us, the new liberian children being adopted by our executive directed, Warrie Blackburn and her husband Brian, and Marilyn Riechert landing safely in New York and visiting the two high points; the Statue of Liberty and Startbucks. She sent photos of each.
On Sunday afternoons Corinna and I walked down the gangway and into town for about an hour to visit our two friends, Koolah and Blessing. Corinna met these girls last March, when the Anastasis had been here before. Koolah is 17 and Blessing is her niece. She’s 4 years old. We walked the dirt road to the home where Koolah and Blessing live. Every time they see us coming, Koolah will open the door as little Blessing pushes her way out. I’ll kneel down, a smile consumes me, and let Blessing run into me. She’s in my arms and Koolah, not far behind. Koolah offers few words but her eyes light up when she sees us. I know it sounds cliché but they do. She welcomes Corinna and I each time with open arms and this smile that’s so obvisouly displaying gratitude and love. She loves. Even if it not be in many words, I see it in her.
Corinna and I took the girls to the ship on Thursday evening. They had dinner with us and later we attended, together, the Community Meeting. When the offering was taking place, they asked all African crew to come up front and announced we were going to do offering African style tonight. When you go to church in West Africa, the offering plate isn’t just passed around. They’re set upfront, near where the preacher stands and the congregation dances their way to plates. This Thursday evening the plates were set on the floor and as the African Crew began their song and dance, the rest of us, non-africans, made our way towards the front. All I remember was how excited I was to have Blessing in my arms. Immediately, as the music started, her head began moving back and forth. Then came her shoulders. Then her waste moved (exactly in synce with the music). This girl had it going on. She was all of 4 years old and this music, this rhythm, was in her bones. I smiled down at her as I stepped away from my chair, following Blessing’s lead, and made my way to the front.
Friday, January 20, 2006
I'm Trying to Figure it Out..(it's a long one but I know my mother won't mind.)
Last Thursday night was our Thursday evening crew meeting in the International lounge. I love these meetings. It’s basically church, but on a Thursday night. Macullough had come knocking on my door around 7:25. His face showed signs of a wearing day. He must have just woken up from the nap that I almost always take right after dinner. I can’t remember if he said anything, just lifted his eyebrows slightly as I motioned “One minute” to grab my chapstick, a piece of double mint gum, and my bible. He thrust one of his arms forward for me to go first, “I don’t like people on my heels..”, he mumbled. Right before we walked into the meeting he stated very seriously, “Not the middle”.
“Fine. but not the back.”
“I want an isle seat.”
“You lead then. No. not too far back. I get distracted.”
“How’s this?”
“Good.”
So I sat. Content to be amongst my ship family. Content to be on the brink of worship. Content to not be sitting in the back. A boy named Michael Corbielle led worship that night. Alot of the time the leader of worship doesn’t tell us to stand up and sometimes people do but not everyone and I tend to get frustrated about this. What I immediately liked about Michael, as he sat on his chair strumming his guitar, was how he started worship. “Guys, I know I’m sitting but that doesn’t mean you need to. Feel free to stand.” Then he almost started singing and I knew no one would stand but then Michael went on, “Alright...everybody stand up!” YES! SCORE! good boy Michael.
Sam walked in midway through the service. Worship had ended and Beth Ann Kern, one of our chaplains/counselors had begun the lecture. The galley works their people well past 7:30 and they always seem to miss the beginning. It’s a shame, I tell you. The incredible thing is that Sam goes into work around 7 or 8 in the morning and doesn’t finish until 7:30 or 8 that night. Then he has to go back into the kitchen around 9 to cover up leftovers. He brought me back last week to show me around and what he does everyday. The kitchen is completely off limits to the crew who don’t work there. But it was past midnight and we doubted anyone would find us. I stood watching as he wrapped the long, deep trays of rice, beans, and chili and slid them onto their shelf and into the massive ship refrigerator. We heard the door creak open but it was out of our eyesight so there was no telling who it was. Immediately I began silently freaking out. My eyes darted to Sam’s as he was sternly motioning for me to get behind the counter. “Get down!”, he whispered. I looked at him with hesitance, my eyes conveying “I better not get caught.” He shoved the last tray into the fridge and we, as quietly as possible, tiptoed our way behind counters and shelves and slipped out the back entrance. Right as we had got out, we heard voices and loud footsteps sounding quite intent on finding out who had been in there. But we were out. I breathed deeply, glad to be out of such a ridiculously intense situation. We headed for my office, where for the next 35 minutes we would be entertained by the edifying conversation of Marilyn Reichert. She leaves tomorrow. I’m going to be a mess. I’ve already been a mess this past week. Snapping at Signe and being moody for no reason that I wish to express amongst my ship mates. Please pray for me.
At the end of Community Meeting I felt no urge to get up and leave as I normally do. I just sat there. The room’s chaos slowly ceased. My eyes wandered as I slouched low in my chair. Sam was sitting in the front row. His eyes showed all signs of being lost in thought. I walked up and sat beside him. He shrugged “Hey”. He had made visible effort to make it sound upbeat but failed in the attempt. Exhaustion consumed him. We sat there together, talking until the room had emptied. At one point he even got off his chair and laid out on the floor, tucking his arms behind his head. While we talked, I discovered something interesting about this life I lead which is what I wished to share with you when I began this entry. But as usual, my title, inspired by my ultimate purpose, has been pushed away until now by my intrusive introduction.
Sam asked me one of his usual straightforward questions that requires a thought out response. Although my response tends to be delayed most of the time, as I sit there trying to come up with something profound to say, I like these questions. Tonight he asked something like, “Sienna, what are you tired of?” I thought. Not for long though. After about 10 seconds I answered, “Myself”. I went on to explain how I’m tired of the routine. I’m tired of not taking initiative. I’m tired of being sick of people. I’m tired of judging people. I’m tired of my attitude. I’m tired of being so burdened by serving the african people. I’m tired of being self-centered. I’m tired of being tired.
“Yeah. Me too.” he responded.
He agreed. Although he had some different conclusions than me, this is what I came up with:
What’s challenging about this life is that there are two different lives that I lead. I’m not totally absorbed in either. I live the conformable, coffee every morning, air conditioned, clean bathrooms, sweet smelling, no heat or humidity life from 9 to 5. Then it flips over and I head out in the land rover invaded by heat, humidity, death, dirt...a third world country. I’m having trouble adapting properly. I’ve thought it was me this whole time and I’m not saying that alot of it isn’t my own problem, but as I elaborated on this question of Sam’s I discovered, as did he, that I’m living two lives. The normal and the not. The conformable and the uncomfortable. A care free life and then one full of devastation. A life of “One mocha please. Oh and with extra hazelnut” and then suddenly surrounded by starving children, hanging on my every limb. I struggle whether to play with them or just hug them and never let go. These lives are completely different and each are completely present. I’m living both. I don’t know which one to adapt to and I’m finding it hard to truly become a part of Liberia when I always have this escape: coming back to this comfortable ship. It’s confusing. I wonder if I make any sense to you.
I don’t say this to complain. I say it in response to Sam’s question. It’s a theory, and personally, I think it’s a pretty good one. It's very interesting to me; the dinamics of this life. What I find right now, is constant anxiety. When I’m out, in the town, surrounded by chaos, heat and dirt..I can’t stop counting down the minutes until I’ll get that warm shower and smell good again. When I’m on the ship, in this nest of comfort, I have this angst to be out. And I only think this way because I can get there. I have the option of getting a warm shower. I have the option of being in air condition. So there’s this hesitation to adapt.
One day I want to go to a place and truly live among the people. I want to live their way and I want my way to be completely and utterly out of reach.
Sam hooked himself up with a ride to Guinee with a car load of Missionaries that have been visiting the ship for a few days. He'll drive the 3-day's journey there, stay for 2 weeks living with these people and then fly back. It cracks me up but seriously impresses me how he works these things out. Him, Cully, and I were all going to take our vacation days together sometime in March and fly off somewhere. But he's using up most of his days on this trip. I'm in HR though, maybe I can work something out and get him more days.
I went to an orphanage last Saturday and met a girl named Sienna. It was a very something-I’ve-never-felt-before feeling. I stared at this child unsure how I felt that she possessed the name my father had chosen for me. It was crazy. The whole morning I thought she had mearly been repeating my name and by the end I found out she was trying to telling me something entirely different. So it was the first one I met. The first Sienna. She was born in Monrovia. All the way in Africa.
and that’s sort of cool.
“Fine. but not the back.”
“I want an isle seat.”
“You lead then. No. not too far back. I get distracted.”
“How’s this?”
“Good.”
So I sat. Content to be amongst my ship family. Content to be on the brink of worship. Content to not be sitting in the back. A boy named Michael Corbielle led worship that night. Alot of the time the leader of worship doesn’t tell us to stand up and sometimes people do but not everyone and I tend to get frustrated about this. What I immediately liked about Michael, as he sat on his chair strumming his guitar, was how he started worship. “Guys, I know I’m sitting but that doesn’t mean you need to. Feel free to stand.” Then he almost started singing and I knew no one would stand but then Michael went on, “Alright...everybody stand up!” YES! SCORE! good boy Michael.
Sam walked in midway through the service. Worship had ended and Beth Ann Kern, one of our chaplains/counselors had begun the lecture. The galley works their people well past 7:30 and they always seem to miss the beginning. It’s a shame, I tell you. The incredible thing is that Sam goes into work around 7 or 8 in the morning and doesn’t finish until 7:30 or 8 that night. Then he has to go back into the kitchen around 9 to cover up leftovers. He brought me back last week to show me around and what he does everyday. The kitchen is completely off limits to the crew who don’t work there. But it was past midnight and we doubted anyone would find us. I stood watching as he wrapped the long, deep trays of rice, beans, and chili and slid them onto their shelf and into the massive ship refrigerator. We heard the door creak open but it was out of our eyesight so there was no telling who it was. Immediately I began silently freaking out. My eyes darted to Sam’s as he was sternly motioning for me to get behind the counter. “Get down!”, he whispered. I looked at him with hesitance, my eyes conveying “I better not get caught.” He shoved the last tray into the fridge and we, as quietly as possible, tiptoed our way behind counters and shelves and slipped out the back entrance. Right as we had got out, we heard voices and loud footsteps sounding quite intent on finding out who had been in there. But we were out. I breathed deeply, glad to be out of such a ridiculously intense situation. We headed for my office, where for the next 35 minutes we would be entertained by the edifying conversation of Marilyn Reichert. She leaves tomorrow. I’m going to be a mess. I’ve already been a mess this past week. Snapping at Signe and being moody for no reason that I wish to express amongst my ship mates. Please pray for me.
At the end of Community Meeting I felt no urge to get up and leave as I normally do. I just sat there. The room’s chaos slowly ceased. My eyes wandered as I slouched low in my chair. Sam was sitting in the front row. His eyes showed all signs of being lost in thought. I walked up and sat beside him. He shrugged “Hey”. He had made visible effort to make it sound upbeat but failed in the attempt. Exhaustion consumed him. We sat there together, talking until the room had emptied. At one point he even got off his chair and laid out on the floor, tucking his arms behind his head. While we talked, I discovered something interesting about this life I lead which is what I wished to share with you when I began this entry. But as usual, my title, inspired by my ultimate purpose, has been pushed away until now by my intrusive introduction.
Sam asked me one of his usual straightforward questions that requires a thought out response. Although my response tends to be delayed most of the time, as I sit there trying to come up with something profound to say, I like these questions. Tonight he asked something like, “Sienna, what are you tired of?” I thought. Not for long though. After about 10 seconds I answered, “Myself”. I went on to explain how I’m tired of the routine. I’m tired of not taking initiative. I’m tired of being sick of people. I’m tired of judging people. I’m tired of my attitude. I’m tired of being so burdened by serving the african people. I’m tired of being self-centered. I’m tired of being tired.
“Yeah. Me too.” he responded.
He agreed. Although he had some different conclusions than me, this is what I came up with:
What’s challenging about this life is that there are two different lives that I lead. I’m not totally absorbed in either. I live the conformable, coffee every morning, air conditioned, clean bathrooms, sweet smelling, no heat or humidity life from 9 to 5. Then it flips over and I head out in the land rover invaded by heat, humidity, death, dirt...a third world country. I’m having trouble adapting properly. I’ve thought it was me this whole time and I’m not saying that alot of it isn’t my own problem, but as I elaborated on this question of Sam’s I discovered, as did he, that I’m living two lives. The normal and the not. The conformable and the uncomfortable. A care free life and then one full of devastation. A life of “One mocha please. Oh and with extra hazelnut” and then suddenly surrounded by starving children, hanging on my every limb. I struggle whether to play with them or just hug them and never let go. These lives are completely different and each are completely present. I’m living both. I don’t know which one to adapt to and I’m finding it hard to truly become a part of Liberia when I always have this escape: coming back to this comfortable ship. It’s confusing. I wonder if I make any sense to you.
I don’t say this to complain. I say it in response to Sam’s question. It’s a theory, and personally, I think it’s a pretty good one. It's very interesting to me; the dinamics of this life. What I find right now, is constant anxiety. When I’m out, in the town, surrounded by chaos, heat and dirt..I can’t stop counting down the minutes until I’ll get that warm shower and smell good again. When I’m on the ship, in this nest of comfort, I have this angst to be out. And I only think this way because I can get there. I have the option of getting a warm shower. I have the option of being in air condition. So there’s this hesitation to adapt.
One day I want to go to a place and truly live among the people. I want to live their way and I want my way to be completely and utterly out of reach.
Sam hooked himself up with a ride to Guinee with a car load of Missionaries that have been visiting the ship for a few days. He'll drive the 3-day's journey there, stay for 2 weeks living with these people and then fly back. It cracks me up but seriously impresses me how he works these things out. Him, Cully, and I were all going to take our vacation days together sometime in March and fly off somewhere. But he's using up most of his days on this trip. I'm in HR though, maybe I can work something out and get him more days.
I went to an orphanage last Saturday and met a girl named Sienna. It was a very something-I’ve-never-felt-before feeling. I stared at this child unsure how I felt that she possessed the name my father had chosen for me. It was crazy. The whole morning I thought she had mearly been repeating my name and by the end I found out she was trying to telling me something entirely different. So it was the first one I met. The first Sienna. She was born in Monrovia. All the way in Africa.
and that’s sort of cool.
Friday, January 06, 2006
His Love
"God gazes at you with love,
because you were his idea.
He loves you
as if you were the only person on Earth."
I came accross this quote yesterday. I've been spending my day in thought. I'm trying to understand it.
because you were his idea.
He loves you
as if you were the only person on Earth."
I came accross this quote yesterday. I've been spending my day in thought. I'm trying to understand it.
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