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.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
All Crew to the Bow
Today is Sunday. It started with one extra hour of sleep. The announcement went over the intercom last night, “All crew: set you clocks back one hour. All Crew, clocks back one hour.” Liberia approaches along with a new time zone. I am now 7 hours ahead of you instead of 6. My morning was calm. I went out to the deck, as usual, and listened to a sermon of Pastor Shelton’s. I feel so spoiled out at sea. God’s work and beauty, his power and majesty are so obvious out here. Constant wonder is inevitable. Scripture is so real. During sermons, I constantly nod “Amen”. The ocean roars in front of me. The sun rips through the clouds dispersing it’s colours with more severity than I’ve ever seen. There’s water as far as my eyes can see. I went up to the bridge yesterday evening with Corinna and Cully. The bridge is where the Captain and the steering wheel are. You have to book an appointment to go up. Cully and Corinna held the wheel and were fascinated by all the gadgets and the fact that they were steering the ship. I guess it was pretty neat. I just went out to the railing and looked over. I was the farthest up on the ship as you could be and looking down was so neat. That’s all I can give it: “So neat”. If you could just think of “so neat” to it’s fullest meaning, maybe you’d have an idea. I called Cully over, nodding for him to look over the edge too. I was practically hanging over when he just glanced over and his eyes got wide. He jumped away, looking nauseous. “No. can’t do that.” He muttered.
“ah man...” I Sighed. “You’re missing it. Isn’t it crazy? There’s sharks down there. Sharks that can tear you apart and there’s whales, bigger than you even know. Right down there, right below us. Man.”
But yes, I do feel spoiled here. That will probably change in Liberia, but maybe not. We had worship on the bow this evening. The set setting as our backdrop. The beauty of the earth, as my favourite hymn goes, is so evident here, especially as we sail and especially when I’m out on the deck, instead in my bed with my head in the pillow, feeling nauseous.
Cully’s doing better. He had to work this morning. We hung out for a couple hours this afternoon as he toyed with my laptop and I embroidered on a white tea towel for my cabin. He seems to be doing all right. He may not be enjoying it yet, as I am, but as long as he keeps his mind off it, he seems to be doing fine. I don’t want the sail to end. It rocks me to sleep at night and provides such a perfect breeze when you’re outside. It’s funny too, how it brings the ship together. Anna said it would. I doubted. But we’re all on this ship. On Friday night there was nothing to do but what the ship had planned. So everyone was there. Last night (Saturday) they set up a huge screen outside, on the bow, and played movies. First was veggie tales, then Finding Nemo, and last, Second Hand Lions. I caught the last couple minutes of Second Hand Lions but was busy saving a bird, before that, who had flown into the ship and seemed confused. I was telling Cully though, that they need to be taking advantage of this ocean that we’re surrounded by. They should be showing something like “Jaws”. The sharks are all of 20 feet away from us. Why aren’t we showing these movies when we’re in the prefect scare you pants off atmosphere?
Well we’re 2 days out. 7 to go. I’m going to go to the Mediterranean Lounge now to embroider with Cristin. My love to you all.
“ah man...” I Sighed. “You’re missing it. Isn’t it crazy? There’s sharks down there. Sharks that can tear you apart and there’s whales, bigger than you even know. Right down there, right below us. Man.”
But yes, I do feel spoiled here. That will probably change in Liberia, but maybe not. We had worship on the bow this evening. The set setting as our backdrop. The beauty of the earth, as my favourite hymn goes, is so evident here, especially as we sail and especially when I’m out on the deck, instead in my bed with my head in the pillow, feeling nauseous.
Cully’s doing better. He had to work this morning. We hung out for a couple hours this afternoon as he toyed with my laptop and I embroidered on a white tea towel for my cabin. He seems to be doing all right. He may not be enjoying it yet, as I am, but as long as he keeps his mind off it, he seems to be doing fine. I don’t want the sail to end. It rocks me to sleep at night and provides such a perfect breeze when you’re outside. It’s funny too, how it brings the ship together. Anna said it would. I doubted. But we’re all on this ship. On Friday night there was nothing to do but what the ship had planned. So everyone was there. Last night (Saturday) they set up a huge screen outside, on the bow, and played movies. First was veggie tales, then Finding Nemo, and last, Second Hand Lions. I caught the last couple minutes of Second Hand Lions but was busy saving a bird, before that, who had flown into the ship and seemed confused. I was telling Cully though, that they need to be taking advantage of this ocean that we’re surrounded by. They should be showing something like “Jaws”. The sharks are all of 20 feet away from us. Why aren’t we showing these movies when we’re in the prefect scare you pants off atmosphere?
Well we’re 2 days out. 7 to go. I’m going to go to the Mediterranean Lounge now to embroider with Cristin. My love to you all.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Almost Past the Equator
It’s my lunch break. I sit on deck typing away on my laptop, Josh Groban playing in my ears, as the Anastasis sails across the ocean. This song definitely takes on new meaning with the ocean’s waves roaring in front of me. We’re off to Liberia. Two days ago we left Cape Town behind and should arrive in Monrovia in about 7 days.
Cape Town was a great success. Mercy ship's goal was to get 10,000 people on board through tours and publicity. By the first weekend we were over half way there. By the end of 3 weeks we had reached 17,000. We soared over the goal. 17,000 people toured my boat. It was a crowded home. 17,000 people were able to hear about the work of Mercy ships and witness the lives of Anastasis Crew Members. Volunteers were needed a lot during those 3 weeks to follow tours. There was a trained tour guide who led the groups of 200+ people but they always needed someone to stay in the back and make sure that none of the Cape Townians got lost. I followed a few. People would ask me questions and would look at my strangely when I explained that I paid to be here. They’d wanted to know all about the cause and thanked me for helping people. They wished they could but theres a different calling for each and some arn't able to pack up and leave for a year or 2 or 10. Following a tour was always a pretty energizing activity. I was sort of a celebrity and people always looked so amazed when I explained how I got here and my age. It was fun. I was reminded with each tour the great work that’s been done in this ship. I’ve become very proud of this 50-year-old cruise liner. She stands head and shoulders above the rest of them.
Since we set sail, by the Lord’s grace, I have never been better. I made sure to take my seasickness pill a couple hours before and have been taking them every 7 hours since. The Captain made a point in the pre-sailing briefing, to keep our stomachs full. He warned us about this before the sail to Cape Town but I must have not taken it seriously. I’ve been trying to watch what I eat lately; it’s funny how quickly you can put on the pounds when you leave the cooking of your mother. Yeah, it’s sort of disturbing. But now that we’re sailing I have the perfect excuse to eat all day long. It’s quite fun. I’ll work it off once we arrive, for now I’m fighting the sickness of the sea. So as long as I keep popping the pills and consuming the cookies and chips, I’ll be perfect. Thank you dear people, for all who prayed for this sail and my well being. I asked for prayer a while ago when I found out how badly I sail and your prayers have been my saviour. This sail, if anything, is rougher than the last. Cully hasn't been doing very well. He says he's never felt worse. He showed up at my cabin door, yesterday morning, looking thinner than ever. I hate that others are sick when I feel perfect. He laid in bed all day. I brought him some ice-cold water with wet rags to put on his forehead. I didn't know much else to do. I felt at such a lose. Suddenly my office work seemed so stupid. I knew he had to get something in his stomach that would stay there. If you don't keep eating you'll get sick and once you're sick you can't eat and then you only get sicker. I brought him some rice cakes. I think he may have gotten through one by the day's end. He had stopped taking his seasickness pills, which annoyed me. So I took him pills and made sure he took them every 7 hours. He had to work today and says he's much better, only he has a massive headache and blurry vision. Pray for him please and pray for the others that suffer. I forget how awful it is to be ill by the sea. Though I do remember it is one of the worse feelings I’ve experienced. I remember that. A feeling of claustrophobia comes over you and you just become so helpless and angry.
My office chair is constantly rolling backwards as I slam against the wall and when I walk along the corridors my hips crash into the railings. I was holding my laptop, water bottle, book (to kill a mockingbird), my digital camera, and my bible, along with some random cords, yesterday, walking up the stairwell just as the ship sailed over a massive wave. My body slowed down and I started leaning backwards. I tried to grip with my toes since both my hands were taken. It wasn’t working. My body was tense as I struggled to keep myself stable. Veronique walked by just in time and grabbed my arm, pulling my to my balance and off that cursed stairwell. I’m not able to keep myself steady but the medication makes it so I don’t care. It’s quite wonderful.
It’s Friday night and instead of crewmembers dispersing into town on their night off, we’re all stuck on the ship. There’s this lounge called The International Lounge, which has a coffee place called The Sale Victoria Café. I can see it from where I sit. A line has formed as people anxiously await their caramel late or double espresso. I can see Cully and Signe. They’re running it tonight; filling the mugs and placing them in the thirsty hands of Crew. At 8:00pm, there’s ballroom dancing outside on Aft Deck. I think that should be funny. But as Lani already pointed out, it’s much easier this way to blame any awkward moves on the rock of the ship. I can’t really see trying to maintain rhythm as well has balance. But I may attempt it. It has perfect potential to be hilariously entertaining or just plain awful. It’s a toss up, I tell you. I don’t have my trusty partner here. So that’s already one downer.
Here begins a new journey. I’m on the edge of embarking into a brand new way of life. Monrovia anxiously awaits us, as well as the 500 UN soldiers, our personal security men. Our water supply has yet to be secure. Please keep praying for that. I don’t know what Liberia holds. I know it holds heat. So far the weather in South Africa has been cool and humidity free. Long pants-and-jacket weather. I’ve loved it. It hasn’t been hard. I haven’t been stretched. When I feel the air on my bones now, I can already sense it’s change. We’re fast approaching the equator and as we do the breeze steadily rises in warmth. The tours department is busy planning an “equator” party for the crew. They really do make an effort here for us Crew. It’s pretty heart warming. But yes, a war-ravaged land is waiting for us. The Anastasis looks as a saviour to these forgotten people. Their elections have just ended. We not sure of the results but pray, please pray, that a strong leader was chosen, even a godly one, that will lead this nation to their full potential. The Anastasis can only scratch the surface. God can rip it open. He can show his face there. Pray that he will. I ask you this night to pray for the Anastasis. Pray for our arrival. Pray that God will prepare the hearts and minds of the Liberians for what we have to say and that not only will they be changed physically but that spiritually they will be led to eternal life and begin a personal relationship with the true and living God. Pray that God will be with us, that his presence will be evident and that the Crew of the “Annie” will seek his face daily. Pray that we will not loose sight of the ultimate purpose of this ship and that is to win souls to Christ, not merely to heal wounds.
Cape Town was a great success. Mercy ship's goal was to get 10,000 people on board through tours and publicity. By the first weekend we were over half way there. By the end of 3 weeks we had reached 17,000. We soared over the goal. 17,000 people toured my boat. It was a crowded home. 17,000 people were able to hear about the work of Mercy ships and witness the lives of Anastasis Crew Members. Volunteers were needed a lot during those 3 weeks to follow tours. There was a trained tour guide who led the groups of 200+ people but they always needed someone to stay in the back and make sure that none of the Cape Townians got lost. I followed a few. People would ask me questions and would look at my strangely when I explained that I paid to be here. They’d wanted to know all about the cause and thanked me for helping people. They wished they could but theres a different calling for each and some arn't able to pack up and leave for a year or 2 or 10. Following a tour was always a pretty energizing activity. I was sort of a celebrity and people always looked so amazed when I explained how I got here and my age. It was fun. I was reminded with each tour the great work that’s been done in this ship. I’ve become very proud of this 50-year-old cruise liner. She stands head and shoulders above the rest of them.
Since we set sail, by the Lord’s grace, I have never been better. I made sure to take my seasickness pill a couple hours before and have been taking them every 7 hours since. The Captain made a point in the pre-sailing briefing, to keep our stomachs full. He warned us about this before the sail to Cape Town but I must have not taken it seriously. I’ve been trying to watch what I eat lately; it’s funny how quickly you can put on the pounds when you leave the cooking of your mother. Yeah, it’s sort of disturbing. But now that we’re sailing I have the perfect excuse to eat all day long. It’s quite fun. I’ll work it off once we arrive, for now I’m fighting the sickness of the sea. So as long as I keep popping the pills and consuming the cookies and chips, I’ll be perfect. Thank you dear people, for all who prayed for this sail and my well being. I asked for prayer a while ago when I found out how badly I sail and your prayers have been my saviour. This sail, if anything, is rougher than the last. Cully hasn't been doing very well. He says he's never felt worse. He showed up at my cabin door, yesterday morning, looking thinner than ever. I hate that others are sick when I feel perfect. He laid in bed all day. I brought him some ice-cold water with wet rags to put on his forehead. I didn't know much else to do. I felt at such a lose. Suddenly my office work seemed so stupid. I knew he had to get something in his stomach that would stay there. If you don't keep eating you'll get sick and once you're sick you can't eat and then you only get sicker. I brought him some rice cakes. I think he may have gotten through one by the day's end. He had stopped taking his seasickness pills, which annoyed me. So I took him pills and made sure he took them every 7 hours. He had to work today and says he's much better, only he has a massive headache and blurry vision. Pray for him please and pray for the others that suffer. I forget how awful it is to be ill by the sea. Though I do remember it is one of the worse feelings I’ve experienced. I remember that. A feeling of claustrophobia comes over you and you just become so helpless and angry.
My office chair is constantly rolling backwards as I slam against the wall and when I walk along the corridors my hips crash into the railings. I was holding my laptop, water bottle, book (to kill a mockingbird), my digital camera, and my bible, along with some random cords, yesterday, walking up the stairwell just as the ship sailed over a massive wave. My body slowed down and I started leaning backwards. I tried to grip with my toes since both my hands were taken. It wasn’t working. My body was tense as I struggled to keep myself stable. Veronique walked by just in time and grabbed my arm, pulling my to my balance and off that cursed stairwell. I’m not able to keep myself steady but the medication makes it so I don’t care. It’s quite wonderful.
It’s Friday night and instead of crewmembers dispersing into town on their night off, we’re all stuck on the ship. There’s this lounge called The International Lounge, which has a coffee place called The Sale Victoria Café. I can see it from where I sit. A line has formed as people anxiously await their caramel late or double espresso. I can see Cully and Signe. They’re running it tonight; filling the mugs and placing them in the thirsty hands of Crew. At 8:00pm, there’s ballroom dancing outside on Aft Deck. I think that should be funny. But as Lani already pointed out, it’s much easier this way to blame any awkward moves on the rock of the ship. I can’t really see trying to maintain rhythm as well has balance. But I may attempt it. It has perfect potential to be hilariously entertaining or just plain awful. It’s a toss up, I tell you. I don’t have my trusty partner here. So that’s already one downer.
Here begins a new journey. I’m on the edge of embarking into a brand new way of life. Monrovia anxiously awaits us, as well as the 500 UN soldiers, our personal security men. Our water supply has yet to be secure. Please keep praying for that. I don’t know what Liberia holds. I know it holds heat. So far the weather in South Africa has been cool and humidity free. Long pants-and-jacket weather. I’ve loved it. It hasn’t been hard. I haven’t been stretched. When I feel the air on my bones now, I can already sense it’s change. We’re fast approaching the equator and as we do the breeze steadily rises in warmth. The tours department is busy planning an “equator” party for the crew. They really do make an effort here for us Crew. It’s pretty heart warming. But yes, a war-ravaged land is waiting for us. The Anastasis looks as a saviour to these forgotten people. Their elections have just ended. We not sure of the results but pray, please pray, that a strong leader was chosen, even a godly one, that will lead this nation to their full potential. The Anastasis can only scratch the surface. God can rip it open. He can show his face there. Pray that he will. I ask you this night to pray for the Anastasis. Pray for our arrival. Pray that God will prepare the hearts and minds of the Liberians for what we have to say and that not only will they be changed physically but that spiritually they will be led to eternal life and begin a personal relationship with the true and living God. Pray that God will be with us, that his presence will be evident and that the Crew of the “Annie” will seek his face daily. Pray that we will not loose sight of the ultimate purpose of this ship and that is to win souls to Christ, not merely to heal wounds.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
She's Out of Money and Begging...
I apologize, first and foremost, for not writing nearly as often as I would like and as often as you probably wish to hear from me. I’m going to get better though. I promise.
Our time in Cape Town is coming to a close. These past 5 weeks I’ve been attending a church in a Township. It’s in a city called Gugulutoo. The people are warm and they jump all around when we worship. They always invite us over for dinner afterwards or ask if we want to see more of the town. I enjoy very much their excitement for the Lord’s day. Sam’s been attending a Pentalcostal church. Last week, I wasn’t able to get to mine so I asked him if I could come along with him. We were sapposed to meet in reception at 9am. I was there on time. Sam works till 9 though so after a 30 second shower, he showed up at 9:15. We signed out, swiped our cards and walked down the gangway onto the dock. We didn’t see a landrover waiting for us. Sam asked the security officers if a vehicle headed for Plumstead had already left. They nodded yes. We’d been left behind. I didn’t let it get me down though. We’d find a place to worship, even if we had to walk an hour. We started walking, looking here and there for some sort of church building. A friendly cape townian, with hip hair, and a constant smile stopped us and asked if she could help. We explained our delema and she excitedly invited us in her little VW and drove us to a church planted on top of a hill, surrounded by the beautiul ocean. She said we’d most definitly be able to get a ride back with one of the church members and if not she’d be back around 4. Blessed woman.
So I made it to Church that day. Sam didn’t have to be back in the kitchen until 3, so we had till then to do as we wished. We spoke to the pastor and asked if he wouldn’t mind giving us a lift back to the ship. He was willing but it was too beautiful a day to go back to that ship. A postcard beach was a mere 10 minutes away. My expression must have given away my anxious desire to run through the sand. Sam asked. He wanted to stay as well. So we politly declined the pastor’s willingness and he let us know we could get a taxi easily for 2 ran (35 cents). The sun was out, just bright enough to warm my bones. The breeze refreshed me and made my face happy. I had linnen pants on that day. I still remember how nice it was to walk barefoot on the white sanded beach with loose linnen pants. The locals played two-on-two vollyball and those brave enough, surfed in the freezing shark infested waters. I lied down and put my hands over my eyes to block the light. I had a good rest on that sunday afternoon. This was one of Cape Town’s better days. We were in Camps Bay which is one of the richest areas around. The streets bustled with New York look-a-likes.
Sam asked if I was getting hungry. I turned my head and squinted my eyes. Sure. I would love food. “Oh good. I’m starved”, he answered back. I handed him my change purse and asked him to surprise me with something while I lay there. I couldn’t move from that perfect beach. I felt like I hadn’t seen sun in forever. The sun goes down early here. I get off work at 5 and by 6:30, it’s dark. I love the sun. Go enjoy the sun, I tell you. I will have the sun though in Liberia. I musn’t worry. They say you’re instantly drenched when you walk off the ship in Monrovia. The humidity is that intense. You’re clothes don’t dry either, they say. They stay damp all day and eventually grow moldy. I’m looking forward to this though. I must be nieve.
On the beach, I had become entranced by the vollyball boys. I held my hands above my eyes, blocking the sun, as I strained my neck backwards to watch their game. I lied on my back in perfect contentment. Their sets were perfect, Mr. Steve. They stopped it, set it, spiked it. Stop. set. spike. Every time. They played as a team. Their chemistry was perfection. The oppisite team recieved spikes with matchless ease and beautiful form. I was mesmorized. I knew what I missed. I miss vollyball. I miss my team; my girls. I miss you, pink girls. I loved being part of your game. I miss working together for the common goal. Oh and how satisfying that goal was. How satisfying it was recieve a serve, set it and compleate it with a spike. How beautiful it was to complete that sequence with 3 girls. Oh I miss it. All my encouragment to you girls. Press on. Continue in your training. Listen hard to Mr. Steve. He’ll refine you to gold. Don’t underestimate him.
Sam returned with a bag full of groceries and we sat on the beach smuthering jelly on a loaf of bread. We didn’t have enough money for a knife so tearing the bread and dipping worked just fine. We ate 3 oarnges and finished off the meal with one of the best south african chocolate bars. It had melted by the time we tore into it, so we just sort of scupped it out with our fingers. I was enjoying the meal heartily when I looked over at the boy and said assumingly, “You saved 2 ran, right? for the taxi..” I looked away, assuming I’d get an answer in the affirmative. Sam’s eyes went big and then he put his head down muttering about how irresponsable he was. I thought it was all quite humerous. We were out of money sitting on the most beautiful beach I’d ever seen and all of the sudden my status was no better than the man who had just walked past begging for some of my change. I’d find myself doing exactly that before the day’s end. I laughed for a long time. I think Sam felt bad. For some reason, the thought of us having nothing and having to make a two hour treak back to our ship and possibly having to ask for money or rides seemed so exciting to me. It was like being on “The Amazing Race”. I was pumped. Bring it on. I wore flip-flops, a purse on my shoulder, my bible and notebook in hand and a bag of groceries. I was most definitly not in my walking atire and that would make it all the harder and it would be all the better. We walked for about 60 minutes when Sam started darting over to cars,who were about to leave, humbly asking for rides. He must have asked 5 cars and each had a different excuse. We joked. “What is God trying to teach us, Sienna?”, he asked. I laughed quietly, “That alot of people are selfish and arn’t willing to give anything of themselves for others...” Then I tried to curve the lesson. “No. I think I’m learning how humbling it is to ask for help and the next time some one asks me for help, no matter how much it inconviences me, I’m going to help them.” We discussed different scenerios and played with the different lessons that God was maybe teaching us. I told him how my oldest sister, Brae, always encouraged me and showed me through a daily example to inconvience yourself for others. Brae’s always encouraged me to be giving, whether that means to give of your things or your time, it amounts to the same in the end. I didn’t listen very well to Brae when she would tell me these things at home but I’m learning Brae, I really am. I’m learning to hold loosly to my things and to share with others and I’m learning to willingly help others and I’m discovering the beauty. You tried to teach me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I was selfish. When I see you next I’ll let you wear all those shirts that I never wanted to lend. I’ll let you wear them all and keep them for as long as you want. I’ll give them to you because I don’t want to love my things. I want to love my people and love for my people can be so hindered when I hold so tightly to my things. I want to hold tightly to you, Brae. Not my things.
Sam kept comparing our situation to the parable, in the bible, In Luke 14 when a man prepares a banquet and invites many guests but they keep coming up with excuses. “I haves just bought a field and I must go and see it, please excuse me...I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me...I just got married, so I can’t come.” Excuses. Excuses. It was intersting how many “appointments” people had. They kept saying “No, I’m going to be late for my appointment”. At least that was better then the ones who just looked at us strangley and decided that we weren’t worth words but only looks of disgust. That was pleasent. I decided to toughen up a bit. “Sam, let me ask some people. Maybe they’ll be more receptive to a girl.” A lady and her boyfriend were getting into their car. I quickly assesed the situation. They looked like nice enough people. I made my move; started walking confidently towards them. Half way there I noticed a yappy, rip-your-head off dog in the back seat and knew there was no way I would ride with these people now, but I was to close now and it would be awkard to turn around now. I had to ask, even though there wasn’t a chance in me getting in. Well I guess you could say there response worked out for the best. It made me feel like a fool though. They never actually stopped their car as I politly asked for a lift and as the woman was looking at me very scceptically the man just shot me some get away street-rat look. I had been laughing. I now grumpled along, frusterated and humiliated at my defeat. I wanted to solve the problem. I had failed. Afted asking one more and getting something similar to the rest, I swore I’d never ask for a ride again. The mood didn’t last long though. It was an excellent day. We did make it back to the ship. I had blisters on me feet and I felt like the champion in a reality T.V. series. It was a good feeling.
Crew membres passed me in the hall the next day, mentioning how they saw us walking and were seriously thinking about asking us if we preferred a ride but that we looked happy, so they didn’t. I don’t like to dwell on those things to long though. I’m glad we walked though. It was a long walk, 120 minutes and I’m proud that I compleated it. Sam and my face though got fried. I room with one of the nurses that works on the ship and she told me I was “ENFLAMED”. It’s nice living with a nurse though. She took good care of me. Very good care.
Our time in Cape Town is coming to a close. These past 5 weeks I’ve been attending a church in a Township. It’s in a city called Gugulutoo. The people are warm and they jump all around when we worship. They always invite us over for dinner afterwards or ask if we want to see more of the town. I enjoy very much their excitement for the Lord’s day. Sam’s been attending a Pentalcostal church. Last week, I wasn’t able to get to mine so I asked him if I could come along with him. We were sapposed to meet in reception at 9am. I was there on time. Sam works till 9 though so after a 30 second shower, he showed up at 9:15. We signed out, swiped our cards and walked down the gangway onto the dock. We didn’t see a landrover waiting for us. Sam asked the security officers if a vehicle headed for Plumstead had already left. They nodded yes. We’d been left behind. I didn’t let it get me down though. We’d find a place to worship, even if we had to walk an hour. We started walking, looking here and there for some sort of church building. A friendly cape townian, with hip hair, and a constant smile stopped us and asked if she could help. We explained our delema and she excitedly invited us in her little VW and drove us to a church planted on top of a hill, surrounded by the beautiul ocean. She said we’d most definitly be able to get a ride back with one of the church members and if not she’d be back around 4. Blessed woman.
So I made it to Church that day. Sam didn’t have to be back in the kitchen until 3, so we had till then to do as we wished. We spoke to the pastor and asked if he wouldn’t mind giving us a lift back to the ship. He was willing but it was too beautiful a day to go back to that ship. A postcard beach was a mere 10 minutes away. My expression must have given away my anxious desire to run through the sand. Sam asked. He wanted to stay as well. So we politly declined the pastor’s willingness and he let us know we could get a taxi easily for 2 ran (35 cents). The sun was out, just bright enough to warm my bones. The breeze refreshed me and made my face happy. I had linnen pants on that day. I still remember how nice it was to walk barefoot on the white sanded beach with loose linnen pants. The locals played two-on-two vollyball and those brave enough, surfed in the freezing shark infested waters. I lied down and put my hands over my eyes to block the light. I had a good rest on that sunday afternoon. This was one of Cape Town’s better days. We were in Camps Bay which is one of the richest areas around. The streets bustled with New York look-a-likes.
Sam asked if I was getting hungry. I turned my head and squinted my eyes. Sure. I would love food. “Oh good. I’m starved”, he answered back. I handed him my change purse and asked him to surprise me with something while I lay there. I couldn’t move from that perfect beach. I felt like I hadn’t seen sun in forever. The sun goes down early here. I get off work at 5 and by 6:30, it’s dark. I love the sun. Go enjoy the sun, I tell you. I will have the sun though in Liberia. I musn’t worry. They say you’re instantly drenched when you walk off the ship in Monrovia. The humidity is that intense. You’re clothes don’t dry either, they say. They stay damp all day and eventually grow moldy. I’m looking forward to this though. I must be nieve.
On the beach, I had become entranced by the vollyball boys. I held my hands above my eyes, blocking the sun, as I strained my neck backwards to watch their game. I lied on my back in perfect contentment. Their sets were perfect, Mr. Steve. They stopped it, set it, spiked it. Stop. set. spike. Every time. They played as a team. Their chemistry was perfection. The oppisite team recieved spikes with matchless ease and beautiful form. I was mesmorized. I knew what I missed. I miss vollyball. I miss my team; my girls. I miss you, pink girls. I loved being part of your game. I miss working together for the common goal. Oh and how satisfying that goal was. How satisfying it was recieve a serve, set it and compleate it with a spike. How beautiful it was to complete that sequence with 3 girls. Oh I miss it. All my encouragment to you girls. Press on. Continue in your training. Listen hard to Mr. Steve. He’ll refine you to gold. Don’t underestimate him.
Sam returned with a bag full of groceries and we sat on the beach smuthering jelly on a loaf of bread. We didn’t have enough money for a knife so tearing the bread and dipping worked just fine. We ate 3 oarnges and finished off the meal with one of the best south african chocolate bars. It had melted by the time we tore into it, so we just sort of scupped it out with our fingers. I was enjoying the meal heartily when I looked over at the boy and said assumingly, “You saved 2 ran, right? for the taxi..” I looked away, assuming I’d get an answer in the affirmative. Sam’s eyes went big and then he put his head down muttering about how irresponsable he was. I thought it was all quite humerous. We were out of money sitting on the most beautiful beach I’d ever seen and all of the sudden my status was no better than the man who had just walked past begging for some of my change. I’d find myself doing exactly that before the day’s end. I laughed for a long time. I think Sam felt bad. For some reason, the thought of us having nothing and having to make a two hour treak back to our ship and possibly having to ask for money or rides seemed so exciting to me. It was like being on “The Amazing Race”. I was pumped. Bring it on. I wore flip-flops, a purse on my shoulder, my bible and notebook in hand and a bag of groceries. I was most definitly not in my walking atire and that would make it all the harder and it would be all the better. We walked for about 60 minutes when Sam started darting over to cars,who were about to leave, humbly asking for rides. He must have asked 5 cars and each had a different excuse. We joked. “What is God trying to teach us, Sienna?”, he asked. I laughed quietly, “That alot of people are selfish and arn’t willing to give anything of themselves for others...” Then I tried to curve the lesson. “No. I think I’m learning how humbling it is to ask for help and the next time some one asks me for help, no matter how much it inconviences me, I’m going to help them.” We discussed different scenerios and played with the different lessons that God was maybe teaching us. I told him how my oldest sister, Brae, always encouraged me and showed me through a daily example to inconvience yourself for others. Brae’s always encouraged me to be giving, whether that means to give of your things or your time, it amounts to the same in the end. I didn’t listen very well to Brae when she would tell me these things at home but I’m learning Brae, I really am. I’m learning to hold loosly to my things and to share with others and I’m learning to willingly help others and I’m discovering the beauty. You tried to teach me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I was selfish. When I see you next I’ll let you wear all those shirts that I never wanted to lend. I’ll let you wear them all and keep them for as long as you want. I’ll give them to you because I don’t want to love my things. I want to love my people and love for my people can be so hindered when I hold so tightly to my things. I want to hold tightly to you, Brae. Not my things.
Sam kept comparing our situation to the parable, in the bible, In Luke 14 when a man prepares a banquet and invites many guests but they keep coming up with excuses. “I haves just bought a field and I must go and see it, please excuse me...I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me...I just got married, so I can’t come.” Excuses. Excuses. It was intersting how many “appointments” people had. They kept saying “No, I’m going to be late for my appointment”. At least that was better then the ones who just looked at us strangley and decided that we weren’t worth words but only looks of disgust. That was pleasent. I decided to toughen up a bit. “Sam, let me ask some people. Maybe they’ll be more receptive to a girl.” A lady and her boyfriend were getting into their car. I quickly assesed the situation. They looked like nice enough people. I made my move; started walking confidently towards them. Half way there I noticed a yappy, rip-your-head off dog in the back seat and knew there was no way I would ride with these people now, but I was to close now and it would be awkard to turn around now. I had to ask, even though there wasn’t a chance in me getting in. Well I guess you could say there response worked out for the best. It made me feel like a fool though. They never actually stopped their car as I politly asked for a lift and as the woman was looking at me very scceptically the man just shot me some get away street-rat look. I had been laughing. I now grumpled along, frusterated and humiliated at my defeat. I wanted to solve the problem. I had failed. Afted asking one more and getting something similar to the rest, I swore I’d never ask for a ride again. The mood didn’t last long though. It was an excellent day. We did make it back to the ship. I had blisters on me feet and I felt like the champion in a reality T.V. series. It was a good feeling.
Crew membres passed me in the hall the next day, mentioning how they saw us walking and were seriously thinking about asking us if we preferred a ride but that we looked happy, so they didn’t. I don’t like to dwell on those things to long though. I’m glad we walked though. It was a long walk, 120 minutes and I’m proud that I compleated it. Sam and my face though got fried. I room with one of the nurses that works on the ship and she told me I was “ENFLAMED”. It’s nice living with a nurse though. She took good care of me. Very good care.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Vangie = Evangeline
I was sitting at my desk this afternoon with most all my work complete. And just a reminder, for all of you who have this idea that my job is mearly office work and of no consequence and that I'm not being used to the best of my ability (because I know it's easy to think this), my job is extreamly fufilling. HR is a huge help to the Anastasias Crew Members and lately, I've been able to help alot of them when they walk through our door, and I havn't had to yell for Steven or Cristin. How rewarding it is to be able to do this by myself. My job is very much needed and apprciated here for the life of this ship, so if you worry or doubt, you musn't.
Along with my story...
There were still two hours remaining in my work day but my work load seemed all complete, or that is, all that I felt like compleating was complete. Steven kept waltzing through my office talking of how badly he wanted to bleach his black hair. I tried hard to talk him out of it. I told him his hair was really too dark and that it might turn orange. You just really don' t want to go through with this, Steven, trust me here. He looked at my somewhat discouraged so in attempt to provide some hope, I explained of a friend of mine, back home, who had dark hair and when he bleached it that it worked very well and looked quite good. But Steven, your hair is way darker than Jack's. If Jack had your dark hair, he'd keep it. Leave it alone, I'm warning you. My warning wasn't sufficient. The boy went along with his plan and it happened the way I predicted. He was charged $70 for orange hair. He wasn't very happy. Later that day he had a wedding to attend in the botanical gardens of Cape Town. That night he asked me if I'd heard of Redken and bought a box of black hair color and dyed it back.
I told you that accidentally. I had all intentions of sharing with you my "loading" experience. This week alot of loading has been going on. Equipment and food and who knows what has been hauled onto this boat for the Liberia outreach (we sail in a week and a half!). At different parts of the day, if the loaders need help, an announcment will go over the speakers, "Volunteers needed at the gangway. Volunteers, the gangway". Normally my work calls but today it did not. So I popped my head in Steven's office expectantly and he nodded. Ten minutes later, after flipping the strap on my croc, We found ourselves in an assembly line, hauling boxes down some dark hallway, towards the bow of the ship. For all my belize family members, you know what I'm talking about. I'd suddenly broken into a sweat. I began wondering, intensly, how people do this all day and when I returned to my office, I had a new appriciation for the task in front of me. Twenty minutes later, with this fresh sense of determination, I returned to my work with new zeal.
Well, my title; I haven’t touched on, as you may have noticed. I wanted to start my entry by introducing Vangie but I wanted to end with her too. There were other things I wanted to tell you also so I was forced to choose. To choose between introducing Vangie through a thoughtful conclusion, leaving you with some insights of mine to chew over or to catch you in the beginning with a sharp introduction. I was very tempted to use the introduction but I decided on the conclusion. I wanted badly for you to know of this woman, who’ve I’ve grown to love and I wanted to start off with some snappy beginning about the colour of her hair or the way her hands catch my eyes. Yet as I wrestled back and forth, the introduction wouldn’t do. I want you to remember her. People remember conclusions, I believe, more than they do introductions. Although of equal importance one leave a more lasting and evitable impression. So instead of starting with her, I will leave you with her.
Vangie. Her real name is Evangeline, which I find, in it’s self, a story. There’s something very substantial I’ve found in this woman of 38 years that I’ve grown to admire and become endeared to. Vangie is to Steven what Corinna is to me. No, Corinna is not like Vangie. They’re two completely different individuals. I doubt they’ve ever spoken. I hate to use the word “mentor” because it’s a little too belittling but maybe you’ll understand more of the picture I try to paint. Steven and Vange are always doing things together. You won’t find one without the other at mealtimes and you won’t sense either one feeling a burden by the other’s company because of the apparent generation gap. They sincerely enjoy the other and I appreciate that. I appreciate that ages are being clashed here and that generations come together. The young find company with the older and the older find fulfilment in the younger. I like that aspect of the ship. Steven and Vangie have known each other for three years though so they’re relationship is a little father along than Corinna’s and mine. So maybe I shouldn’t compare, just so you’ll get an idea though.
I’ve found myself, lately, seeking out Vangie at meal times. She told me she likes me. Told me I’m young and maybe a bit naïve but she likes me. I’ll tell her my problems with other people and maybe I should tell those other people but Vangie asks, so I tell her. The other day I was telling her about my work. In my administrative position people tend to talk down to me. And it’s not even that they realize it or mean to, it’s just that I’m 18. The age difference between the facilitators (who I assist) and me can’t help but be apparent. Crew members will walk into my office and ask to speak to an HR representative. I breathe calmly as something like this goes through my mind: I’ve been here for six weeks. I may look small and I may seem inadequate but I’ve been hired to work in HR and I’ll be here for a year! I AM AN HR REPRESENTIVE, DARN IT! Hit me with your questions, try me!! I’M THE REPRESENTITIVE, NOT SOME LITTLE GIRL WHO SITS HERE DOING NOTHING!!! I can’t say that though. I smile unwillingly instead and say essentially that in a more polite order. Other times, crew will waltz right on through my office to the facilitator’s offices, without even stopping to look at me. I’m supposed to filter HR traffic. It’s not that easy when they don’t give me a chance. And then sometimes it’s the mundane things I feel belittled by. And it’s my pride, I know. The other facilitators will ask me to take their trash out or call out to me that their trash cans are full or they’ll give me some of their work, that seems so unimportant and boring, but I need to complete it for them. I know I am the “Facilitator Assistant” so I will go about my assigned duties willingly. I just sometimes know that other people don’t think I’m capable. They don’t even realize that they’re relaying that to me but it leaks through their questions or requests. So it’s hard when the people I’ve been sent here to help hold little trust in me. Especially when I already struggle with trusting myself with the position they’ve gave me, they’re lack of trust is of no help. Vangie knows I’m young but it’s of no consequence to her. She sees me. But she not only sees me, she trusts me and her faith in me in a daily encouragement that I can do what I’ve been sent here to do. For I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. She reminds me that I am able and to not let other’s pre-supposed opinions and judgements intimidate me. I like Evangeline a lot.
When you read this entry I don’t want the focus to be me. I don’t want you to leave your computer feeling sorry for me or only taking from this entry what’s annoying me at this moment. It’s really not s big deal and will quickly pass in time. I want you to see Vangie. I hope that you get to see her instead of me. Don’t worry about this girl. She’s alright. Like Job says, when God’s finished with me, I’m going to come forth as gold. Think about Vangie though and try to appreciate the person she is. She gives people chances and that is something. I’ve noticed that she doesn’t tend to judge by the outer shell but that she gets to the heart and then makes her opinion. That way the opinion is worth something instead of just some critical judgment. I know it sounds cliché but thers something huge to be said for that quality. Yes. I wish you knew her.
Steven turns 21 soon. October 27th. We’ll be sailing and Vangie’s throwing a party for the boy. It’s going to be sweet. 21 isn’t as big of a deal, though, in England. They can drink when they turn 18. So 21, mine as well be the same as turning 19 or 20 but a birthday is a birthday and any reason to have a party on this ship is worth it. We all could use it. The theme is going to be Superheroes. Vange was telling me this and I actually had no idea how into Superheroes Steven was. I went out to breakfast with him yesterday though and was completely filled in. He was disappointed that I hadn’t heard of most of them. Steven knows all there is to know about He man, transformers, x-man, and lots of others that I don’t even remember now, because I’d never heard of them. Vange picked up power ranger tablecloths, blowers, and party hats and batman napkins and spider man suckers and “21” balloons and streamers. She wants me to help her with decorating. So I’m excited about this upcoming party on the Anastasias.
I’m going back to my cabin now. I moved two weeks ago to a new one. Betty moved out and I was invited in. Four nationalities live in this cabin, which we all think is pretty neat. There’s Anna from Holland, Signe from Norway, Tarme from Australia and then me from the States. Tarme’s one of the nurses on the Anastasias. I find that very neat. It really is the most wonderful cabin. Everyone that comes in says so. It’s very homey with warm lighting and soft music, with nice pictures on the wall and flowers on the shelf. It’s tidy and it’s pretty. It’s the cabin that I found refuge in during the last sail and where I heard Eva Cassidy for the first time. And it’s crazy that I now live there. It’s simply a dream. I’ve been making things for it and getting very domestic in this room of mine. Suddenly I’m intent on learning the fine art of cross stitching and I find cook books the most fascinating reading material.
Imagine that.
Along with my story...
There were still two hours remaining in my work day but my work load seemed all complete, or that is, all that I felt like compleating was complete. Steven kept waltzing through my office talking of how badly he wanted to bleach his black hair. I tried hard to talk him out of it. I told him his hair was really too dark and that it might turn orange. You just really don' t want to go through with this, Steven, trust me here. He looked at my somewhat discouraged so in attempt to provide some hope, I explained of a friend of mine, back home, who had dark hair and when he bleached it that it worked very well and looked quite good. But Steven, your hair is way darker than Jack's. If Jack had your dark hair, he'd keep it. Leave it alone, I'm warning you. My warning wasn't sufficient. The boy went along with his plan and it happened the way I predicted. He was charged $70 for orange hair. He wasn't very happy. Later that day he had a wedding to attend in the botanical gardens of Cape Town. That night he asked me if I'd heard of Redken and bought a box of black hair color and dyed it back.
I told you that accidentally. I had all intentions of sharing with you my "loading" experience. This week alot of loading has been going on. Equipment and food and who knows what has been hauled onto this boat for the Liberia outreach (we sail in a week and a half!). At different parts of the day, if the loaders need help, an announcment will go over the speakers, "Volunteers needed at the gangway. Volunteers, the gangway". Normally my work calls but today it did not. So I popped my head in Steven's office expectantly and he nodded. Ten minutes later, after flipping the strap on my croc, We found ourselves in an assembly line, hauling boxes down some dark hallway, towards the bow of the ship. For all my belize family members, you know what I'm talking about. I'd suddenly broken into a sweat. I began wondering, intensly, how people do this all day and when I returned to my office, I had a new appriciation for the task in front of me. Twenty minutes later, with this fresh sense of determination, I returned to my work with new zeal.
Well, my title; I haven’t touched on, as you may have noticed. I wanted to start my entry by introducing Vangie but I wanted to end with her too. There were other things I wanted to tell you also so I was forced to choose. To choose between introducing Vangie through a thoughtful conclusion, leaving you with some insights of mine to chew over or to catch you in the beginning with a sharp introduction. I was very tempted to use the introduction but I decided on the conclusion. I wanted badly for you to know of this woman, who’ve I’ve grown to love and I wanted to start off with some snappy beginning about the colour of her hair or the way her hands catch my eyes. Yet as I wrestled back and forth, the introduction wouldn’t do. I want you to remember her. People remember conclusions, I believe, more than they do introductions. Although of equal importance one leave a more lasting and evitable impression. So instead of starting with her, I will leave you with her.
Vangie. Her real name is Evangeline, which I find, in it’s self, a story. There’s something very substantial I’ve found in this woman of 38 years that I’ve grown to admire and become endeared to. Vangie is to Steven what Corinna is to me. No, Corinna is not like Vangie. They’re two completely different individuals. I doubt they’ve ever spoken. I hate to use the word “mentor” because it’s a little too belittling but maybe you’ll understand more of the picture I try to paint. Steven and Vange are always doing things together. You won’t find one without the other at mealtimes and you won’t sense either one feeling a burden by the other’s company because of the apparent generation gap. They sincerely enjoy the other and I appreciate that. I appreciate that ages are being clashed here and that generations come together. The young find company with the older and the older find fulfilment in the younger. I like that aspect of the ship. Steven and Vangie have known each other for three years though so they’re relationship is a little father along than Corinna’s and mine. So maybe I shouldn’t compare, just so you’ll get an idea though.
I’ve found myself, lately, seeking out Vangie at meal times. She told me she likes me. Told me I’m young and maybe a bit naïve but she likes me. I’ll tell her my problems with other people and maybe I should tell those other people but Vangie asks, so I tell her. The other day I was telling her about my work. In my administrative position people tend to talk down to me. And it’s not even that they realize it or mean to, it’s just that I’m 18. The age difference between the facilitators (who I assist) and me can’t help but be apparent. Crew members will walk into my office and ask to speak to an HR representative. I breathe calmly as something like this goes through my mind: I’ve been here for six weeks. I may look small and I may seem inadequate but I’ve been hired to work in HR and I’ll be here for a year! I AM AN HR REPRESENTIVE, DARN IT! Hit me with your questions, try me!! I’M THE REPRESENTITIVE, NOT SOME LITTLE GIRL WHO SITS HERE DOING NOTHING!!! I can’t say that though. I smile unwillingly instead and say essentially that in a more polite order. Other times, crew will waltz right on through my office to the facilitator’s offices, without even stopping to look at me. I’m supposed to filter HR traffic. It’s not that easy when they don’t give me a chance. And then sometimes it’s the mundane things I feel belittled by. And it’s my pride, I know. The other facilitators will ask me to take their trash out or call out to me that their trash cans are full or they’ll give me some of their work, that seems so unimportant and boring, but I need to complete it for them. I know I am the “Facilitator Assistant” so I will go about my assigned duties willingly. I just sometimes know that other people don’t think I’m capable. They don’t even realize that they’re relaying that to me but it leaks through their questions or requests. So it’s hard when the people I’ve been sent here to help hold little trust in me. Especially when I already struggle with trusting myself with the position they’ve gave me, they’re lack of trust is of no help. Vangie knows I’m young but it’s of no consequence to her. She sees me. But she not only sees me, she trusts me and her faith in me in a daily encouragement that I can do what I’ve been sent here to do. For I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. She reminds me that I am able and to not let other’s pre-supposed opinions and judgements intimidate me. I like Evangeline a lot.
When you read this entry I don’t want the focus to be me. I don’t want you to leave your computer feeling sorry for me or only taking from this entry what’s annoying me at this moment. It’s really not s big deal and will quickly pass in time. I want you to see Vangie. I hope that you get to see her instead of me. Don’t worry about this girl. She’s alright. Like Job says, when God’s finished with me, I’m going to come forth as gold. Think about Vangie though and try to appreciate the person she is. She gives people chances and that is something. I’ve noticed that she doesn’t tend to judge by the outer shell but that she gets to the heart and then makes her opinion. That way the opinion is worth something instead of just some critical judgment. I know it sounds cliché but thers something huge to be said for that quality. Yes. I wish you knew her.
Steven turns 21 soon. October 27th. We’ll be sailing and Vangie’s throwing a party for the boy. It’s going to be sweet. 21 isn’t as big of a deal, though, in England. They can drink when they turn 18. So 21, mine as well be the same as turning 19 or 20 but a birthday is a birthday and any reason to have a party on this ship is worth it. We all could use it. The theme is going to be Superheroes. Vange was telling me this and I actually had no idea how into Superheroes Steven was. I went out to breakfast with him yesterday though and was completely filled in. He was disappointed that I hadn’t heard of most of them. Steven knows all there is to know about He man, transformers, x-man, and lots of others that I don’t even remember now, because I’d never heard of them. Vange picked up power ranger tablecloths, blowers, and party hats and batman napkins and spider man suckers and “21” balloons and streamers. She wants me to help her with decorating. So I’m excited about this upcoming party on the Anastasias.
I’m going back to my cabin now. I moved two weeks ago to a new one. Betty moved out and I was invited in. Four nationalities live in this cabin, which we all think is pretty neat. There’s Anna from Holland, Signe from Norway, Tarme from Australia and then me from the States. Tarme’s one of the nurses on the Anastasias. I find that very neat. It really is the most wonderful cabin. Everyone that comes in says so. It’s very homey with warm lighting and soft music, with nice pictures on the wall and flowers on the shelf. It’s tidy and it’s pretty. It’s the cabin that I found refuge in during the last sail and where I heard Eva Cassidy for the first time. And it’s crazy that I now live there. It’s simply a dream. I’ve been making things for it and getting very domestic in this room of mine. Suddenly I’m intent on learning the fine art of cross stitching and I find cook books the most fascinating reading material.
Imagine that.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
They Give Me Joy
On Sunday I went to worship at a Township. I wasn' t even sure what a Township was. Still not real clear on it. Everyone was talking about it like it was something obvious and of course everyone knew what they were. I let my chance to ask in the beginning slip by. The more they talked the less easy it was to ask what exactly was a township? I followed along in the conversations, prior to getting there, acting as if I was educated. We arrived at a gate lined with barbed wire and two men stood as gaurds against these stone doors. We showed them our Mercy Ship I.D.'s and they allowed us passage. The doors slowely opened and our land rover followed the decayed road to it's end. Small children ran around. Little ones, no older than 2, climbed walls and slipped through "no tresspassing" gates. Young girls jump roped and the boys stood on the sides observing. I stared. Cully says I stare alot. He says I always look so lost. My expression is serious and surprised. I'm unacustomed to this culture and my eyes can't help but stare at it all. I tell Cully i'm not lost.....or maybe I am, but that i'm a smalltown girl, straight from the home of my parents, blopped on this hospital ship and thrown into the african streets. He must understand why I stare.
I finally insisted on the definition of a township. I was to fake it no longer. From the scrambled explanations and sudden depated arguments that arose from my question, I got that a Township was where colored people lived during civil wars or something. I really wasn't given a clear answer. I need to read up on it.
The people welcomed us with open arms...litterly. They surrounded us as we walked in and layed their hands on us and lifted our lives and the cause of our ship up to God. They prayed for us for about ten minutes and it wasn't just one person. They all prayed outloud. I was standing beside Corinna in this cold, square shaped room with old chairs and no door to block the night's wind. I wore my belgium scarf from Lowen around my neck and later untied it, wrapping it tight around my body. African hands pressed hard on my back and words of thanks and petition came from their mouths. I was glad I signed up to go.
Before we arrived, the man that invited us to go and showed us the way, asked if he could take us to some new monuments in the town. We stopped by two. The one that specifically intrigued me was the grave of Amy Biehl. It was right outside a 'shell' gas station. A cross leaning against a black, iron rod. This man knew so much history of South Africa. He's was a born tour guide. He wasn't from South Africa but from New Zealend. He had a heart for the needy and has ended up living in a run down community of Cape Town. He explained that Amy Biehl had been murdered here in 1993. It was explained to us as being a case of a non african girl being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amy was from California and was assisting in the development of voter registration for the country's first democratic election planned for April of 1994. August 23rd, 1993 she was driving three co-workers home, through this township, and was stopped and pulled out of the car by locals and stabbed to death. What made this event miraculous was that this girl's parents extended the hand of forgivness to their daughter's killers with these words, "Amy was drawn to South Africa as a student and she admired the vision of Nelson Mandela of a 'Rainbow Nation.' It is this vision of forgiveness and reconciliation that we have honoured." Ironically two out of the three killers have become a part of the Amy Biehl foundation. I urge you to read more on this story yourself as I have not given it the justice it rightly deserves.
My title of this blog entry, "They give me joy", referrs to an event this morning. I am overwelmed right now in my work and it's not for the reason that I was overwelmed a couple weeks ago. I have more of a handle on my job now and because of that it' s become that much more overwelming. I had accidently deleated two months worth of records and planned on this week making up my damage. Monday morning had different things in mind. My desk has many other tasks awaiting me when I walked in this morning, so I walked out for a small breather. I strolled into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle and passed a mother and her two small girls. One child hung from her hip as the other walked beside her dragging her arm accross the wall the dinning room. The mother smiled at me and said so sweetly, "good morning", as she maintained the child on her hip and the wereabouts of the walking one. There are so many mothers aboard this ship and they give me so much joy. I've decided it today. I've decided that there is not a more honourable calling then that of a mother. How inspirational these women are to me. I am so amazed by them and put to shame by them. What lack of devotion towards themselves and what care and patience these mothers possess. I love it. I stand in awe of the mother. This creature, this woman, living daily for the benefit of her offspring, her children. Instead of looking to be fed or entertain, she feeds. She entertains. for their good, not her own.
I was overwelmed this morning but the beautiful chemistry between a mother and her children, that I'm surrounded by on this ship, brought me joy.
I look forward to being one.
I finally insisted on the definition of a township. I was to fake it no longer. From the scrambled explanations and sudden depated arguments that arose from my question, I got that a Township was where colored people lived during civil wars or something. I really wasn't given a clear answer. I need to read up on it.
The people welcomed us with open arms...litterly. They surrounded us as we walked in and layed their hands on us and lifted our lives and the cause of our ship up to God. They prayed for us for about ten minutes and it wasn't just one person. They all prayed outloud. I was standing beside Corinna in this cold, square shaped room with old chairs and no door to block the night's wind. I wore my belgium scarf from Lowen around my neck and later untied it, wrapping it tight around my body. African hands pressed hard on my back and words of thanks and petition came from their mouths. I was glad I signed up to go.
Before we arrived, the man that invited us to go and showed us the way, asked if he could take us to some new monuments in the town. We stopped by two. The one that specifically intrigued me was the grave of Amy Biehl. It was right outside a 'shell' gas station. A cross leaning against a black, iron rod. This man knew so much history of South Africa. He's was a born tour guide. He wasn't from South Africa but from New Zealend. He had a heart for the needy and has ended up living in a run down community of Cape Town. He explained that Amy Biehl had been murdered here in 1993. It was explained to us as being a case of a non african girl being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amy was from California and was assisting in the development of voter registration for the country's first democratic election planned for April of 1994. August 23rd, 1993 she was driving three co-workers home, through this township, and was stopped and pulled out of the car by locals and stabbed to death. What made this event miraculous was that this girl's parents extended the hand of forgivness to their daughter's killers with these words, "Amy was drawn to South Africa as a student and she admired the vision of Nelson Mandela of a 'Rainbow Nation.' It is this vision of forgiveness and reconciliation that we have honoured." Ironically two out of the three killers have become a part of the Amy Biehl foundation. I urge you to read more on this story yourself as I have not given it the justice it rightly deserves.
My title of this blog entry, "They give me joy", referrs to an event this morning. I am overwelmed right now in my work and it's not for the reason that I was overwelmed a couple weeks ago. I have more of a handle on my job now and because of that it' s become that much more overwelming. I had accidently deleated two months worth of records and planned on this week making up my damage. Monday morning had different things in mind. My desk has many other tasks awaiting me when I walked in this morning, so I walked out for a small breather. I strolled into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle and passed a mother and her two small girls. One child hung from her hip as the other walked beside her dragging her arm accross the wall the dinning room. The mother smiled at me and said so sweetly, "good morning", as she maintained the child on her hip and the wereabouts of the walking one. There are so many mothers aboard this ship and they give me so much joy. I've decided it today. I've decided that there is not a more honourable calling then that of a mother. How inspirational these women are to me. I am so amazed by them and put to shame by them. What lack of devotion towards themselves and what care and patience these mothers possess. I love it. I stand in awe of the mother. This creature, this woman, living daily for the benefit of her offspring, her children. Instead of looking to be fed or entertain, she feeds. She entertains. for their good, not her own.
I was overwelmed this morning but the beautiful chemistry between a mother and her children, that I'm surrounded by on this ship, brought me joy.
I look forward to being one.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Standing on Solid Ground
My feet are on firm ground. I'm standing still; able to walk down stairways at my own pace, able to walk a straight line, able to sit in a still chair, able to lie on a firm bed. My stomach is no longer churning. It's no longer rising and falling with the waves. I'm on solid ground. My stomach is at rest on the shocking lands of Cape Town.
The before we arrived it was around 11:30pm and I was so drugged and had been sleeping all day. I had settled, or had tried to settle down, at the computers to write some emails. Cully walked in a bit later and asked me if I wanted to go out on the deck with him. No one felt right. Everyone was unusually uncomfortable. The deck was a place of regufe. But it was late and the medications had me very comfortable where I was. I was honest with my friend. "No, I don't want to go out on the deck."
"Okay. Will you go out on the deck with me?"
...sigh...."Sure. let me log off"
So we left the library, traveled through the academy, up the winding stairways and almost tripped over the ledge that led to the upper deck. It was pitch black. As far as the eye could see. Black. Dark. Nothing gave light. There was no land to be seen. Nothing to reflect light. We were on a ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean with not a speck of land for the human eye. No matter how hot or how warm or cold a place is, when you're sailing, it's frigid, unless you sit on the floor of the ship and get under the passing wind.
It was stone cold that night. I was numb within seconds. We leaned on the side of the ship and looked out into the blackness. We talked of work and this incredibly challenging ship life where you encounter tons of annoying people that you can't escape from no matter how hard you try, especially when your actually sailing. We talked of the priviledge, in spite of it all, that it was to be apart of it and the mystery as to how we got chosen. Poor Cully. The past couple days they had worked him through the entire nights. It was the nights before we got to Cape Town, right before tours would fill the ship and they wanted the carpets spotless. So Cully and his housekeeping co-workers cleaned carpets all night long while I slept soundly in my bed. I had wondered about his foul mood the days prior. We hadn't talked at all and honestly I was becoming quite annoyed with his attitude.
Tonight, though, standing out on this freezing deck, I understood my friend's rotten dispostion. I am so glad I went out on the deck that night. No one else was out there, which is rare. The waves roared as the ship sailed unusally fast. You couldn't see but you could hear things jumping in the distance. It was intense. Very frightening. apsolutly amazing. I had become very still. Cully asked if I was alright. "Yeah. fine"
"You sure? you arn't too cold?"
"Cold. yeah, can't feel my arms. I'm alright though, really. I like it out here."
He looked at me with a that won't do sort of face and pushed me towards the stairway that led into the ship.
The next day we arrived in Cape Town. 1pm. Exactly 48 hours since leaving East London. I was on my lunch break and had just run to the library to check my email. Computers are intensly slow here. What would normally take 2 mintues now takes 20. I was waiting as usual for the connection when I joulted forward. It felt like we had hit land. I glanced out the porthold, compleatly expecting to see miles of ocean and saw a town instead. A TOWN! For the first time in hours my eyes were witnessing a land with people walking on the ground.
I couldn't believe no one had told me or that an announcment hadn't been made. It had been the talk of the ship how neat it was to pull into a new dock, all the towns people standing there, just waiting for us. A band and the mayor - all for us. I couldn't believe I hadn't been informed.
I ran from the library, down the stairs, through the kitchen and up a few more flights of stairs until I reached top deck and pushed open the door and steped into this new Cape Town air. The entire crew had beat me to the ledge. I had to squeeze my way in - got next to Steven and looked at him annoyed that he hadn't told me.
It was incredible. I will give it few words because you will really only know the beauty of coming into an awaiting town by ship if you are on a ship with a town awaiting you. People waved. People screamed. My face, covered in unusual enthusiasm.
So we've been here for about a week and a half and I've been overwelmed once again. I am overwelmed not only with intense beauty of this city and the mass amount of things to do but by my gratitude to be on still ground. Oh, how good it is to be still. I marvel at the sweet comfort of solid ground. What a treat. I've been unwilling to express it and have taken to simply enjoying it. I miss you all not knowing though. So I tell all now. Well, never all. Just some.
The Anastasias is decked in the middle of a mountainious harbour of Cape Town. Massive mountains encircle the ship and the town buzzes with music and life. Mercyships is being advertised everywhere you go and we're practically celebrities to the locals. There's an arena down the way where different musical artists play all day on the weekends, in promotion for our ship. Good bands. Signe and I walked down town and sat down for a minute to listen to this song and didn't get up for an hour. So yes. Cape Town is a miracle. It's barely real. I'm in constant wonder at my reality. Sitting on the side deck, looking out into the lit evening town, engulfed by mountains, sky glazed in swirling pinks, listening to track 11 of coldplay will put anyone in constant wonder of their reality.
I had 2 oppertunities to go on outreach efforts. The first night I was asked by Signe to go with her and a couple others to this church during their friday night youth group. We presented Mercyships and showed a short video of our cause and Chris, a friend, gave a short sermon. On a friday about 50 kids had showed up for this youth group gathering. I was impressed. We introduced ourselves and Chris explained what each of us did on the ship. The kids split up into small groups after that and each of us went with a different small group. We shared more about the ship with our small group and answered some of their questions. It was quite an experience to be at this youth group as a "missionary", speaking to these kids who were my age, 17 and 18, about what I do and how I got here.
Just today, Corinna, Sam, Signe, and I went to a school for the disabled from 9 to 12. Corinna works for the outreach department and she was chosen to go share with this school about our cause. She's grown quite fond of Sam and I and asked us if we wouldn't mind coming along with her. The school actually asked if she could possibly bring a norwegian since they had one attending. Signe was perfect.
We met last night to brainstorm together and lay out a plan for what we would do and how we would say it. We had tea and cookies as we talked over our ideas and worked out a plan.
I had a staff meeting a 8 o'clock this morning at a coffee shop in the harbour and asked Marilyn (my boss) for a couple hours off to go with Corinna and she was more than willing to grant me my request. She's so encouraging to me. She's constantly giving me freedom and liberty and love - so good. So I left the meeting early and met Corinna in front of the ship at 9. (It's funny. at the coffee shop they serve shredded chedder cheese with your blueberry muffin. They give you a small dish of jelly and a small dish of cheese with the most scrumpcious muffin in the entire world. Oh food is unusually good here in Africa. Food is the topic of most conversations. When we're not eating, we're talking about the next time we eat. Food is ever on our minds. Constant. I love eating. They say they're won't be much in Liberia and we've all been seriously advised to pray for our water supply. It's not looking promising. So you can pray too when you think about that.) So we made it to this school. I'm really not sure why we didn't get lost. The map had been passed to each of us as we scrampled to locate streets and highways. We made it though, the whole time Corinna talking to herself..."Left. Stay on the left. stay of the left." They drive on the left here. Very scary.
This outreach was a bit more intimidating. Instead of being seated amongst a "small group" we each stood on a stage with 100 students, wearing very tidy uniforms, facing us. Sam spoke first. Introduced himself, spoke of his home and his sisters. He spoke of the bad in the world, the hurt, the broken. He spoke of a Redeemer and that admidst sorrow and sin there is a God here to redeem his own. Once again, he proved impressive. He was given a hearty applause. Signe and I took our turns, explaining our lives back home and what our home had become now that we lived on this hospital ship. We spoke of our roles aboard the Anastasias and of our joy it was to be apart. a working part. They asked us questions in the end and we mingled among them for awhile.
I was blessed and I was grateful to be in Africa at a school, sharing with these children why my ship does and how much I love being a part of it.
(i have photos but the card reader arn't working at the moment. I'll post them asap.)
The before we arrived it was around 11:30pm and I was so drugged and had been sleeping all day. I had settled, or had tried to settle down, at the computers to write some emails. Cully walked in a bit later and asked me if I wanted to go out on the deck with him. No one felt right. Everyone was unusually uncomfortable. The deck was a place of regufe. But it was late and the medications had me very comfortable where I was. I was honest with my friend. "No, I don't want to go out on the deck."
"Okay. Will you go out on the deck with me?"
...sigh...."Sure. let me log off"
So we left the library, traveled through the academy, up the winding stairways and almost tripped over the ledge that led to the upper deck. It was pitch black. As far as the eye could see. Black. Dark. Nothing gave light. There was no land to be seen. Nothing to reflect light. We were on a ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean with not a speck of land for the human eye. No matter how hot or how warm or cold a place is, when you're sailing, it's frigid, unless you sit on the floor of the ship and get under the passing wind.
It was stone cold that night. I was numb within seconds. We leaned on the side of the ship and looked out into the blackness. We talked of work and this incredibly challenging ship life where you encounter tons of annoying people that you can't escape from no matter how hard you try, especially when your actually sailing. We talked of the priviledge, in spite of it all, that it was to be apart of it and the mystery as to how we got chosen. Poor Cully. The past couple days they had worked him through the entire nights. It was the nights before we got to Cape Town, right before tours would fill the ship and they wanted the carpets spotless. So Cully and his housekeeping co-workers cleaned carpets all night long while I slept soundly in my bed. I had wondered about his foul mood the days prior. We hadn't talked at all and honestly I was becoming quite annoyed with his attitude.
Tonight, though, standing out on this freezing deck, I understood my friend's rotten dispostion. I am so glad I went out on the deck that night. No one else was out there, which is rare. The waves roared as the ship sailed unusally fast. You couldn't see but you could hear things jumping in the distance. It was intense. Very frightening. apsolutly amazing. I had become very still. Cully asked if I was alright. "Yeah. fine"
"You sure? you arn't too cold?"
"Cold. yeah, can't feel my arms. I'm alright though, really. I like it out here."
He looked at me with a that won't do sort of face and pushed me towards the stairway that led into the ship.
The next day we arrived in Cape Town. 1pm. Exactly 48 hours since leaving East London. I was on my lunch break and had just run to the library to check my email. Computers are intensly slow here. What would normally take 2 mintues now takes 20. I was waiting as usual for the connection when I joulted forward. It felt like we had hit land. I glanced out the porthold, compleatly expecting to see miles of ocean and saw a town instead. A TOWN! For the first time in hours my eyes were witnessing a land with people walking on the ground.
I couldn't believe no one had told me or that an announcment hadn't been made. It had been the talk of the ship how neat it was to pull into a new dock, all the towns people standing there, just waiting for us. A band and the mayor - all for us. I couldn't believe I hadn't been informed.
I ran from the library, down the stairs, through the kitchen and up a few more flights of stairs until I reached top deck and pushed open the door and steped into this new Cape Town air. The entire crew had beat me to the ledge. I had to squeeze my way in - got next to Steven and looked at him annoyed that he hadn't told me.
It was incredible. I will give it few words because you will really only know the beauty of coming into an awaiting town by ship if you are on a ship with a town awaiting you. People waved. People screamed. My face, covered in unusual enthusiasm.
So we've been here for about a week and a half and I've been overwelmed once again. I am overwelmed not only with intense beauty of this city and the mass amount of things to do but by my gratitude to be on still ground. Oh, how good it is to be still. I marvel at the sweet comfort of solid ground. What a treat. I've been unwilling to express it and have taken to simply enjoying it. I miss you all not knowing though. So I tell all now. Well, never all. Just some.
The Anastasias is decked in the middle of a mountainious harbour of Cape Town. Massive mountains encircle the ship and the town buzzes with music and life. Mercyships is being advertised everywhere you go and we're practically celebrities to the locals. There's an arena down the way where different musical artists play all day on the weekends, in promotion for our ship. Good bands. Signe and I walked down town and sat down for a minute to listen to this song and didn't get up for an hour. So yes. Cape Town is a miracle. It's barely real. I'm in constant wonder at my reality. Sitting on the side deck, looking out into the lit evening town, engulfed by mountains, sky glazed in swirling pinks, listening to track 11 of coldplay will put anyone in constant wonder of their reality.
I had 2 oppertunities to go on outreach efforts. The first night I was asked by Signe to go with her and a couple others to this church during their friday night youth group. We presented Mercyships and showed a short video of our cause and Chris, a friend, gave a short sermon. On a friday about 50 kids had showed up for this youth group gathering. I was impressed. We introduced ourselves and Chris explained what each of us did on the ship. The kids split up into small groups after that and each of us went with a different small group. We shared more about the ship with our small group and answered some of their questions. It was quite an experience to be at this youth group as a "missionary", speaking to these kids who were my age, 17 and 18, about what I do and how I got here.
Just today, Corinna, Sam, Signe, and I went to a school for the disabled from 9 to 12. Corinna works for the outreach department and she was chosen to go share with this school about our cause. She's grown quite fond of Sam and I and asked us if we wouldn't mind coming along with her. The school actually asked if she could possibly bring a norwegian since they had one attending. Signe was perfect.
We met last night to brainstorm together and lay out a plan for what we would do and how we would say it. We had tea and cookies as we talked over our ideas and worked out a plan.
I had a staff meeting a 8 o'clock this morning at a coffee shop in the harbour and asked Marilyn (my boss) for a couple hours off to go with Corinna and she was more than willing to grant me my request. She's so encouraging to me. She's constantly giving me freedom and liberty and love - so good. So I left the meeting early and met Corinna in front of the ship at 9. (It's funny. at the coffee shop they serve shredded chedder cheese with your blueberry muffin. They give you a small dish of jelly and a small dish of cheese with the most scrumpcious muffin in the entire world. Oh food is unusually good here in Africa. Food is the topic of most conversations. When we're not eating, we're talking about the next time we eat. Food is ever on our minds. Constant. I love eating. They say they're won't be much in Liberia and we've all been seriously advised to pray for our water supply. It's not looking promising. So you can pray too when you think about that.) So we made it to this school. I'm really not sure why we didn't get lost. The map had been passed to each of us as we scrampled to locate streets and highways. We made it though, the whole time Corinna talking to herself..."Left. Stay on the left. stay of the left." They drive on the left here. Very scary.
This outreach was a bit more intimidating. Instead of being seated amongst a "small group" we each stood on a stage with 100 students, wearing very tidy uniforms, facing us. Sam spoke first. Introduced himself, spoke of his home and his sisters. He spoke of the bad in the world, the hurt, the broken. He spoke of a Redeemer and that admidst sorrow and sin there is a God here to redeem his own. Once again, he proved impressive. He was given a hearty applause. Signe and I took our turns, explaining our lives back home and what our home had become now that we lived on this hospital ship. We spoke of our roles aboard the Anastasias and of our joy it was to be apart. a working part. They asked us questions in the end and we mingled among them for awhile.
I was blessed and I was grateful to be in Africa at a school, sharing with these children why my ship does and how much I love being a part of it.
(i have photos but the card reader arn't working at the moment. I'll post them asap.)
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Pain
I found something I wanted to share with you. So I will quickly. I endured a severe headache all night long, last night, and then God, in his providence, had me read this from my Charles Spurgen morning and evening devotional:
Faith triumphs trial...faith pulls back the mask on the face of trouble, and discovers the angel beneath. For first, the trial is not so heavy as it might have been. Second, the trouble is not so severe as we deserve to have borne and third, the affliction is not so crushing as the burden others had to carry.
...faith sees that in her worst trial, there is nothing penal; there is not a drop of God's wrath in it; it is all sent in love.
Faith says of her grief, 'This is a badge of honour, for the child must feel the rod', and then she sings of the sweet result of her sorrows, because they work her spiritual good. These light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.
Then he ended with a sort of poem or song that he must have known or wrote. I'm not sure.
Faith triumphs trial...faith pulls back the mask on the face of trouble, and discovers the angel beneath. For first, the trial is not so heavy as it might have been. Second, the trouble is not so severe as we deserve to have borne and third, the affliction is not so crushing as the burden others had to carry.
...faith sees that in her worst trial, there is nothing penal; there is not a drop of God's wrath in it; it is all sent in love.
Faith says of her grief, 'This is a badge of honour, for the child must feel the rod', and then she sings of the sweet result of her sorrows, because they work her spiritual good. These light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.
Then he ended with a sort of poem or song that he must have known or wrote. I'm not sure.
All I meet I find assists me
in my path to heavenly joy;
Where, though trials now attend me,
trials never more annoy.
Blest there with the weight of glory
Still the path I'll ne'er forget,
But, exulting, cry, it led me
To my blessed Savior's seat.
That was my encougment when I woke this morning. Whenever I get headaches I find myself in this awful pit of despair. I can't see out of it. I cry out to the Lord all the while, release me from this pain. release your child from this pain. Please I beg you. I beg you. The pain is an experience that removes me far from earthly possesions or longings. All I want is freedom and all I feel is trapped. Never to be freed.
It's in these moments where I loose sight of God's love and question his plan. Why would he, my maker, die on a cross for me in order to give me life and then lead me into pain? I can't understand. And yet, I am ashamed when I read Charles Spurgen's words. Where had my faith gone? The bible says that faith can move mountains. Where is my faith that my Creator knows what he is doing with his creation? Where is my faith that acknowledges that this trial was sent in love to further my spirtual good? I pray that in my trials, specifically my health trials, that I will be able to behold a faith that not only trusts my maker in his plan but that counts it a joy to suffer pain so that I may be able to catch a glimpse of what my God endured for me. ...I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death...
Sometimes I wonder though...why do I want to know his pain? What good will it do me to know his pain? I don't need this pain! And then when the pains over, I get my life together and collect my thoughts and come up with an answer that goes something like this:
Sienna, you want to know his pain so that you can somehow catch a glimpse of what he suffered for your sake, that you might be able to appriciate His death that much more in order to give him more glory and honour and fufill your chief end. Sienna, you want to appriciate his death so you can more fully understand that there are causes and situations worth fighting for in the name of Jesus. By His death, He gave us life. Thus life is worth fighting for since the Son of our Creator died for it. The lives of others are worth fighting for. They're souls are worth fighting for. That is what you suffer for. So that you will understand the importance of human life and it's purpse.
So I try to talk to myself. Granted, it's easier once my pain is no more. But I've gotten here and next time the pain comes, I'll be that much more equipped to stand firm. To fight the good fight.
He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Isaiah 53:3
Friday, September 09, 2005
She Sails
The Anastasias sailed yesterday at 1pm. We were sapposed to leave at 10am. All the East Londoners were outside waiting to see us off. Even a local school band was playing charming little songs to bid us farewell. Marilyn came into the office, "Everyone out. out now. Go to the deck, wave them all goodbye". I really like my manager.
Steven and I headed out for the deck, not without grabbing a banana in the dinning room though. Man, i didn't taste the bananas for about a week because i was slightly worried of their taste, but there excellent. Bananas and apples, my new heaven. We had made our way out to the side deck and waved here and there to the town people, eating our sweet bananas, and Steven expressing how incredibly excited he was about this sail. "We're sailing. sailing today!!!" The thought was rather exciting. Everyone kept asking me if i had sailed before. I told them i had gone skiing and tubing and that roller coasters didnt' make me sick. I'd never experienced car sickness either. The looked at me approvingly. "You'll be fine."
The captain's voice came on the speaker, "Due to engine problems, our sail will be delayed until 1 o'clcok". The fun seemed to be over. Then Steven said excitingly...
"YES! we can order McDonadly one more time. YES!!!" i laughed knowingly.
They have McDonadls here and a delivery system. Steven is obsessed with the place and i keep telling him he must watch Super Size Me. But we do order mcflurries most everyday, even had a mcflurry party the other day, in the office.
We walked back to the office and somehow word spreads rappdily on this boat because there was a line if people waiting for us, with money in hand and what they wanted at McDonalds. Nothing can be done in secret here. Nothing.
We sailed at 1pm sharp. It was extra ordinary. The towns people, that were left, waved us farewell and we waved our hands and blew kisses. Camera's flashed. Many of us, for the first time, experienced the movement of the ship beneith our feet. Until now, the ship had been compleatly still. Many times i forgot i was even on a floating vessel. We saw whales rolling in the waves, throwing their tales up and sharks jumping. I was so giddy with excitement. a whale. My eyes were looking at a real whale.
I wanted to blog about this so badly last night. But i have never felt so rotten in my life. I managed to get up to the library but right when i sat down, i read a letter i had received from my father and started crying. I wasn't homesick, no, it wasn't that. The ship had been on the water for about six hours so far and i had never know such inescapable discomfort. Once again, i'm being challanged, all to quickly, to get used to this extreme new way of life. You can' t walk a straight line. Many times, walking down corridors, i'll stagger into the wall or fall back or run forward without being able to help myself. Walking down the stairs, i find myself stuggling to lift one foot ahead of the other and then, all of the sudden, by the force of whatever wave we're going down, i'm now running down the stair. I'm holding the walls and railings to stable myself. I feel so sick. Never, in my life, have I experience motion sickness. These waves are constant though and even those who have never been sick before are falling victim to this sail.
Right now, I'm in the library, and books are falling off the shelves and my chair is rocking back and forth and I'm having to hold the desk to steady myself. Last night was miserable. Anna and Signe were very kind to me though. There cabin is beautifully cozy and warm. My cabin is as low on the ship as you can go, so it's one of the rougher ones. They had me come in their place and we lied down as Signe played Eva Cassidy and got Anna and I some crackers. Oh for those blessed moments, I am so thankful. Even though I was sick beyond my own imaginings, song filled the air. I think that was the first time I heard song from a cd player since I've been here. Everyone has walk-mans, so you can't experience music with others. It was very wonderful lying in bed with music in the air and others there to hear it also.
I wanted to blog so badly last night so everyone could pray. Please pray now though. There are many still sick and in bed. I have been in bed all day. I showed up at work at 8:40 and left at 8:42. Cristin, who I work with, threw up in her trash can and left a minute after me. The only reason I can sit here now and write is becasue the blessed nurse has drugged me very, very well. I took this wonderful drowsy pill and have been out all day. It started working around 1oam and i've been a lot better ever since. I got up at 12 to go get some lunch, then went back to my cabin and slept and got up at 5 again for dinner.
People kept suggesting that I take a motion sickness pill. I kept declining the offer. I doubted i'd get sick or that if i did, a pill would help. I was naieve though. This has been a very, very difficult 24 hours. Even now that i'm on this pill, things are a bit better, but this sail is one of the roughest they've had in awhile. This ship is old and is missing parts or parts arn't working that soften the ride. People are stumbling over themselves and holding the walls to keep from falling.
It's odd though. My body is weak. I feel very sore and dizy and light headed. No matter how much I eat, my stomach feels empty and my head feels as though it should be throbbing. I have all the symtoms of a terrible migrane. I am in the apsolute perfect scenerio for a terrible migrane. It all fits. I'm on the roaring waters of the Indian ocean, being thrown here and there and i've never been this dizy in my life and yet there is no headache. Every once in a while, i'll get this fleck of pain but it lasts only a second. I should have a headache right now. I should have a sivere headache. Most people, around me, do. Yet i don't. I don't understand it. I used to suffer daily, yet here, in the perfect headache conditions, my head remains clear. Mom, are you hearing this?
After dinner tonight Corinna told me i shouldn't miss the sunset while we're at sea. I didn't doubt her. The deck, though it's frigid, is a good place to avoid sea sickness. If you can get out where you see water and it's movement and know what to expect, it's not as bad. So we sat out on the side deck and watched the sun fall behind the clouds and disapear into the solid line of ocean water that laid far in the distance. It was a moment that words nor image could provide justice to, but are only captured, in it's pure justice, by the human eye.
So we're off to Cape Town. This sail isn't very long, only about 40 hours. The sail to Liberia, in four weeks, is going to be a 10 day sail. Please pray, this night, for the crew members of the Anastasias. Many are sick. I ask you also to now begin praying for our two week sail to Liberia. I can handle this 4o hours. All the while I'm sick, i keep reminding myself, this time tomrrow we will be there. we will be there this time tomorrow. We won't have that reasurrance for our Liberia sail. Pray that God will make those of us that are weak, very able and will give us health and stability during that sail. I shutter to think of sailing for 10 days. I shutter to think.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
"Life Boat Stations Now. Life Boat Stations Now"
Yesterday morning we had another fire drill. The alarm began screaming as the captain's voice came on the speaker, "This is a drill. Everyone to their muster stations now. This is a drill. This is a drill". I think it funny how whenever we have one of those, the captain always comes on reminding us that this is a drill. Maybe it's to avoid panic. But we'll always know weather it's real or not. The entire ship began to hustle about, everyone running franitcally to their cabins to grab their lifejackets. I got to my muster station saftely and felt ahead of the game. We had had meetings for the past couple of days that stressed over and over to KNOW your stations before the alarm went off. I missed the plural in stations. I really, sincerely thought it was singular. The alarm sounded again all crew scattered. I was standing next to Anna and she had just been talking about how many people were confused and unprepared for this, didn't even know their stations, that people just weren't taking this seriously and i was wholeheartily agreeing. "Life Boat stations now. Life boat stations now". The captain's voice echoed in the wind, as i stood at the front of the ship.
"Life boat stations? We have to remember two stations?" i stammered to anna.
"Yes! you don't know your life boat station?"
"No, i really just thought i had to remember one number. i have no idea where i'm sapposed to be?"
This situation really wouldn't have been as stressful, except that people were running frantically about, here and there, even with the captain's voice ringing over the intercom "this is a drill. this is a drill", and i was caught it the midst of it without have the slightest knowledge of what direction to take. Anna looked at me sympathetically and dissapeared around the corner. I looked to my left and spotted a lost girl and decided to follow her. You may not think this good logic, the blind leading the blind, but i figured whatever station we showed up at we'd be in trouble together, humiliated together, instead of just singled out. So really, i was doing her a favor. Her name happened to be called though at whatever life boat station we had steped into. Her face showed a sigh of relief. I tried discreatly, tiptoeing out of the station before i heard "Is there anyone's name i didn't call?" I managed with success. I spotted Vangie, a lady i've become quite fond of. She's the bank lady and she took Signe, Steven and I to McDonadls a couple days before. She was in charge of life boat station 2 and i walked whimply over to her.
"Hey Vangie. Uh...hm, am i on that list of yours. possibly? maybe?"
"No. you're definitly not on here."
"You sure. It might be under Aubren." That line has always been my life savor. Not today.
"Nope. don't worry though. we'll tell your station that you're with us and you'll be accounted for. Just when we're finished, make sure to check what life boat station you are."
"Yes. course."
So i stood there, accounted for. It was a nice moment. I could breathe again without fearing to be told off.
Sam's name kept sounding over the intercom BY THE CAPTAIN. It was quite humerous. He obviously wasn't accounted for. "Sam Belz please report to the bridge. Sam belz, the bridge". Then ten minutes later, "Sam Belz please report to the bridge. Sam Belz, the bridge." The bridge is where the captain and all his officers are, where the big steering wheel is that guids this ship. Sam kept walking hurridly past me towards the front of the boat then hurridly towards the back. He didn't seem affected, not even intimidated that his name was the only being said over the intercom by the captain. He just seemed unable to find "the bridge". His confidence held with each direction he chose. I was laughing very hard.
The drill was very entertaining. They lowered a life boat for us so we could see what it looked like and how to get on it. I couldn't help thinking of titanic throughout the whole thing. The only ship memory i knew stained to my memory. These life boats was monsterous though. I think they're 5 or 6. They each hold about 90 people but ours held 30 and had a moter. Yes, that was exciting until i remember i wasn't at my right station. Our life boat would be rowing if we went down. ...sigh
A fun morning though. I returned to work in good spirits.
Corinna just gave me the warmest, coziest blue sweater with chinease characters on the side. We had just been talking about Brae, out on the deck watching the sun set, and she motioned for me to stay there a second while she ran off. She came back with this wonderful warm sweater and said, "It is yours." Since my sisters in china and i was just talking about how i was cold she thought this cozy sweater with chinease characters on it would be perfect.
It was.
"Life boat stations? We have to remember two stations?" i stammered to anna.
"Yes! you don't know your life boat station?"
"No, i really just thought i had to remember one number. i have no idea where i'm sapposed to be?"
This situation really wouldn't have been as stressful, except that people were running frantically about, here and there, even with the captain's voice ringing over the intercom "this is a drill. this is a drill", and i was caught it the midst of it without have the slightest knowledge of what direction to take. Anna looked at me sympathetically and dissapeared around the corner. I looked to my left and spotted a lost girl and decided to follow her. You may not think this good logic, the blind leading the blind, but i figured whatever station we showed up at we'd be in trouble together, humiliated together, instead of just singled out. So really, i was doing her a favor. Her name happened to be called though at whatever life boat station we had steped into. Her face showed a sigh of relief. I tried discreatly, tiptoeing out of the station before i heard "Is there anyone's name i didn't call?" I managed with success. I spotted Vangie, a lady i've become quite fond of. She's the bank lady and she took Signe, Steven and I to McDonadls a couple days before. She was in charge of life boat station 2 and i walked whimply over to her.
"Hey Vangie. Uh...hm, am i on that list of yours. possibly? maybe?"
"No. you're definitly not on here."
"You sure. It might be under Aubren." That line has always been my life savor. Not today.
"Nope. don't worry though. we'll tell your station that you're with us and you'll be accounted for. Just when we're finished, make sure to check what life boat station you are."
"Yes. course."
So i stood there, accounted for. It was a nice moment. I could breathe again without fearing to be told off.
Sam's name kept sounding over the intercom BY THE CAPTAIN. It was quite humerous. He obviously wasn't accounted for. "Sam Belz please report to the bridge. Sam belz, the bridge". Then ten minutes later, "Sam Belz please report to the bridge. Sam Belz, the bridge." The bridge is where the captain and all his officers are, where the big steering wheel is that guids this ship. Sam kept walking hurridly past me towards the front of the boat then hurridly towards the back. He didn't seem affected, not even intimidated that his name was the only being said over the intercom by the captain. He just seemed unable to find "the bridge". His confidence held with each direction he chose. I was laughing very hard.
The drill was very entertaining. They lowered a life boat for us so we could see what it looked like and how to get on it. I couldn't help thinking of titanic throughout the whole thing. The only ship memory i knew stained to my memory. These life boats was monsterous though. I think they're 5 or 6. They each hold about 90 people but ours held 30 and had a moter. Yes, that was exciting until i remember i wasn't at my right station. Our life boat would be rowing if we went down. ...sigh
A fun morning though. I returned to work in good spirits.
Corinna just gave me the warmest, coziest blue sweater with chinease characters on the side. We had just been talking about Brae, out on the deck watching the sun set, and she motioned for me to stay there a second while she ran off. She came back with this wonderful warm sweater and said, "It is yours." Since my sisters in china and i was just talking about how i was cold she thought this cozy sweater with chinease characters on it would be perfect.
It was.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
My African Sunday
I've been meaning to blog about this past sunday...my african sunday. It's late now and i need to go to bed and wake early with the sun. We sail tomorrow, 10am. We head for Cape Town. Doesn't it sound beautiful? They say it's very touristy and pretty there. We're going to be raising awarness there, holding functions, giving tours, and recruiting crew members for about four weeks before we go into outreach. We had a fire drill yesterday bright and early. We all had to run to our muster stations and then to our life boat stations, but now without our life jackets. I really want to blog about that...i was so giddy through the whole thing..so neat to see a life boat being lowered into the ocean. But i will blog about that tomorrow. I must tell you about this african church tonight.
Sunday morning i decided to go with Sam and his roomate, David, whose from Sierra Lione, to the Cosa church, about a mile away. I was dying for the "african sunday" experience. Brae's words were in the back of my head all week, "Sienna..i envy the sunday experiences you'll have. get in an african sunday!". That must be something she misses in china. I took my sister's advice and followed Sam and David to this Cosa church where I heard there would be dancing and singing and more dancing and singing and in the end, some more dancing and singing. Sam and I were the only white people there and normally the pastor preaches in Cosa, which has this constant clicking of the tougne all throughout that language, but this sunday he preached in English. I'm not sure if it was because we were there, but i have a feeling it was.
David had been attending that church for two months, Mercy ships entire stay in East London. He had become very envolved and it was extreamly painful for him to leave. The church loved him.
They loved me too though. I am amazed at the love that poured from that church. Right when i walked in, members came running over just to put their arms around me and embrace me with warmth. A boy my age came over immediately to greet me with a hug and welcome me with kind words. I found out later on that he was actually a visitor also. It was his first time at that church and he was already welcoming people. I couldn't get over that. They sang to us a little later while everyone in the church came up, once again, to embrace us. Somehow a mike was thrust into Sam's hand and he ended up in front of the church, expected to give some kind of mini sermon. It was quite funny. He seemed a bit surprised yet handled it very impressively. I would have walked off. He stayed. David had been upfront and was thanking the church for their kindness towards him through these last couple months and when he was done, handed the mike to Sam, who was sitting next to me in the pew. Sam's eyes got kind of big for a moment and then he swallowed and walked up to the front. He gave an impressive 60 second sermon, encouraging the people in the importance of worship and in their love towards others. He thanked them also for the love that they had shown us for the very short time we had come. Before the sermon ended they called us all up front to commission us off. The music was turned up and the dancing began. This time though there were white people up front though instead of black people. That was interesting to be the focus during a worship time. I felt slightly out of place. It didn't matter though. They led us into the back room, when the sermon was finished, where 3 different cakes were laid out for us with punch and water. We were served first and told to have as much as we wanted. They all waited till we were full before eating themselves. amazing people.
The african people have a beautifully mysterious way about them. I don't understand their love. Or maybe i do. Maybe i don't understand why most of us arn't like them. Why is this nation so this way and another so that way? These people welcome the stranger, invite them into their home, offerall they food they own and send them off with song. I'm intrigued with this culture. I'm encouraged to give more of myself for others. (which is a good thing to be encouraged by on this ship)A family had invited our Anastasias group over for lunch after church. They wanted to send us off properly. The single mom had four children and cooked us about eight different dishes and this excellent dessert. Alot of the africans from church came over too to fellowship with us. Around five we had to get back to the ship because the people of east london were hosting a "bry"(which is a sort of barb-b-que) for the anastasias before we sailed. But before we left, there was a burst of song and the people encircled us, linking hands, and they all sang a sort of farewell song to us that was so rich in african style. Then prayer filled the room. Each one began praying their own prayer for us altogether. It was amazing, to say the least.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
cockroaches and toilets
two things that arn's so pleasant. yet i must get used to them. i must get used to these new ways of life. Soon they will become ordinary and routine. Walking 4 extreamly long corridors in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and opening the door only to find cockroaches scambling from the light. big cockroaches. fat, black ones. i was told, upon arrival, that that would be the case. You don't believe it till you see it though. I let out an "OH my GOSH." while screaching and jumping up on the ledge to get out of their way. We have to step on them too so they die. That's what they tell us and so we must comply.
Here, i've learned to get use to not being able to go to the bathroom any time i'd like. For some reason, this plesant ship seems to only have about 3 or 4 bathrooms...although i know it has more, the place is huge and if your on A deck you're not going to walk the 25 minutes to C deck, just for the bathroom. You're going to wait. For 30 mintues, for an hour, for two or three. You're going to have to wait. And so you do. I'm getting used to not getting what i want, when i want it. I'm getting used to waiting for others. I'm getting use to going to my bed room around 11 but having to turn around and leave because boys and girls are watching a movie on a laptop two feet from my bed, i'm getting use to not being able to grab a cookie whenever i well please or having breakfast at whatever hour i prefer, i'm getting use to waking up at 6 or 5 or whatever hour i can in order to get my 2-minute shower time, i'm getting use to painfully slow computers and waiting 10 minutes for the next screen to come up, i'm getting use to going back to get my facewash that i accidentally left in the bathroom and it's not there or going to sign up for laundry and having to wait 3 hours to get my turn. i'm getting use to no privacy. I'm getting use to this thing we call, community living. It's fun at first, slightly burdensome now, and i'm sure only tends to get more annoying down the road. Really, i have no real problems now. It's just funny and interesting at the same time to think about what i'll have to get used to over the next year. These small things that i took for granted at home, like not having to crunch the cockroaches on the bathroom floor, i no longer have the priveldge to refrain from.
And yet it's exciting to be given new tasks and new ways of life to adapt to. I look forward to being a real life survivor.
I always think of what I pinned on my bulliton board. I found it, the other day, on a page in my notebook, that linnea had written for me to one day find.
"whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul. (belt it out like micheal w, girl!)"
Friday, September 02, 2005
I Found Something to be Saddened by.
"The times are a'changin". Bob Dylan's lyrics echo in my mind. Corinna left HR today. Wednesday was her last day. She worked in HR for her summer job on board(actually "winter" job. It's winter here in East London. Low to mid 60's. i'v been wearing light pants and jackets. quite nice) but she's normally involved in outreach when we're docked in coutries like liberia or sierra lione. She works with the children directly, in their schools. I saw a video on it. It's pretty amazing. She said i could definitly get involved, so i'm looking forward to that.
It's funny though, how sad i am. I'm sobered to see her go and i'm saddened by the loss. Corinna's not even leaving the ship and we've only been co-workers for a week but i'm so utterly annoyed that's she's gone from our department. Corinna is around 30 years old and she was waiting at the entrance when Sam, Cully, and I arrived. She wasn't even the one that would be giving us our tour, she simply knew their were going to be new crew arriving and wanted to be there to make us feel welcome. She's come from Germany and has been here for about a year. Corinna is one of those people that you love being around. I know that's cliche...i know that statment is over used. But it's very true of this woman. She's gentle, warm, giving, caring, and just holds others in high regard. Whatever bad mood i may be in at one point or another, i catch a glimpse of Corinna and it makes me smile and i want to be a better person. Even if you don't personally click with her, her presence is soothing to be around. She laughs at me alot, and if you know me, you know that too much laughing tends to get on my nearves, and yet it's pleasant coming from Corinna. When she showed me my office space, she encouraged me to make it my own and to move anything around to better suit my tastes. While she trained me, she kept reminding me that although this was her way of doing it, that i was not required to do it any one way. If i found a more efficient way or a way that simply suited me better, she urged me to feel comfortable in whatever changes i needed to make. As a result, throughout the day she made it a habit to ask me what I thought, if I had a better idea. She urged me to feel confident and encouraged my creativity. She entirely shattered any impression that this job was some small, structured box. Her humility, her love, and her godliness are characteristics in a person that one's not often given the chance to know. And yet, we're often sourrounded by these interesting people, yet we don't take the time to find out. We pass them by without taking notice. Corinna sought me out. She took the effort to make sure i not only felt comfortable but that i felt noticed and cared for. Even Sam says shes one of his favorite people. He keeps begging her to teach him German and he may have almost persuaded her. I didn't want to miss out on the deal so him and I may be taking German lessons, once a week during dinner.
I've only known Corinna 7 days. Even though the time was short, only a blink, I see the exception in her. Her distinctiveness is matchless. I know my blessing.
Now new people are coming into HR to fill empty spaces. Last week i was one of those new people. i still am. It's so annoying though. Instead of just being able to want to meet them and engage in them without a pre-supposed impression or ideal, theres this standard of Corinna that i've set all around them. They can't escape it. They're not like Corinna! They're not!, i want to shout. And i'm so offended. I'm so disappointed.
Be grateful for those interestingly and mysteriously loving people in your life. and if you don't have them, stop and look around.
engage.
It's funny though, how sad i am. I'm sobered to see her go and i'm saddened by the loss. Corinna's not even leaving the ship and we've only been co-workers for a week but i'm so utterly annoyed that's she's gone from our department. Corinna is around 30 years old and she was waiting at the entrance when Sam, Cully, and I arrived. She wasn't even the one that would be giving us our tour, she simply knew their were going to be new crew arriving and wanted to be there to make us feel welcome. She's come from Germany and has been here for about a year. Corinna is one of those people that you love being around. I know that's cliche...i know that statment is over used. But it's very true of this woman. She's gentle, warm, giving, caring, and just holds others in high regard. Whatever bad mood i may be in at one point or another, i catch a glimpse of Corinna and it makes me smile and i want to be a better person. Even if you don't personally click with her, her presence is soothing to be around. She laughs at me alot, and if you know me, you know that too much laughing tends to get on my nearves, and yet it's pleasant coming from Corinna. When she showed me my office space, she encouraged me to make it my own and to move anything around to better suit my tastes. While she trained me, she kept reminding me that although this was her way of doing it, that i was not required to do it any one way. If i found a more efficient way or a way that simply suited me better, she urged me to feel comfortable in whatever changes i needed to make. As a result, throughout the day she made it a habit to ask me what I thought, if I had a better idea. She urged me to feel confident and encouraged my creativity. She entirely shattered any impression that this job was some small, structured box. Her humility, her love, and her godliness are characteristics in a person that one's not often given the chance to know. And yet, we're often sourrounded by these interesting people, yet we don't take the time to find out. We pass them by without taking notice. Corinna sought me out. She took the effort to make sure i not only felt comfortable but that i felt noticed and cared for. Even Sam says shes one of his favorite people. He keeps begging her to teach him German and he may have almost persuaded her. I didn't want to miss out on the deal so him and I may be taking German lessons, once a week during dinner.
I've only known Corinna 7 days. Even though the time was short, only a blink, I see the exception in her. Her distinctiveness is matchless. I know my blessing.
Now new people are coming into HR to fill empty spaces. Last week i was one of those new people. i still am. It's so annoying though. Instead of just being able to want to meet them and engage in them without a pre-supposed impression or ideal, theres this standard of Corinna that i've set all around them. They can't escape it. They're not like Corinna! They're not!, i want to shout. And i'm so offended. I'm so disappointed.
Be grateful for those interestingly and mysteriously loving people in your life. and if you don't have them, stop and look around.
engage.
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