Father

on the surface

apathy

underneath

pain

feeling it in my shoulders

the anger, frustration,

rage

with so much commitment

to justice

how do I stand

in the shadows

and let them be hurt?

what is it really like to

stand up to the lions of injustice?

and furthermore, why do I feel like

my father is one of those lions?

why is he a threat

that I must protect myself from?

It is not about protecting myself

anymore. I have to protect another

innocent

human being

whose innocence and joy

(qualities that should be present in every teenager's life)

are being stolen,

ripped from his hands

by the selfishness (brute selfishness!)

of one person

blind to the feelings of others

Is this not the profile of an abuser?

the cycle of power

a bulldozer

hurting everything in its path

destroying

attachment

attachment!

does he realize that he

cannot possibly walk into a

child's life for two years,

support them, build a relationship with them,

however problematic,

and walk out in order to protect himself?

Life is not all about you

You have never truly had someone walk out on you

You just walk out to protect yourself.

Today

Freedom

Having mutilated
and freed myself
from the very wings
which for so long
held me aloft
I have cast my heart
like a purpled fruit
toward the violent earth
far from the Heaven
of your arms.

-Jewel Kilcher


"It's about a love story, Giovanni. I had to say good-bye to someone today."
Then my hands are slapped over my eyes again, tears spraying through my clamped fingers. Bless his heart, Giovanni doesn't try to put a reassuring arm around me, nor does he express the slightest discomfort about my explosion of sadness. Instead, he just sits through my tears in silence, until I've calmed down. At which point he speaks with perfect empathy, choosing each word with care (as his English teacher, I was so proud of him that night!), saying slowly and clearly and kindly: "I understand, Liz. I have been there."
-Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Success

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a little bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. -Ralph Waldo Emerson


Two days at home have given me ample lazy time and thinking time. After so much go go go, I have enjoyed it. Remembering to be thankful for rest and the ability to be alone, I have come to the conclusion that I couldn't do it forever. I miss the excitement of Connecting Henry, the involvement in everything going on in the county, knowing that people's lives are changing for the better, or at least that the community is dedicated to seeing that happen, even if people aren't necessarily for it.

There is only so much passion I can feel while watching the Food Network. I love to cook, but don't have sufficient supplies to do the cooking that I want to do. On days like these I want to fast forward my life- the kitchen that I have always dreamed of would be waiting for me, and my career would be on its way.

I'm getting antsy and ready to go back to school, and trying to relax and enjoy myself. I'm just ready to affect change! To be busy! To make new friends and enjoy my already close friends.

Like a Bridge over Troubled Water

My thoughts were jumbled yesterday on the way home.
an excerpt from a chat with a friend:

Me:
my thoughts: 1) I feel things so deeply and that won't ever stop. and 2) Everyone is trying to find their place, be accepted, have people affirm them.

Her:
on (1)it is the avenue by which you will be wounded... but it is also the avenue by which you will be healed
on 2) isn't it somewhat nice to know we're all in the same leaky boat

Pain is everywhere. As I said earlier, we are all trying to drive on our severely malfunctioning "donut" on our previously well functioning cars. Everytime I feel like I should be a fully functioning individual, something deeply emotional and painful comes to my life. This summer is a hard summer. I was ready for it to be a good summer- easy going, full of great realizations about the Lord and about myself, and wonderfully stress free.

I got a wake up call. Lots of unstructured time equals lots of thinking, and lots of thinking means that I evaluate absolutely everything in my life, and lots of evaluation can either lead to change or depression. I have chosen to embrace change, but, of course, every time you decide to embrace change, there will be a million obstacles in the way.

So, on 1) I feel things deeply. I am learning to accept and love that about myself. I know that the people that affect change in this world are the people who have compassion and a deep sense of the pain that exists. My heart hurts, seemingly, at every bend in the road. I saw a man riding a bicycle today, obviously not dressed very well, and I wondered immediately what his situation was in life. It hurt to know that he may not have what I have. I absolutely hate seeing animals lying dead on the side of the road. Statistics about children who go to bed hungry or people who cannot read or children who suffer from very poor parenting- these things hurt my heart.

What's more- people who let their friends down, people who take advantage of others, and broken friendships. One of my thoughts on the road had to do with the broken friendships that happened as a result of my parents' divorce. I have always loved the thought of living in community, and my community shrunk as a result of that broken marriage. That hurts, because I desire that communion with others so much. I want the connection that runs deep into the soul; I rarely settle for surface level friendships.

That leads into what was my second thought, that we all want to feel affirmed. I want the readers of this menial blog to care, and I want them to respond to my writing. I have this great dream of someone discovering my journals at the end of my life and having some of the writings published. I am not a profound writer, I don't feel that I have the strength of meaning that some writers do, but I want that to be affirmed. Deep friendships, strong community, the sense of belonging to something, be it a movement, or a church, or a group, or the Honors Society, or the Democratic Party, those all seem to validate our existence in our minds. And in some ways they do validate that we exist in a thriving and growing society, but the membership of any one of those groups should not affirm our being.

I deeply desire the kinds of friendships that grow me and change me and leave lasting impressions. I'm always seeking to dig deeper and become more intimately acquianted with the friends that I care about. Sometimes I desire a close friendship with someone so much that I push them away, and I am deeply saddened when I lose contact with people that I care about. Friendships are seasons, though, and friendships contain seasons. I always have to remind myself of that.

These entries seem so self centered. Shouldn't I be talking about the important issues in the world?

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must breakt, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guilded by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears."

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

"We're just country folk"

"I believe in the decencies of the human race. Helping someone with their luggage, a greeting from a bus driver, a smile of understanding, a courteous gentleman showing us the way to our bus, the flight attendant giving us extra food."

"the thriving kindness of the human race, shown in in moments of smiles, gestures, conversations, and politeness. That is what I beleve in."

-journal, June 2007

My week has been filled with sunshine, reading, the beach, the pool, eating good food, and being surrounded by middle class Americans who are enjoying themselves on vacation. It is a blessing to be able to go on vacation in such a beautiful place, to be taken care of, and to enjoy my family. I am so thankful for the gifts that I have been given.

We drove through the Dominican countryside, passing houses made of pieces of metal, saw the streets of the city. I watched longingly from the window of the airplane, knowing that I was going to a beautiful place, filled with tourists, and that there was nothing I could do to get away. It's not as if I see myself as some great saviour, going to help the people, saving their lives from pain and heartache. I just want to be with the people. I want to really see their country, taste it, see what they see every day, and experience their lives. And I didn't choose the easy route of an all- inclusive resort, I was asked to accompany my dad and his family and I gladly went, knowing that I would feel this way once I arrived.

And so I was a tourist. And just like the others, I relaxed and allowed the staff to serve me. Why that makes me feel like I should plead guilty at a trial, I don't know. But it does.

It frustrates me to no end to realize that we exploit the beauty of a country while the people live in poverty. I have no right to sit in a resort and enjoy myself, or do I? (and the voice inside my head whispers: be thankful for what you are given, Erin.) I heard countless conversations about the drinks, about the couples that were there that started drinking since they got there and had 8-10 drinks a day, went on excursions, sat around the pool, meeting other people and talking about useless things. Empty conversations, with no merit or value. Meeting people just for the sake of meeting them. What the hell? If you don't care to get a person's name by the end of the conversation, discover something of value from their life, what is the point of meeting them?

I'm probably being a little harsh, because I too, enjoy talking to people from different parts of the country and the world. I met a couple from Malta, who spoke fondly of the beautiful island where they grew up. I asked questions about their lives and listened over dessert one night. Those are the conversations I cherish: the ones where I gain an understanding of the value of someone's life, of what makes their heart beat and what makes them proud.

But there were other conversations. Ones about the different islands that people had visited, the quality of the resorts or vacations that they had. I sat there, listening, wondering if that was the point of their life. They worked, had a family, went to the tanning bed to get tan for their vacation, saved money for their vacation, new cars, new wardrobes, season tickets, new houses, whatever. Is that how their lives circled about? Or am I too quick to judge the surface conversations of people and assume no depth to their existence?

My father, who I admire as a hardworking man, frustrates the hell out of me sometimes. He embodies what I think of as a "good ol' boy" but he also is borderline redneck. I believe in presenting yourself as someone of character and dignity, and being open minded, sincere, and educated about the variety in our world. My father has had a great deal of education about other cultures, but he has somehow slipped into the sheltered southerner that I often criticize. How I hate that I criticize it, but I want to be realistic, not hateful.

"Where you folks from?" "We're just country folk," he said. (OH GOD please don't put me into that category.) I was almost embarrassed to be associated with him for fear that I would be taken as a backwoods country girl with no education. The questions that were asked! Ahh! Sometimes it drove me nuts. I wanted to snap at him sometimes and prove his ethnocentrism. Believing that everything should be his way, saying with relief when we were back in Atlanta that he was glad that we were back in a familiar place, one where everyone spoke English.

I am proud of my Southern heritage, the hospitality and the history of the South is appealing and beautiful to me. At times I really regret that I did not receive more of an education than I did, that I wasn't given the opportunity to fight for the honor role or the spot in class ranking. Maybe then I would be more apt to compete in college. I would have loved to go to a Montessori school. But those are things that I cannot change. What I can improve is me now. I can gain an international perspective, broaden my worldview, and not be content to stay in Georgia for as long as I live and rot away thinking that American wouldn't benefit from having a woman as president (another point of contempt that came up this week).

What matters to me are not my grades, but my worldview and the way I function in the world. My ability and willingness to do whatever I can to benefit the human race are what I want my legacy to be. I hope I get the honor or wearing beautiful diamonds and the pleasure of seeing beautiful places, but these things will not define my worth. My social standing will never be the most important to me.

How delightful to think that one day, if I am given the gift of children, I may show them the beauties of the world and allow them to discover what treasure it possesses. They will receive a wonderful education, because my parents chose to give me the best education they saw fit. Maybe I didn't get the pleasure of honor rolls, but I learned about Lewis and Clark by walking on the land that they walked on. I saw whales in the ocean outside of Oregon, and I walked through the streets of Williamsburg and imagined what it was like in the Colonial era. My education was shaped through my experience, and, as I adamantly informed my mother one day, "learning doesn't stop when you get home from school!"

May I not judge those who find their culture far better than others, but seek to educate them through my acceptance and actions. May I not judge those who seem, on the surface, to be materialistic, but dig deeper and learn what is important. And may I always, always, recognize the beauty in my world and live for the pleasure of others.

Mother India

Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace

-Caedmon's Call, "Mother India"

Those lyrics haunted me this morning on my ride to work. "I forgot Your grace." Has described my life exactly these past few weeks, months.

What is your burden? That thing that you can't not do... That thing that follows you around and nags you, the subject that raises the hairs on your arms and makes you lay awake at night. That thing....that thing that makes your heart hurt and your mind race. I think there are so many "things" floating around in my head these days, and it's difficult for me to identify my burden.

To frame it in a very loose manner, I love people. I am drawn to people in crisis, people who have been thrown into difficult circumstances. It began my freshman year with the women in the domestic violence shelter. All of those women have such beautiful souls- they deserve nothing more than happiness and love. But for the majority of them, life had thrown curve-ball after curve-ball their way. Growing up in poverty and abuse creates a cycle in the lives of many people- more poverty and abuse. For some resilient and determined women, the shelter was an avenue of success and freedom, but for many, it was merely a rest stop in the continuous cycle of pain. Seeing their children suffer that same lifestyle hurt me in more ways that I can say, but I was always encouraged by that one determined woman who took every opportunity that she was given.

Then came the Sexual Assault Center. I can't stay away from crisis! These victims presented an entirely different story of pain. The depth of pain that a survivor of sexual assault endures is unlike anything I have ever seen. Freedom and control is taken away from those victims in one incredibly horrific moment. Because whether the encounter is vicious and violent or a date rape, it is all about control, and having your control ripped from you is one of the most painful experiences. I admire those brave women and men who step forward with stories about sexual assault. The pain and agony I've seen in victim's eyes are only matched by the determination and bravery I see in the survivor who has overcome that pain.

And now, this summer. I spoke with DFCS about interning with them and then with another child emergency shelter in our area. Both of these areas would be directly involved with children in crisis, and by golly, I landed right in the middle of it all.

The woman I work for serves as the director of social services and also works for State and Family Connections. Those two roles contain a lot of responsibilities. Basically, our office connects service, faith, business and government in order to serve our county's families. I have worked with Local Workforce Development to bring people out of generational poverty, have been through Cultural Diversity workshops and learned about serving and understanding various populations in our county, and have been priveledged to sit in on multiple cases with children that the court has deemed incompetent. I have met countless individuals who all have similar hearts of service, and I have enjoyed it all.

The people in pain that I see from my desk at the office is varied day by day. I have seen idiotic parents who don't give a damn about their kids and only want the check that comes in the mail. I have seen people who are so desperate that they are crying on the phone trying to get help, having never asked for it in their lives. But I have also encountered those people who feel that the people who want to help owe it to them to help them. The unfortunate thing about your heart breaking for those in pain is that you constantly have to filter your compassion, realizing that people will run right over you.

So my burden is people. I went to work with my friend on a Habitat for Humanity house on Saturday, and I was overwhelmed with emotion, thinking about the fact that everyone deserves decent housing, and that some people "play house" in the cardboard boxes or shacks that they call home. I am devastated that so many don't have the gift of a secure home, and I am more devastated that so many more don't realize the gifts that they have. I try to recognize my blessings daily.

It's difficult to describe the amount of responsibility that I feel towards people. It makes my heart hurt so badly sometimes. I don't know what capacity I will be able to serve people in, but I hope I'll come to the end of my life and feel as if I accomplished something. The thing about is, I must never feel as if I am serving "those in need." I think the hardest thing about service is bypassing the mindset that these people are less than you and that you have something to give them that they could never obtain themselves. I never want to serve people like that. I pray that my service is created out of my love for people and my desire to see them happy, never out of my pity for them. Compassion, not pity.

I'm doing what I think I was put on this earth to do. And I'm really grateful to have something that I'm passionate about and that I think is profoundly important.

We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which, over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee.

-Marian Wright Edelman

I am an African

"I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of music
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred "

I believe in a better way

Long car rides always give me ample time to think about life. Sometimes I hate that fact, and sometimes I embrace it. Today, I embraced it. I had the pleasure of riding to a town an hour away with my grandmothers. As grandmother's go, mine is logical, wise, and safe. Very safe. Like drive the speed limit when there are no cops around safe. So it was a long ride.

However, I love my grandmother. My grandmother is kind and compassionate and wise beyond belief. She instilled the most valuable lesson in my mother that has since been passed on to me. "Worry about the things you can change, but don't worry about the things you can't." Simple lesson; hard to apply.

At 20, understanding this world seems like such a hard task. I'm trying to understand it the best I can. Anne Lammott says that we are every age that we've ever been, and that truth has been well pronounced in these past weeks. I have gotten a job with the director of social services in my county. On a daily basis, I encounter stories about crazy people with crazy situations, and sometimes I feel like a wide eyed nine-year-old listening to the stories. Their stories break my heart, and I remember being in middle school and thinking about all of the people who needed a home and food in the city where my church was located. It broke my heart, just thinking about all of the need that was so close to where I was. Sixteen saw me in the country of Panama, in the mountains with the poorest of poor natives who lived in the smallest of spaces and worked for just dollars a week harvesting coffee. At ten I was in the slums of South Africa, conducting Vacation Bible Schools and eating of the hard earned food that the families worked so that we could enjoy. Just last year I walked through Western Kenya with Pastor Ben, talking about daily life, trying to communicate with what little of each others' language that we knew. I am every age that I have ever been.

Through these years I've begun to realize that everyone has pain in their lives. These crazy people with crazy stories operate with what little coping mechanisms they have, and often that coping consists of manipulation, deceit, cheating the system, or simply sleeping with any available human being. What else have they been taught? Sometimes those stories will come along when you see that someone has fought it out and come out on top, but so many of the stories I hear are a result of generations of poverty, poor mental health, and just simply poor living.

I feel so bad that people have to live like that. The pain in the world does break my heart, and I feel guilty and responsible. The responsible citizen in me recognizes my ability to help in any way I can, and that it truly is a responsibility. I feel guilty for living such a priveleged life. Some higher-ups may not view it as priveleged, but let me tell you: I am priveleged. I get to go to school (college! an education!) and I get to eat quality food on a daily basis. That food was not bought with food stamps and my housing is not payed for with government assistance. In fact, I have my own room! And I can travel! I can see the world, expand my horizons, realize my dreams. I haven't worked for the things I have, and I really should work harder. Am I grateful? Rarely. The quality of living that I have does not exclude me from the responsibility that I have to improve the quality of living for others. How can I be so priveleged and not share my love with others? How can I be so priveleged and not share my joy with others? My wealth?

So this crisis of responsibility is where I'm at. Everyone is in pain. The teenager you pass on the highway may be struggling with self esteem and weight issues because of the terrible standard her body is held to. She may be cutting or have an eating disorder. That man at the gym? Depression. Maybe that girl in front of you at the bank is facing bankruptcy. Perhaps the young man behind the counter at your favorite fast food restaraunt goes home to a mother who has a terminal disease and he's working to support his family. But other things, like a flat tire, a bad grade, a fight with a close friend, a breakup, a broken ankle, or just a bad day can affect all of us at one point or another. We're all hopping along with some sort of disability, some sort of handicap. None of us are perfect. At one point or another, one of our tires have gone flat and we've had to ride on a donut. That's sort of how I've begun to see the people in the world. Just cars with 3 good wheels and the fourth: a donut.

"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both of their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them. 'If you remove the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger and speaking wickedness, and if you give yourself to the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then your light will rise in darkness and your gloom will become like the midday and the Lord will continually guide you and satisfy your desire in scorched places' (Isaiah 58:9-11)." -Bono

Decisions

Yesterday and today have been a challenge, in many ways.

Thursday night came the event that I knew was coming. I broke up with 'the boy'. I feel so unemotional when I say that, but it came with so many emotions. Unfortunately, those emotions haven't come in the 'normal' way. I haven't cried, but instead, I've confined myself to the house and immediate vicinity for two days.

My mother is in California on business, and my friends aren't a few feet away as they normally are, so the television has been my friend. I've diagnosed myself with depression, but of course, I know what that feels like, having experienced it in the past. I've talked to him a few times, but there are so many elements of the breakup, I just feel like my brain is going around and around in circles.

Have you ever made a decision that, in all of the logical ways, should feel right but still doesn't? My friends have asked me if I feel like I did the right thing, and well, no, I don't. When I'm missing him and thinking about all of the good things I had, I regret the decision. When I'm wondering what he's doing and realizing that I could be on the phone with him talking about my day and feeling through my emotions with him, I regret the decision. When I think of our friends and the future I saw, I regret the decision. And I still very much love him and could see myself with him. I'm not angry with him. Like he said, I just didn't choose him. I didn't feel like I could. I felt like I needed this time not to feel smothered by a relationship, to express myself as Erin, and to become more of who I am already. But saying goodbye to this relationship feels like I somehow ripped a piece of me, a good piece of me away. But neither of us can rely on this relationship to define us.

So tomorrow I'll go back to work, and I hope there will be a few smiles and laughs waiting for me. But right now I'm watching Food Network nighttime, needing a shower, wanting to go to Wendy's and get some comfort food, and realizing that I still like my life.

Expansion

Growing and expanding.

That feeling that comes every once in a while, where my imperfect surface is being broken, and my person is being remolded. The hurtful growth, in which I realize imperfections about myself-serious imperfections, character flaws, prejudices, demons, and they make themselves clear and evident in every thought. And I seem to remember that somehow, somewhere, there is perfection. In the black dahlia that my mother planted outside, perfection of color, shape, and size. The depth and beauty of that flower is so powerful. In the rushing water of the pond in the backyard and the light green of a kitten's eyes, I find perfection. But not within my soul. And I try so hard to reach it, I try so hard to be mature, and complete.

I have this longing right now to be crazy. Being in a scholarship program that benefits me so much but whose requirements are set forth in a contract, which I sign, and I make the decision to not drink or participate in illicit activities makes college an interesting experience. On one hand, yes, I will be proud of my integrity in the end. I will be proud of my accomplishments and the fun I had without the assistance of beverages or substances, but I will wonder. And my 20s, well, I think they'll be fun. I have no doubt that they'll be fun. I was speaking with my boss today about a friend of hers who skipped out on her 20s, who missed an entire section of her life in order to start a family. And in her 40s, she went crazy. I don't want to do that. Yes, I have ambitions, dreams, crazy plans. But I want to have fun, and not look back on my life when I get older and wish I had done more crazy things.

So there's this boy-man. That I date. And kiss. You know, that kind. And he's textbook perfect for me. I love Africa, he grew up there. I like outdoorsey, crazy, tattood, understanding, kind, honest, intuitive, sensitive, caring, nurturing, understanding. He is all of those things. And it makes sense on paper. Right? But not. And here I am, in this awkwardness of home between years of college, and he's still in my college town. And he misses me. Misses me. And I find it hard to miss him in the way that miss someone you're in love with. I miss him in an "I wish you were around" kind of way, but not that longing.

I wonder a lot about that relationship. I am the perfect example of a product of divorce and afraid of commitment in every way. But shouldn't you be afraid of commitment if you are as young as I am? I have so many plans! I'm a feminist, a Christian, a volunteer, a leader, and a student. And oh, the world is full of possibilities! Why wouldn't I be afraid of "settling down"? I don't want to miss anything, and I don't want to have any regrets. Seize life, yeah? Does the ability to seize life include being able to juggle school, friends, a boyfriend, career opportunities, and so many other things that come with college life?

It's all so confusing.

how to save a life

Friday, May 11, 2007

it feels strange, this house. strange seems to describe my life lately. today, an ex (the ex) called me to apologize for events that occured over a year ago. apologizing for running away, for closing the door and never opening it, for being a coward. he said he had heard a song, those time capsules of our lives, and was reminded of me. my heart skipped a beat when i heard his voice on the voicemail. i had a feeling he was calling to apologize; i had expected it for a while. and i needed it. i needed that closure, and for him to hear in my voice that i was ok. that he was forgiven, that i understood, and that throughout all the hurt, i was ok. ok. really- healing and ok. i love that relationships can have so much depth that you never truly get over them. i think this person will live in my heart an memories forever. but he won't be my forever. he was my present at one point in my life, and i cherish the moments i had with him and the experience of falling in love with him, but he does not really know me now, like some do. he doesn't get it. so what happens when you grow up and you don't fit into one room of your parent's house? i struggled with the decision to come home, not because i don't love home or i don't get along with my mom, but because i need to seize the opportunities that i have to travel and experience things on my own, right? college is about all of that, and every summer during college should contain some sort of crazy travel. no. my spirit is seeking rest, and my mind and heart need solitude. i need to seek the Spirit, to long for it, to desire it like i have never desired anything in my life. this house, it represents that. just driving down the road feels like i'm going into solitude. resting by the pool today was good for my soul. it's hard to settle my mind- i want to learn to do that this summer, but the thoughts were good. i thought about how much it hurts not to be returning to kenya this summer, and how much i desire to serve people and what i want my life to look like. how do you describe the intense desire to be with people of another country to someone who has never experienced it? my summer in east africa was more than just an adventure. it was stretching, exhausting, and full of pain. but it built a fire in me, that has continued to burn. i served and was served, and i was humbled. humbled by so many experiences. seeing people who had given up the american dream to live with and serve people, seeing humble servants in the kenyans at brackenhurst, so willing to love and accept us, and the kenyans in western kenya, so ready for us to arrive and willing to share their homes and sacrifice time and money in order to make us comfortable. and my precious teammates. i am convinced that my God is the master of team making, because we fit together like a puzzle. i have seen the glory of God on the plains of the safari, in the eyes of a child who is truly worshipping, or just playing and being joyful. i have seen his glory revealed in a sunset, in the sounds of the kenyans singing, and in the sounds of our own a-cappela. the tears at the end of my summer were well earned. i did not want to get on that plane. and now, here. i am thinking about and praying for that next team. that team that god has miraculously, again, put together. he is humbling me in an entirely new way. 'erin, you can't go.' how hard is that? i want to be there, of course! i was adamant when i returned that i would be somewhere in africa this summer. but alas, i'm not. and god is working. right? he's here, in this crazy bedroom, in my quiet retreat, in the stillness of the night and the pain of the american. how i hate being an american sometimes! but then i am reminded to count my blessings. and that i will. this summer, i will choose happiness. i will choose quiet, and solitude, and peace, and the stillness of god. and i will choose to love people. but i will choose to care for myself and to care for my soul. to forgive myself of my shortcomings. to invite grace to come in. grace (eventually). choose happiness. oh, the depth of happiness and the richness of the soul.