Coming Full Circle

I love happy things. Sometimes facebook helps me to find those things. Today it was my darling, darling friend Robbie from Benemerito. I introduced you to him back in February of 09.
He was the first friend who enabled me to speak Spanish. He was patient and kind and interested in me, even though my language was quite broken. He was the first person I was able to tell about Erin at a time when she was all I could think about. He was Marly's age and became like a younger brother to me and a dear, dear friend.

When he was bearing his testimony on my last Sunday in Mexico City, he said something I will never, ever forget. He looked me right in the eyes and told of how he had never had interest in serving a mission, that it had never been important to him. As we both began to cry, he told me that because of my example and friendship, he was now committed to serve a mission.

Today, when I hopped on facebook, I brushed it off as a distraction until I caught sight of him with a black nametag, la gafet. I started to cry with pure excitement and joy as I realized that he really made it. My beautiful friend from Mexico, Roberto Galvan de Anda, my Robbie, is on a mission. He did it and he looks so happy and clean. I couldn’t be more thrilled, more filled with the spirit or more joyful. My little brother and my dear, dear friend made it. He really made it. I shed tears of joy for that beautiful boy. I am so happy.

To Close

Last night I cried myself to sleep.

I saw pictures of my little
Brown
Beautiful
Brothers and sisters
Thambis and Thangachis
Sitting beside another American

And she did not hold them
She did not touch their hands
Or kiss their cheeks
Or wear their Bindis

She did not paint their nails
Or pain her back from sitting
Hunched
Doing head of hair after head of hair

And her walls are not covered in
Letters of love and kindness and
Sisterhood
Hand-crafted and colored by those little
Brown
Beautiful
Hands

Again
I want to hold those hands in mine
Ten at a time
To play “Lemonade” and to
Sing “Pio Pio”
And “Love Story”
Until my throat is dry

I want to smile fully
Like I did then and there

for 28 days
With those little
Brown
Beautiful
Children of God

They may have forgotten me
For this Blonde, Beautiful American

But I will never forget them.

Learning about Reality

2 days left.

A few things I've learned:
...Music breaks down so many barriers.
...Names are vital.
...Boys are so beautifully simple. They just want to know that someone will love them and cuddle with them, even though they are a simple, stupid, sometimes smelly boy.
...When it comes down to it, family is what counts. And they will be the ones to sustain you through hard, lonely times. They will be the ones to read your blog and send emails that make you cry and they will be the ones most anxious for you to come home. How grateful I am to have a family. And an amazing one at that.
...Sudha (the wisest woman I know) told me the other day, "It's good to travel at least once a year, because then you appreciate your bed more when you come home." I think "your bed" symbolizes a lot more than just a comfortable place to sleep. It's a comfortable lifestyle, social life, diet. Things that you know, that you love and that are familiar to you.
...If you will give real, serious time to God, he will fill that time with incredible teaching. He will give you specific answers and he will teach you truth. If you are open to it and if you put in the effort, your "soul will be enlarged." His promises and His blessings are real. This is not fiction and this is not myth and this is not some imagined fantasy. If we turn to Him in sincerity, He will fill us.

Powerless

It's already been accepted as fact that the power is out more often than not in this country. However, the last few days I've had the privilege and blessing of staying in the city of Chennai with Prasad and his wife. I've relished in the beauties of air conditioning, wireless internet, actually being able to sleep with a blanket, etc.

Despite all of these glorious technologies (and blankets), last night as I was about to plug in my laptop the lights in the room suddenly powered off. I didn't have a flashlight on hand (it's okay, I'm not a boy scout, I won't be punished), so I switched on my laptop. Seeing that I only had 50 minutes of battery life left, I anxiously awaited the return of power. In a few minutes my wish was granted, but with some unexpected complications. When the power came back on, I head a loud crack and when I looked back at my charger (which was still plugged in), I saw orange sparks.

Hmmm.

I didn't think anything of it and grabbed the cord to start pumping life back into my almost dead computer. The little orange light on my charger didn't come on though. So I flipped the power switch and went back to work.

No orange light.

In sadness, fear and desperation, I pulled out my camera charger to see if it still worked, to see if it was just a problem with the power or the adapter. I tried other outlets, plugging and unplugging, flipping and unflipping!

It was hopeless. My charger had been zapped. Shot. Blasted.

I closed my sad little laptop (choosing to save it's last bit of power for a dark moment) and suddenly dreaded the 15 hour flight home more than I previously had.


So now I type on a Samsung SyncMaster 955.
A stranger compared to my kind, white MacBook.

The posts I had started writing remain unposted, the pictures unseen, the music unheard.

Yet there is still hope. All in good time my young friends. Within a week and a 15 hour plane ride that leaves at midnight and arrives at 5 in the morning (do the math I dare you...the answer eqauls jet lag), not to mention two other 3 hour legs, and no laptop to watch or type or listen on, I will be home.
And then, all the power in the world, plus everything you own and everything you love, will be mine.

I have finally found a culture that appreciates (and even adores) my chubby-ness. I could stick around here for a while :)

[The only problem is that they're set on making me even chubbier. I said to Mary (the woman who is in charge of what I eat), "You're going to make me fat!" She conceded and said, "...Okay" and then "I will buy you new clothes."]

19

As I was writing in my journal this morning I realized that I only have 19 days left here. Something about being in the teens shocked and surprised me. I can't believe that I have such little time left already. It seems like it's been only a few days.

Sometimes I don't know exactly what I'm doing here. There's not any real schedule or calendar for a person like me, I just kind of make my own. Sure, I'm teaching English and Piano and Guitar, but they don't really need that. They really have a solid organization over here. They have teachers, housemothers, wardens, etc. all of whom fill the role of leader and disciplinarian. What the children need is love. What the children need is family.

I cannot fill this void and while the Indian government remains the way that it is, this void may never be filled. I am not trying to be critical or disrespectful of the government, I am only speaking from observation, the little that I see and understand. But I see children with lonely eyes and broken hearts. I see children who have come from destitution, poverty and yes, even from the gutters.

Sometimes I don't know exactly what I'm doing here. But I know that God can show me what to do. And I know that God is mindful of every one of his children. Even those who are sleeping in the gutters.

Paparazzi

These kids were nearly impossible to take pictures of. I pulled out a camera and they all swarmed. I guess it's something about never having had their picture taken, or having had it taken very rarely. I took over 250 pictures just yesterday afternoon. They are truly beautiful people.

Eat Play Love

Mary taught me two important lessons yesterday.
First of all, she taught me how to eat with my hands, which is a hugely important skill here.
Secondly, We were talking about what I've been doing here and I mentioned teaching or something and she said "Nah, you play with the children."
I was a little confused and said "All the time?"
She responded "When Prasad asks what you are doing, you say teach guitar, english, piano. But you play with the children. You have one month. You play with the children."

Virtue

Sundays have always been beautiful to me. They are peaceful and uplifting and full of people that I love.

I was uncertain as to how I would spend Sundays here. I was hoping to attend church somewhere, but I didn't know where or how or if it would be held. I was grateful to find out that church is held here, at Pathway, with a congregation full of children. I was also happy to find out that I would be put to work. It's always good to be busy and feel needed. I played the piano in the meeting and also spoke for about 15 minutes. I was grateful that God gave me these opportunities, but was then prepared to sit back and enjoy the rest of the services silently observing. Prasad surprised me, however, by asking me to teach Young Women's. So with about two minutes and a lot of help from the spirit, I began to teach on Virtue. We discussed what exactly Virtue is and why it is important to have "high moral standards" in our lives. I spoke a little bit about how this applies in my culture and then turned the time over to the girls.

I was touched as they shared their beliefs and feelings. Here in India, it is culturally accepted that a man should not "touch" a woman before marriage. Modest dress is expected in all occasions and in all places. Dating starts at age 18 and many Christian religions don't allow even ear piercings.

Though different from some of the standards I've traditionally seen and lived by, I was greatly inspired by the faith and the commitment to Virtue of these Indian people. I began to cry as I realized that these girls are already worlds ahead of where I am in their understanding of Virtue and Purity.


Something else I've learned (though seemingly contradictory):
Everyone needs to be touched. It's something about being human, I guess. It shows us that we are literally and physically loved. A hand held, an arm around, a brush of the cheek, little little things mean so very much.

Receive the Children, Receive the Christ

"And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me."
Matthew 18:5

Children have such great light. I think I knew from the beginning of this great adventure that they would teach me so much more than I could ever teach them. I'm just beginning to learn how true this is.

Ten things I've learned from 24 hours in Chennai, India

1) Bugs love me. I certainly learned this while in Cuerna Vaca, counting over
50 mosquito bites by my third day there, but I’ve been reminded of it
again, when after only 24 hours (and not very many of them spent
outside), I’ve already counted at least 10.

2) Indian English is not American English. And it is certainly not the
dominant language spoken here. In fact, I’ve been told that each Indian
state has their own language.

3) Apparently, I look like an Indian Celebrity. Her name slips my mind
(starts with a “S” and probably rhymes with something like Bika‐yikanandu),
but apparently I look like her.

4) I am white for a white person. For an Indian Person, I am florescent.

5) Indian spices don’t do good things to my stomach. Don’t worry, all
regular here, I just have to eat very, very slowly.

6) Here, the wealthier you are, the more adept you are at eating with your
hands.

7) You don’t wear seat belts in India, not because they cars don’t have them
(they do, just without the buckle part), but because it is much safer in
India than in the United States.

8) Jet lag is a very real thing.

9) If you live in a rural area, you can expect the power be out more often
than not.

10) If you do not honk your horn while driving, you are doing it wrong.


Also, Indian people are absolutely beautiful. And they are so, so kind.

India and I

Chennai, India: Almost 10,000 miles away from San Diego as the crow flies.

Awaiting me there: Pathway orphanage; 200 plus children for me to love, serve and learn from.


I owe a couple thousand "Thank You's" to the men and women who have helped to make this experience possible. Words cannot express the gratitude and excitement that I feel. God has made blessed me greatly and He is ready to open my eyes to something incredible, something that (as of now) I cannot even imagine. I pray that I will be able to follow His spirit and to work through His love to make the most meaningful difference and to form the most meaningful relationships. I am faithful and I am thrilled.

Adventure

Zip.

Another suitcase packed tight and I look around my empty room. I've gotten far too used to packing. It's not like it happens all the time or even all that often, but it's become an expectation. No longer does it make me anxious or afraid or even excited. It's just another zip and I'm on my way.

Of course just around the corner waits another adventure. The trip of a lifetime with my family and then a month in India. The packing and unpacking and loving with limited attachment is customary. I don't let myself get too close to anyone, because soon enough, I'll just zip myself back in a suitcase and leave.

And for now I return home. Adventure always brings you back to family. I sat looking at pictures on our Mickelsen blog and I couldn't help but think to myself that in the end, nothing else matters. Nothing else. Family is Beautiful and Family is Eternal.

I'm grateful for open suitcases. For open doors and drawers and beds and couches. For family members that have housed and fed and hugged me in this transitory stage. For faux families that bring my heart home. Sometimes I feel like I'm floating, but looking around, I see familial anchors of love below and pink balloons above.

Zip.

Another suitcase and another adventure.

Rememberers

Dear Erin,

I’m a little late in writing, but two weeks ago today marked three years since you started your new life with Heavenly Father. I’m sure you’re very happy up there, working hard and loving much. But just so you know, we still miss you and remember you down here.


March 7th, 2011, I woke to a handwritten note, a pink balloon and a hug.

Two days earlier, I hiked a mountain for you. I brought along three of my dearest friends.
You know it’s funny, you never knew any of them. But they know you.

Lots of people know you, Erin. You left your mark on the world, through a lot more than a copper tombstone.

People remember you and think of you often. People want to know you and to feel your light.

Erin, Thanks for making eighteen months of my life sunnier. Thanks for making me laugh and giggle and talk like an idiot. Thanks for reminding me that life can pass you by if you don’t take silly pictures or do Dora puzzles. Thanks for teaching me how to say “Diego.” Thanks for letting me call you “Baby Erin,” even though you were (and are) centuries more mature than I am. Thanks for sharing my bedroom and never being selfish for more space, even when I was. Thanks for letting me dress you and doll you. Thanks for giving me and each of our siblings and parents special moments with you.

Thanks for making the three years since you’ve passed away miraculous. Thanks for looking down from the heavens and being my guardian angel. Thanks for teaching me how to write music and for giving me a voice (though that first song is completely God's). Thanks for teaching me how to cry for myself and occasionally for other people. Thanks for helping me know how to empathize with others. Thanks for being someone I can talk about, when other’s little ones slip away. Thanks for staying near my heart everyday and for being so darn cute in the picture I keep there.


March 7th, 2011, I fell asleep with dreams of tomorrow. I wanted March 8th to come so badly, so that I could forget again. So that I could let another year go by without wanting to drown myself in my tears.

Two days before, I called Dad for his birthday. We talked briefly of your upcoming celestial birthday, and he reminded me that I have never been home for a March 7th.

Tears came fast. I remembered that I am and have been alone.

But then you reminded me of something beautiful. You reminded me that even though I’ve never been home for a March 7th, I’ve always had pink balloons. I’ve always had mountains to climb and loved ones to climb with. I’ve always had rememberers.

People remember you Erin, and think of you often. I am one of these people. I cry for you unexpectedly, but I also smile at your memory regularly. Thank you for being my angel.


March 7th, 2011. Today I got to remember you. And God made today beautiful.

All my Love (and then so much more),
Rachel Jean

The Musings of an Ixtrovert

“Well, I’m an N,” she explained.

We were sitting in R.A. class discussing different communication styles and personality types. We had all taken a survey giving us four letters that categorized us according to trends in our personalities. The only result I remembered from my survey was an “E” for “Extrovert.” However, as I read the list of qualities of an Introvert versus an Extrovert, I found that I identified with both personalities, though not wholly with either of them. I was curious as to where I fit in the spectrum.

Refusing to trust the results spit out by said survey, I’ve become more observant of myself over the past week or so. Here is the data I’ve gathered:
• I’m certainly not afraid of people, but I absolutely love my alone time.
• Often, I prefer playing the piano or guitar to myself over going out to social gatherings. But then again, I have nothing against strumming my guitar while socializing with a few close friends.
• My three favorite places in the world: the temple, the cemetery, the MOA (respectively). Nevertheless, I love sharing those places with one, maybe two people at a time who are important to me.
• I love intimate conversation, but heck, I can work the crowd at a big party.

Based on my findings, I’ve labeled myself an Ixtrovert rather than an Entrovert. I feel like the introversion is more dominant and I feel like I might know myself better than a silly quiz. I use my alone time to refresh and recharge, to do things that I love. I’m not against people, I love people, I love watching people and observing their peculiar behaviors. Truth be told, people fascinate me. But I guess, I can fascinate me too. The conversations in my head (as insane as that sounds) are also intriguing and that’s probably why I find so much joy in writing; I get to recount those conversations in a way that can include others. But therein lies the dilemma. Writing needs an audience just as much as talking needs an audience just as much as thinking needs an audience. Even if it’s your own self, it’s somebody.

I used to say, “I don’t need people.”
One time when I said that, my friend responded to me skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly, I felt horribly arrogant.
“Well, I mean, I need people, but I don’t need them, you know?”
Of course, my response made about as much sense as a goose wearing a tutu. What I was trying to explain was this idea that I am an introvert, but not so introverted that it turns me into a recluse. I’m extroverted, but I don’t require constant social interaction to feel alive. But maybe most people are like that. So maybe I’m not an Ixtrovert after all. Maybe I’m just me.