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.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 25, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, March 21, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
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.
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.
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