After the last seven hours of travel and seven cycles through Mat Kearney’s Just Kids, I slipped back to my place of origins last Wednesday.
Disembarked to nieces and nephews and incredible peeps and pretty much nonstop feelz and catching up and magic since (with a little side of stress bearing down upon you).
Like it was glorious to be with people and other types of homes, it’s glorious to be home. Even if I am still awkward at it for now. All processing and coherent writing still to come, but probably no time too soon. I am incredibly thankful for this world and people (as in, world in the north west of America and the world as in the world).
As many of you know, I had the joy of doing a series of interviews while I was on the road. I’ll be publishing the ones from Rivne, Ukraine in the spring! (Not my original vision, but matrimonial celebrations in 94 days and job hunger really get to ones schedule.) I would like to publish the site in anticipation and it can be found here! Sign up, if you will.
Got to say a highlight of arrival was the chickens my farmsick dad and I got to feed at the tree farm. We were happy fools.
Thank you to everyone who has been patient and ridiculously kind in my adventures and over busyness and non-existent brain. And, who, I know will be tried in the crazy three months to come. I don’t know how you exist. Please stay my friend.
And for anyone who has ever been homesick for Oregon (no restriction to those who have actually been here).
Once upon a time there were three little girls. Just kidding, they were not little (except for maybe one in her heart). In various moments of recent history, they had all graduated from diverse homeschool educations in diverse countries (basically).
They met up in a neutral zone. In an attic in Poland eating pierogi. (One did not eat pierogi because she is stomachly handicapped.)
From then on they had many grand adventures which included but were not limited to:
singing their aching, little hearts out
taking shots (vodka/water)
bawling their eyes out in goodbyes–in America, in Ukraine, in Bulgaria, in Hungary, in Poland, in ocean waves, etc (like Nevada, weird).
a lot of not sleeping
rocking out in a gasping car
praying a lot of things
eating a lot of things. a lot.
sending a lot of emojis
writing a lot of messages, especially during sleeping hours
working on weird projects, especially on deadlines and with ink poisoning…
feeling lost
feeling like dancing an Irish jig. also, conquering the world, sin, death, the devil.
watching all the dreams puddle around their feet
knowing everything was going to be okay
knowing more and more that their Father was with them. With us. Each of us. And life was beautiful. Broken, broken…terrifying, wretched, miserable, and, most of all, wonderful.
Recently, 19 days ago, one of this extraordinary friends got married. I didn’t think I would feel this way, but it was the best day.
I am humbled by her grace, her love, her bravery, her trust in a powerful, faithful God. Not just as she joyfully became a new version of her beautiful self, but in all the other days too.
I know I only see my little world, but I think it is very few people who are given the deep, overwhelming gift of friendships like these.
I recently read a blog warning against overly close female friendships. The point may have been a good one: don’t let others define your identity, don’t be crippled in your life by ties, don’t lose sight of God.
But this hardly seems the problem. These seem like cheap friendships, not close ones.
A solid friend will affect your choices–they should. I am not a free moving entity. I have a lot of wayward moments. I have a lot of bad ideas. I am rough and red and grumpy all over.
As much as I whine and hide and flail, living with people is good. Sweating alongside others in friendships is good.
I know I have a probably unhealthy phobia to the word “balance,” but why would we say friendships should not be this and that and this? That you must be careful to keep close rein on them?…in essence, don’t let them change you up too much. Be you. Stay focused.
By all means, be you. Be the saved and beautiful one God calls you. Be focused. Eyes on Jesus.
But this doesn’t come from making sure other things in your life stay in certain okay perimeters. Doesn’t it come from dedicating all things to Christ? From loving and dying and living with Him as our energy and strength? From laboring to make those things, all things and relationships in our life the tiniest bit worthy, sanctified to dedicate to such a Savior?
This is definitely the scarier route. For me, anyways.
People hurt you. People mess with your heart. They expose new things to and about your soul. People are uncomfortable.
People make me very uncomfortable.
Friends make me cry. In all the hardest, but also best ways.
Comrades make me face myself, and all the icky slitheryness still trying to be part of me. Comrades send me memes telling me to buck up. Comrades make me flash cards when I’m scared and send me anchor drawings and passages of Scripture I don’t understand but need to cling to with all my might.
Comrades wake me up in the middle of the night to pray with me. Comrades listen to me tell stories about goats that died in my arms when I was a tender youth.
Comrades tell me separation, death is not natural.
Comrades remind me of what God calls me. And others.
(Some comrades get me superheroes I don’t know and glue them to my dash. And, yes, this too makes me a better person.)
Comrades hammer me with the Psalms and buy me packs of frozen peas to soothe my broken chin (and/or heart).
Photo cred to Miwaza
God can work in whatever way He wants, but He promised to work through His Spirit and His Spirit is in people that walk around me, pour into me, exhort me to pour myself out.
There are a thousand ways that the Spirit strengthens us, is with us, grows our faith, but one that I’ve never been able to doubt is how it keeps us from being orphans. In the physical way. There is nowhere I can go where I do not have home.
God has never put me in a place where someone couldn’t remind me of who I am–wasn’t there to reflect His glory back at me. It’s inescapable even being a reclusive introvert with a book in a tiny airplane!
Can’t the problem be that our friendships are too shabby, not that they’re too grand?
Yes, I’m partial to the concepts of brotherhood, and comrade has some pretty rotten connotations itself, perhaps…
But a comrade or brother is not facing me, they are not meeting my needs… Although they may in a certain sense. Catching bullets can be a big need sometimes and people have done it for me in a variety of ways. But it involves trenches and shovels and sleepless nights and days of rain and eating hardtack. At least it did when I played soldier as a kid, and it’s seemed to play out in a similar way in recent years. There is time and meaning to eating smoothies and making memes in the trench, to facing each other and discussing war paint, but it’s not the reason you’re in the same trench.
Whenever I think, “that sounds like something that is too much,” I want to examine it. Is it too much, or is it simply the wrong direction? Am I just scared and want to keep the world at arms length? These are my problems, definitely not loving too hard or giving too freely.
I have never loved too much.
For my easily tired heart, I need people to light fires around and under me showing me what to do, not where to scale back.
I wish I believed and acted on this stuff. What an incomprehensible gift to have others hold me to it, also hold my hand, my suitcase, my beef gelatin hot chocolate, sometimes my heart that’s trying to get away.
These extraordinary blessings of comradeship are not limited to the pierogi sisters (we Seeds Three). There are bodies and souls from all over that have challenged, tossed, loved, sweetened, revolutionized my life. Brothers and sisters who have truly shown me what it means to lay one’s life down for their friend.
Is it idealistic, or is there always another option besides a balancing act? What does balance mean when it comes to following Jesus? Is balance really part of the picture?
Is it okay to talk about allegiance? Your First Love? Your reason and energy for all these things that have been added unto us?
I kind of want to go read some Lewis. I feel like he said some of this and so much more, so perfectly.
then had so many delays and airline misery coming home I made more money in vouchers than I do in a week a work. And my mom bought me a stuffed animal at the airport…
and I knew that the Willamette Valley is the most beautiful place on earth.
and that spring was almost gone already.
and some of my favorite trees had died. #oldmarleyatthelodgeisdead
and so…
i drank a lot of green tea to cope. lol. xP
and everything went into quarantine, including Harrison, in a new attempt/idea about our illnesses.
and then somehow we ended up at the beach again. #classic
with all 12 (two hiding still) nieces and nephews.
and lots of sunshine and chocolate.
and then I came back to my meth house.
this one time, I scheduled my eye exam at the wrong clinic and so mostly went Costco/New Seasons shopping. And so this is Harrison sitting on my coming nephew.
and this is camels (aka tulips, aka you should watch Brothers Bloom more often).
this is what I ate in celebration of a 65 hour lunch-breakless, running on your feet work week completed, because of my-brother-in-arms got me raisin snacks at Dollar Tree. And all people know that raisin snacks, at least in the days of childhood, are the measure of ones standing in the world.
and now I am sitting here drinking chocolate, thinking about all the beautiful things in life, and how everything will leave you (including your dog that has cancer) and that all homes are either taken away from you or spit you out. And how it’s nearly impossible to make decisions, let alone know what you want.
And so… I really need Jesus. And that’s probably a fine place to be.
It’s one thing to know. It’s another to act on the knowing. It’s another to feel. But joy and thankfulness are not outside of our control, and…when it comes down to it…life is beautiful and mine is Jesus’ and it is good. And I have everything. More than I could have imagined.
But I need to stop having so many feelings so this blog isn’t such a loser. Call myself a writer… Blughadug.
Kyiv, Ukraine. Finally got some pictures once I was emotionally able to hold my phone again and take a picture without dancing a merry, holiday jig.
I’m actually not in Kyiv anymore, but I was yesterday. And I thought “From Kyiv” might give you more of a picture of where I am than if I said where I really am. (Kyiv is not in North America or Asia.)
Today is my 15th day in Ukraine. My 23rd day since leaving my home for the last time. Ever. (Please blame my parents for moving while I am gone.)
This blog may or may not continue for those of you who have asked how you will know if I am still breathing and writing while not “home.” Others who are bored are welcome to read it as well. Also, you can comment and you will make me happy and I will have warm feelings of assurance that I am not simply posting for the amusement of the phantoms wandering the world wide web.
If you have not seen the Carpathian mountains, you ought to before you die. I can’t help you because I didn’t get any pictures. In fact, the instant I hit the ground in the Ukraine I became too busy crowing at the skies, smelling the dirt, and skipping and falling on my face into gravel with children’s hands in both of mine.
(If you take my counsel and find yourself on an adventure to the Carpathian mountains and you are remotely tender of head or hoof, bring a padded suit and/or a hover aircraft. The roads are just a tiny bit bumpy. *insert understanding wink/shot of vodka* <– Whatever your convictions allow.)
After the family camp in the mountains we came back to this city in which I now live and Ye Olde Mother Hubbard (the esteemed matriarch of my kin) and others had a mini-conference on home education. It’s still sketchy and mostly unknown here in Ukraine, but, I think, a possible and important step towards stronger, solid options for Christians here.
Then we went back on the road and visited a friend and his family and church in a town. It was generally magical, but you can’t explain these things in this way. (Also I may not know you well enough to share such unexplaineable and beautiful vibes that, although you are no doubt worthy, are not meant for strangers. Also, I am lazy.)
Then…a Catholic church incident and the tables of ever reproducing food and the food in the teeth and the food on the face and food…everywhere.
From the top of lots of steps. But it was okay because it was the most glorious, beautiful weather you could imagine. The first sight seeing I remember in Ukraine without anyone dying of heat stroke. #OregonBorn
Then I was back in Kyiv for the first time since the first time.
I sat in churches and looked at ceilings and thought about when I first looked at these ceilings on my very first day in Ukraine and how I sat on steps from the 11th century and talked to my best friend about our lives and what we wanted to do and where we wanted to be. And then I had my 2nd day in Ukraine and then my 3rd and then… (You get the idea).
And all those plans were ruined because…Ukraine.
That’s all I have to say for now, I guess.
*not pictured: a wonderful, beautiful week in Hungary with the saints and many, many giving, loving, welcoming Hungarians, Ukrainians, and Polish people. And tables laden with food and alcohol. More than you can imagine. Also, brown toilet paper and stray dogs and so, so, so much sweat.
After we worked on our videos until the hour the ghosts begin to walk, Kaylen and I walked down to the place that normally carried on all the ruckus while we tried to sleep. It was, after all, our last night. After the bar closed, we paced up and down the length of the block admiring the parking garage and talking of all things.
Crawled out of bed to pack a few hours later. And then…we made our last group foray to the WORLD News Office.
Friday night on the town with Kaylen. Jesus! The world! Writing! Good times.
A playwright came and spoke to us on adding dramatic elements to our news stories. Really, we got knee deep the concept of story, Shakespeare, Robert McKee, and all things bright and beautiful.
There were a lot of big words. And there were no fresh, perky minds. But I think we all still learned a lot. I wrote notes wildly because I knew my brain’s advanced degeneration wouldn’t hold onto things very long. Most of the scribbles and diagrams still make sense and they’re exciting to review.
I think the fact that, despite all the other talks being on newer material and from people I knew better and loved more although in a from-a-far, deeply respectful manner, this was the talk that made my blood pressure and creative neurons spike the most wildly. This probably tells me something unpleasant and penniless about my true calling in life.
(Maybe more on this in a later reflective/retrospective post.)
Apologies to the playwright…I did not get the correct spelling of his name, so he is remaining anonymous in a deep and literary way none of us will ever fully understand.
People misinterpreting Shakespeare! Rise up and say, no more! Learning from the playwright. Maybe it should tell me something about the future when this session made me crazy to put pen to paper… Our last session.
After another dose of caffeine, we watched everyone’s interview videos. We could have done a lot of things better, but I think we did pretty decently for being non-video gurus. Drew Belz encouraged us with his energetic chillness (it’s a thing) teaching us to understand what we wanted, get what we wanted, and edit/salvage anything useful…all in the same day.
Many videos were, I so-unbiasely think, genuinely good. There were some touching stories as well some random dudes meditating. Asheville. ❤
After the videos, Mr Pitts gave us one more gracious pep talk and Dr. Olasky prayed and Bethany wept.
Goodbye selfie with Mrs. Olasky!
Then we awkwardly milled around exchanging avocados, filling out paperwork, sort of saying “so long,” and, in the case of Thomas, singing emotional farewell songs.
When the most imminent goodbyes had been fulfilled, those who remained went out to lunch and talked a little about what we learned and where we want to go, and quite a lot about how incredible Mr. Pitts is and always will be.
We also ate eggs for the first time in two weeks. I didn’t even think I liked eggs. Now, it’s all I think about.
Heather. And our hostel.Jae. ❤Some comrades in arms. Bad picture, but captures some vibes. Post-lunch, pre-goodbyes.Bad lighting, but favorite “action portrait.”Onize’s wonderful hair takes center stage.Last in the series. Jae, Evan, Abby, Thomas, Heather, Onize.
Abby, Onize, Thomas, and I got ourselves lost while we tried to find the bus station (our navigator was singing a farewell lullaby), said goodbye to Thomas, and headed to the airport. Onize and Abby are the best for driving me in. ❤
I left my last comrades and went into the little, baby airport. There were no lines, just elderly couples on their way to European cruises.
It looked like I would zip through the security line, but, despite not setting off any alarms, I gave the TSA staff 20 minutes of labor.
They swabbed and/or took apart all my precious belongings, including my Hector (my most esteemed laptop). Then this lady had to pat me down in a big way and she had an accent and I could tell it was Eastern European. When the worst was over, she was handing me back my bag and asked what the blue and yellow ribbon were about. I said they were Ukrainian. And then she said she was from Donetsk so we had a little moment. It would have been a much better, more informative moment if I hadn’t been so selfish feeling and zombiefied.
Later I was thinking….wow, that woman was really astute to notice the little ribbon and then I remembered that I was wearing hair ribbons, had a book about the EuroMaidan in my backpack, a Ukrainian purse, and a decal of Ukraine (pre-Russian invasion) on my computer–every object of which they swabbed for bomb particles. No detective work there. I guess she had to ask about something she would see in normal decency.
(How do you like all the passiveness in that paragraph? Getting your life thrown out on a metal table while you stand by and watch is, by nature, a passive activity.)
I got on and off my reportedly broken plane a few times while my connection in Chicago came and went. I could barely stay awake just sitting there and talking on the phone with Ma and airlines.
After saying goodbye to people I always just feel this desperate need to be home. And I was so not happy about the possibility of missing another Sunday at my home church. But I tried to stay Christian.
Finally getting to read this without feeling guilty… Also. An avocado, but no utensil.
The day’s saga ended with a ragged, two-braided, mascara smeared, be-backpacked homeless person walking into a fancy Chicago hotel only to be turned away….Then reconsidered after she produced an airline voucher. She walked through the gilded hallways cold and alone, drenched in rain and the filth of the streets, close to despair, and…then…then there appeared Charlie LeDuff’s visage on a lobby TV.
She went to her room, reposed on her massive bed, forgot to remove the smile from her face, and slept like a wee child.
Awesome people in a not-so-awesome parking garage pic.
Last week, I walked to a PCA church I found online. By the time I’d left, I felt so enveloped with dinner and car offers and general hospitality and friendliness, Asheville felt like a safe and beautiful place.
So, all week I’ve been looking forward to this day.
[COSMIC HOMELESSNESS INTERLUDE] It helped my bad attitude about missing my home church for both Ascension Day and Pentecost. Also feeling desperately “homesick” for Ukraine and my beloved people there…How wonderful and painful to be part of the same Body and see it in the miracle of Pentecost! I am pretty desperate for my vyshyvanka today. I just keep telling myself it is hanging safe and sound in my closest where no tomato juice, olive stains, leaky soap, avocado slime, and tearing suitcase zippers can reach it…Yes, that’s all happening here.
Back to you, WJI…
Joe Hisaishi + new headphones fortified me until the wee hours of this morning. I slumped at the counter, staring at the computer, and, after great meditation, changed an individual word from time to time.
Then two intoxicated personages blustered into the hostel and my peaceful and private bubble were terrifyingly invaded. I sent the assignments, crawled into my pod, and slithered down the ladder a few hours later with black eyes and very mussed pile of hair still atop my cranium.
I went to Mass with “my African friends” (Onize, the princess from far off lands, and the indomitable Kaylen), and then Onize and I spread a trail of poptart crumbs hoofing it to the Presbyterian church. (Mrs. Bomer picked us up on a street corner and saved us from bursting into church late and dripping in perspiration.) So good to have homes all over the world with God’s people. The end.
Ate the best food since last Sunday and heard Bob Dylan while hanging out with awesome people. Came back. Slept like a babe. Talked to people at home for like the first time ever (that “like” is in there for you, Onize). Ate a 16oz package of carrots. Did some laundry (I can’t even). Set earlier alarms for all the rest of the week.
And now, will go to sweet repose.
The course is already half over. Thus I weep…I know we have a busy week, though, and everything I bring home will be enough to work on for months (years/lifetimes).
Perfect day of rest and worship today. Back to work and worship tomorrow.
Come down, O love divine, seek Thou this soul of mine, And visit it with Thine own ardor glowing. O Comforter, draw near, within my heart appear, And kindle it, Thy holy flame bestowing.
O let it freely burn, til earthly passions turn To dust and ashes in its heat consuming; And let Thy glorious light shine ever on my sight, And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.
Let holy charity mine outward vesture be, And lowliness become mine inner clothing; True lowliness of heart, which takes the humbler part, And o’er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.
And so the yearning strong, with which the soul will long, Shall far outpass the power of human telling; For none can guess its grace, till he become the place Wherein the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.
We did radio today and I’m very uncertain of my capabilities for tomorrow. Onize, the princess from far off lands, helped walk me through some practice. 😉
I’m working on a couple writing things to post, but for now…RADIO READING FOR TOMORROW.
Like it was glorious to be with people and other types of homes, it’s glorious to be home. Even if I am still awkward at it for now. All processing and coherent writing still to come, but probably no time too soon. I am incredibly thankful for this world and people (as in, world in the north west of America and the world as in the world).
Liberty Bound 