to me, from me || read it if you want

I don't know that there is a scarier place to be than alone with my thoughts at the inexplicably enlightening time that is 2AM on a Friday morning. 

It was when I caught myself sobbing at the end of a Gossip Girl marathon while eating probably too many helpless and slightly deformed gingerbread men that I realized it was time to pull up my blog and write. Before that, of course, I played a few songs from my Sad Playlist and cried a few tears and tried to organize my brain in order figure out why, exactly, I was crying. It turns out that my out-of-control-emotions were not cause of Blair and Serena's dysfunctional friendship, but had more to do with absolutely everything else. What my scattered thoughts and broken ideas eventually gathered together to tell me was this: growing up is a process. 

I have blogged many a time on the horrors and fears and tears and regrets that come along with growing up. About the bittersweet memories and the fond farewells that I hold close to my heart as I journey from childhood to adulthood. Upon going back and reading such musings, I'm kind of embarrassed. A single blog post bidding my childhood good-bye is not going to end my childhood or begin my life as an adult. Graduating high school was an end and a beginning of a season, as was traveling to and from Africa and Europe, or beginning college this past semester. As will be finishing college, getting married, having children, and all of those things that seem so unrealistic and far away. Not a single one of those wonderful adventures, however, is an end of a childhood or a beginning of an adulthood. Sure, I'll be an adult. Maybe I'm even an adult now. But that doesn't mean I'm done "growing up". Yeah, I'll be a 30 years old with a super-handsome husband living in the suburbs of a big city (it's going to happen, guys) but that doesn't mean I'm suddenly done learning and growing. 

Growing up is a friend that is with us until we leave the earth. We never stop growing and I don't believe that we ever really say goodbye to being a kid. I just saw the new Disney movie "Frozen" the other night, and I was just as captivated by it as I would have been if I was ten. I still listen to my Camp Rock soundtrack and find joy in walking barefoot through the grass. I see my peers running to and fro from work to school to friends to family to sleep to work to school and I never see anyone stop and look and wonder. I see kids ask questions and become fascinated with the simplest things in life, and if "becoming an adult" means losing that sense of wonder, I don't ever want to grow up all the way. 

All I am saying is this. I want to remain as captivated as a child by the simple beauties this world gifts us with, and I want to remain open-minded and ready to learn and grow as I venture through this life. I never want to reach a place in my life where I stop and say "This is it. This is my best," because I always want to be striving for more. 

Growing up is scary, but haven't we all been growing up all along? Nothing has changed. There is nothing bad about starting new seasons of life and ending old ones - as long as it's time for the old ones to end and the new ones to begin. Take a deep breath, don't look back, and keep living and learning and growing. 

I'm talking to myself, here guys. It's my attempt to tell myself that the fact that I'll be 20 in a couple months isn't really as scary as it seems.

My brain is tired. Time to close my computer and sleep. 

Love Christie

ANCHORS || a blog about people

Most of "my people" have or are in the process of drifting out of my life, and those who aren't just happen to live hours away from me. People are moving away and moving on and one of the worst places to be in a season of transition is in the exact same place before and after everyone else is gone. 

I read a book and there was a boy who did not have very much stability in his life. The few things in his life that did happen to be stable he called "anchors". Every time I go through a chapter in my life that's horribly unstable and all over the place, I tend to turn to people and depend on them as my "anchors". And that's always worked out really well for me, until now. The people I thought would be there to protect and hold me up when I felt like I couldn't do it anymore aren't here. Some of them are in search of something to call an anchor, some of them have moved away, and some of them just aren't as "here" as they used to be. 

It's hard to depend on an anchor that's light enough to drift, and I guess that's what I've been discovering. 

"We're all on a journey," my dad has has repeatedly told me when I complain about or criticize those around me. And that's really true. None of us have it all figured out, and none of us are strong enough to anchor down another person. So maybe that's what life is about. Finding something heavy and real and substantial enough to save us from drifting aimlessly. I think we tend to turn to various things to "save" us - food, music, TV - but having a good group of friends or a boyfriend or just having A PERSON you know will be there for as long as you need them to be there is something that each and everyone of us craves. And that's not bad. But that person is going to let you down. He'll be too busy to talk. She'll move away. They'll forget sometimes and sometimes they'll remember but your mood and joy level shouldn't depend on them, okay? 

I know y'all are expecting me to preach at you about how God is always there, but I'm not going to. Whether or not He's there (He is) you're going to have to figure things out on your own. I just want to remind you that people are bad anchors because they'll float away and eventually we'll all be drifting along, unable to rescue each other. That's why we need to  discover something weighty and solid enough (God) to have in common and to carry us through this crazy whirlwind we call life. 

Love Christie

(PS community is good as long as you have more in common than liking and depending on each other)

Here's To GROWING UP

Being nineteen years old is a weird experience that I have not enjoyed. Until recently, I'd been striving to be as "teenage" as possible, living in denial of the fact that my 20th birthday will be here before I know it. Then I saw this X-factor audition and it was these girls who were 20-23 years old talking about how they were just "a group of teenagers singing about life" and I was embarrassed for them and for me and for 20-somethings in general because your 20's should not be a contest of who can stay the most high-school for the longest. Then I read an article about how our culture has given young people endless opportunities to "postpone" growing up and just recently I have realized how true that is. Avril Lavigne's new hit "Here's to Never Growing Up" is embarassing because it's everybody's jam (don't deny it) and it's talking about being almost thirty years old, running down the street yelling kiss my ass, like yeah, whatever, we're still living like that. 

Like...can we not? 

Growing up is one of those things that just happens and as sad and nostalgic as it makes me feel, we're all just going to have to deal with it. I don't want to be 25 or 30 years old, calling myself a teenager and desperately telling people that "yeah, whatever, I'm still living like that" because THAT'S PATHETIC and the fact that I see real life people living that life makes me very sympathetic toward humankind in general. 

So, I am setting off on a self-reflective journey that involves turning my growing up experience into a fun, beautiful, and worthwhile adventure. It's been eventful so far, but rewarding. Going through a liberating break-up, learning how to budget my money, actually doing my homework, appreciating my job, evaluating my emotional, physical, and spiritual health have been several of the things that have launched me into this season of not-putting-off-growing-up. I'm excited and scared and ready to make the most of my future instead of procrastinating on experiencing it. 

All that to say, if you ever see me around town yelling "here's to never growing up" just tell me to stop and I'll do the same for you. 


Love, 
Christie

SUCCESS

Success. We've all read the books and heard the talks and secretly wondered if we have what it takes to become a billionaire. We've wished and dreamed about big houses and nice cars because when we think of success, the first thing we think about is money. People enter the lottery time after time because if they could just have that money, all of their problems would go away and they would live a happy and successful life. If only those "get rich quick" campaigns worked for everybody and we could all be rich and happy and successful. In the our culture, money=happy=success and that's all there is to it. 

Well, I think that's wrong. 

Success to me doesn't really have anything to do with money. It does, however, have everything to do with PURPOSE. Way back when America was first being discovered, there was a man named John Calvin. Long story short, he was the founder of Calvinism and one of the main beliefs of the Calvinists was that every man had a God-given purpose. The idea was that you'd discover your purpose and work hard toward pursuing and fulfilling whatever that purpose may be. I don't know much about Calvinism and I don't have strong opinions about all of that, but I do know that I agree with the basic idea of working hard to fulfill your God-given purpose or, in other words, to succeed. I believe that every person has been created to be successful. I also believe that success means different things for each person because every person has a different "God-given" purpose. 

I was watching a DVD called "Happy" and it was following the lives of those who our culture would seem "unsuccessful" - those expected to be found unhappy. It turned out that these people were just fine and actually very happy. I think that's because they had found their passion and their purpose and they are chasing  after it with all that they are.

I don't know, guys. I'm taking a personal wellness class that's very success centered and everybody is asking me what I want to do with my life and so I've been thinking alot about what it means to be successful. It's all a mess of thoughts in my head but I've decided that 

1. We all have a purpose. We've all been created for a reason! 
2. Success means finding your passion or purpose and DOING IT. Success means hard work. It's not going to be handed to you. 
3. Once you've found your purpose and are following it and doing all you can to reach it, you'll find a happiness or a joy that no amount of money or cars or square feet will give you. 

That's all I've got so far :) 


Love, Christie 

unpopular shouldn't be a thing [flashback to highschool]

We all have that moment in our lives in which we go from being "enough" to being "not enough". When we were little, we never wondered if we were skinny enough, smart enough, cute enough, funny enough, thoughtful enough, pretty enough. We were just...enough. We had our little friends and our little make believe worlds and that was enough. Then something shifted. Maybe it was going to school and learning that there is such a thing as "popular" and "unpopular" and realizing that it's not enough to be you. Maybe it was the time when your very first crush decided to like someone else and you looked around and came to the conclusion that you were very far away from being enough. 

I went from being enough to being not enough in 8th grade. I was home schooled up until then and I had no idea that I was in the middle of my awkward stage. I was embarrassed to talk about boys and I thought that blue eye shadow was cute on me. I never even considered the idea that maybe I wasn't as smart as other people. I was fine. In 8th grade I found out that there were girls who were prettier and boys didn't like me back. I threw away my blue eye shadow. I failed my math tests. And just like that, I wasn't enough. 

It was hard at first, but then it got easier. Girls were prettier than me? I'd pretend to be friends with them and then stab them in the back and just like that, I was on the top. Boys didn't like me back? Figure out what I was doing wrong, and fix it. Even if it meant being somebody completely different than myself. Failed my math tests? I must be stupid. Time to act like a ditz and pretend I don't care. 

And it worked. Soon I was one of the pretty girls, boys liked me, and my math teacher didn't. And that was high school. A fake smile, a crumpled up math test, a first kiss, and as many shallow sentences as I could put together in my distracted, sad, and very lonely state of mind.

And then it was over and I graduated and I traveled the world and I came home and I still 

wasn't pretty enough

wasn't skinny enough

didn't have enough friends

didn't have enough energy

wasn't changed enough

wasn't spiritual enough

etc. etc. etc. etc. 

and I am sitting on my couch and thinking to myself when will I be enough? 

My years in high school taught me that if you aren't the best, you aren't enough.

Can't solve that math problem? Not smart enough. 

Didn't get into the best college? Eh, not good enough. 

This is actually more of a fling...you actually want a commitment? Not pretty enough.

Those years molded my mindset and I'm sad that nearly every single one of my peers contributed to the negative way that I view myself. I change outfits constantly because I don't know if I look okay. I joke about my math skills but still want to cry when I think about all those tests. I remember the day I graduated with beautiful clarity because it was freeing. Ever since that day, I've been on a journey. In order to be enough, whatever that means, I have to believe that I have the ability to be everything I am meant to be. I don't have what it takes to be that girl who looks like she has it all together, or that friend who gets all A's and somehow got all the talent in the world. I have what it takes to be me. And slowly but surely I'm learning to accept that it doesn't matter if I'm not ______ enough for someone who has no idea who I am.

 I know who I am, my family and closest friends know who I am, Jesus knows who I am. And I love me, and they love me, and He loves me. And that, my friends, is WAY more than enough. 

and you're enough. 

and we're enough. 

and i want everyone to look back on those moments when they felt like they weren't enough

and write them down on a piece of paper

and step on them

and rip them apart

and burn them

and leave them out in the rain to wash away

and throw them away

and forget them

and i want you to know that you're beautiful

and you're enough

and we're enough. 

[blog post inspired by abercrombie&fitch stating that they cater to beautiful people and if you aren't beautiful, you aren't allowed to wear their clothes. what a messed up world we live in, if a person appoints himself the decider of who is beautiful and who is not. that's not allowed. you're not allowed to make people feel ugly because every person is beautiful end of story.]

A Quick Blog Post About How Boys Like Long Hair (Not Meant to Be Taken Seriously Except For the Part Where I Say "Love Sees Past Bad Hair Days")

Apparently, boys like long hair. Also, boys have no tact. This is how I know these things. 

Boy #1: You were so pretty with long hair! I'm not too big on short hair but I mean you look fine. You should grow it out though!"
Me: I used to be pretty? Thanks!

Boy #2: Yeah your hair is really short! I mean I wouldn't mind it a little longer but yeah. That's really short."
Me: Oh, okay. Hold on while I grow it out a little longer...this should only take a second..."

Boy #3: How long does it take for hair to grow out?
Me: TEN YEARS!! 

Boy #4: Yeah if you wanna cut it again go for it. I'm not too sure about short hair but I mean whatever you like..."
Me: I wasn't really asking permission but yeah...thanks..."

Me: When I get home I'm going to the hairstylist then maybe we can hang?
Boy #5: Yeah! After you get your hair fixed (FIXED!?) we can chill." 

I've learned to accept the fact that boys truly think girls style their hair, choose their clothes, do their make-up, and paint their nails solely for the purpose of impressing the male species. I've also learned to accept that although boys think that, it's not true. And lastly, I've learned to be myself and go with the flow and chop all my hair off whenever I feel like it. Because when I find myself a man, he'd better be able to accept short hair, long hair, red hair, black hair, and basically any other kind of hair ever because LOVE SEES PAST BAD HAIR DAYS and all boys should, too.

That said, I'm growing my hair out. And no, boys, not for you. I miss braiding it. 

i didn't go to africa for you.

Our lives are filled with circumstances and experiences that change us. Sometimes those occasions are tiny ones, like going on a walk in the park or having a laugh with some friends. Other times, those moments are big ones like losing a family member, having a baby, or getting married. The tiny ones we don't remember as the times that changed us (but we're changed because of them nonetheless). The bigger ones we always keep close to our hearts as the times that changed the person that we were into the person that we are. Either way, when we go to sleep at night we are a different version, a new variation, of who we were when we woke up that morning. 

My life, like any other life, has been full of mile markers - experiences that I recall as "the time that changed me" or "the moment that turned my life around completely". My decision to go to Africa and the actual action of traveling across the world has been, undoubtedly, one of those experiences. Just recently I had a conversation with a friend back at home about the person I was when I left for Africa and the person I am now. He told me that he doesn't see a big change in me and that he hoped I would have grown a little more in my relationship with God and that he wished my time in Africa had actually changed the way I view the world. Another friend, in another conversation, told me that he hopes I'm not a completely different person when I come home and that I'm just the same as I was when I left. 

Not surprisingly, both of these conversations left me feeling a bit dazed and confused and, I admit, slightly angry. So often in our lives we feel like we should change (or not change) for other people and so often we're told that we should never change for anyone else and that nobody truly expects us to change as much as we think they do. But it's not true. People want us to change for them and I will tell you right now that I want to change for people. I want to be the person everyone wants me to be and I want to make people happy. But it's impossible! If one person tells me they wish I had changed more and another person tells me  they hope I haven't changed, one person will end up disappointed in who I am which will leave me feeling like, obviously, a disappointment. 

After I had each of these conversations with each of these people, I took a step back and asked myself some questions. Did I go to Africa for either of these friends? No, I went for me and I went to serve a school in Africa and I went for God. If either of these people are disappointed in me when I come home, are they really my friends? I don't think so. Friends are supposed to love me for who I am and speak out of love if they see something that's not right. My experience in Africa changed me. I will come home a changed person. But I won't come home a different person or a transformed person. I'm still me. I still struggle with reading my Bible every day, but I love the Lord more than I did when I left. I still love Starbucks and hot showers, but I appreciate them way more than I did before I went to Africa. My guess is that over the time I've been gone, I'm not the only one who's changed. Each of you have gone through your own adventures and times of trouble and of joy and you've come through a changed person, too. We're all changed and we're all going to keep changing. I just want to encourage you to change for yourself and change for God and change in every way that is pleasing and beautiful to the Lord. Don't change for other people, or you'll be a mess of conflicted emotions and feelings and soon you'll lose who you are. 

Anyways. All that to say, we're all constantly changing. I'm sorry if I haven't changed enough and I'm sorry if I've changed too much, but you're going to have to deal, just like I promise to deal with you. We're all in a mess of a world and if we all expect each other to change to make each other happy then that just makes it messier. Let's speak out of love, encourage change for GOOD and discourage change for BAD. Let's change for ourselves and let's change for our Creator but let's keep the whole "changing-to-make-everyone-happy" thing to a minimum. 

So much LOVE to all of you, my friends. I will see you in 1 week and 6 days! 

XOXOXO

Christie

Somewhere On a Place Called Earth

It's funny, isn't it? How we see so many new faces everyday and never learn names to go with them. How we see them once and then never again. How we think about them one single time when they hand us our drink at Starbucks or sit next to us on the bus but we never think of them after that. It's funny how there are so many people in this world and it's funny that the guy you sat next to on the bus the other day might be a friend of a friend of a friend, but you'll never know. And you probably won't see him again and even if you do, you won't recognize him and it'll be just like seeing another new, unfamiliar face without a name.

In the world there is a continent called Europe. In Europe, there's a country called Ireland. In Ireland, a city called Dublin. In Dublin, a street called Dawson Street. On Dawson Street, a Starbucks. In that Starbucks, a small patio, only large enough to accommodate three small, round tables situated in a kind of triangle. In that Starbucks on a bright sunny day, there was me. I bought my venti iced caramel macchiato and my slice of banana bread and, looking out at the sun, decided to sit outside. I put on my sunglasses, hiding my eyes, and sat down, giving off a cool, indifferent air. I was sitting on on of those round tables on the patio in Starbucks on Dawson Street in Dublin in Ireland in Europe on the earth and so were two other people on the two other tables. One was a man wearing a bright scarf and carrying a purse designed for a woman. I would have bought it if I had seen it in a store but alas, it was his and he was rocking it. On the other table, a woman with sunglasses and as much Apple technology as she could handle. She was wearing a headscarf and talking in Arabic on an iPhone while drinking what looked to be her second coffee. There was no doubt about the fact that we were as different as people could be. We would never be friends, as much as I liked his purse or her super nifty laptop case, and this would be the only time we would ever see each other. They each have their own circle of friends and I have mine and our circles will never overlap. But there we were, out of billions of people on this earth, sitting together in a tiny Starbucks on Dawson Street.

One by one we each got up to leave, never once smiling or making eye contact with each other. The man Instagrammed a picture of his coffee cup and the girl kept typing on her computer and I kept watching them and wondering who they were. Thankfully I had my sunglasses, otherwise they would have seen me watching and they would have been creeped out. Who knows where they are now, or what they're doing? We shared that little patio and now we'll be going to our own corners of the world without ever thinking of that patio again. It's a funny thing, isn't it? How many opportunities we have to reach out and befriend people of all different nationalities and types. How many opportunities we never take because we want to stay safe in our own little universe. How many people we probably won't see again and even if we do, we won't recognize them and it'll be just like seeing another new, unfamiliar face without a name.

Kenya Was HARD!

I've been in Ireland for a while now, and I've had time to think and reflect on the four months I lived in Kenya. Before I say anything, I want to make one thing clear. I am grateful for my time in Kenya. I wouldn't change anything about it because every single thing that happened to me taught me something that I might not have learned otherwise. I was blessed to be able to go there, and I was blessed to have left early and I am now blessed to be spending time in Ireland. I'm thankful and I'm fully aware of how blessed I am. I know that my past blog posts have been very upbeat and positive and that's because the last thing I wanted to do was complain and give the impression that I was ungrateful. You all have supported me so much, financially and otherwise, and I want you to know that you sent me off to a place that was difficult, yes, but it was a place I needed to go. So, thank you. I appreciate you. 

...BUT KENYA WAS HARD!

It was hard because in the midst of an active and busy school, I was alone. I was the only foreigner at the school and there was nobody to relate to at the level I was used to. Language was a barrier because, although everyone knew English, I had to speak slowly and simplify my words to the point where I could hardly get across anything I wanted to say. 

It was hard because the school was so busy that I was lost in the hustle and bustle of it all. Everyone seemed to have a job except for me. I taught for the first couple months, then school let out and there was nothing for me to do. I tried to make the most of my time but it was lonely and there was a lack of things to do.

It was hard because I did not feel the basic sense of security that I'm so used to feeling. My phone was stolen and the police could not and would not do anything to help me. The last couple hundred dollars of my support money was stolen and there was nothing I could do. I didn't feel safe, I felt alone, and I wasn't feeling helpful. That's how I felt, therefore that's how it was to me. 

BUT. If I were to look back on this experience and construct a single statement to describe it, I would say this:

I needed Africa, even if Africa didn't need me. Despite the fact that I had no idea what I was getting into when I boarded that flight to Kenya, Someone else did. He knew how difficult it was going to be, yet He made it clear that He wanted me to go anyway. Even if I look back and wonder what on earth I was thinking, I know it was good and I know it was right. Because He was behind me, before me and beside me, cheering me on, holding me steady, and helping me through.

In the midst of difficulty, God is still God and He is still good. When I arrived in Ireland Mom gave me the news that, although my support money had run out, my tax returns were more than what I'd hoped for! I also ended up staying with a lovely lady named Lorretta who had spent 21 YEARS in Chad as a missionary, so I got to unwind and discuss my time with someone who understood exactly what I was saying. I now appreciate a flushing toilet, the ability to go out on a walk and not be afraid, Starbucks, hardwood floors, television in English, cold nights, hot showers, alarm clocks, bookstores, and the color green in a whole new way. I thank Jesus for keeping me safe and sound, for opening my eyes to lives different than mine, and for giving me this precious time in Ireland to unwind and reflect on our adventures together and our adventures yet to come. Thank you all for supporting me and this might be the last Kenya post for a very long time.

Praise the Lord!

Bwana Asifiwe! 

Upendo, Christie

stop judging. just STOP.

Please stop judging. 

I'm so very serious when I say this. I understand that an unborn baby is a living human being, but so is the mother who carries it. We yell and protest against abortion, yet we judge that single mom (who chose not to get an abortion) working hard to make ends meet. I get that you don't encourage homosexuality, but a gay person is a person and a person is an absolute, irreplaceable treasure. Gay or not, people love and live and feel deeply. Don't you dare forget that. Someone with money is no better than someone without money. Just because their house is less than does not mean that they are less than. 

This is the deal. There is a difference between acceptance and toleration. I'm not asking you to tolerate the act of abortion, but I am asking you to accept the mother who makes the choice. I'm not asking you to tolerate and say that you believe in homosexuality, but I am encouraging you to accept the homosexual. I'm not asking that you downsize and act as if you don't have any money because being rich is bad, or feel ashamed if you don't have as much because being poor is bad. Neither is bad. 

Don't throw away your convictions. Don't tolerate everything that comes your way. But accept the PERSON, whatever their ideas, beliefs, or actions. Accept and love them. Feel free to say what you think, but say it out of love rather than out of judgement. 

I'm tired of feeling judged for minor things. I'm also tired of judging others. Let's make a joint effort, whatever your religion or political party or moral beliefs, to stop judging the others who believe something different than you. If you love instead of judge, a bigger difference will be made FASTER. If you judge instead of love, you'll find yourself disliked and you'll find your opinion discarded. Think before you speak, love before you judge. Thanks. 

-christie

quick summary : poem format

Oh, you know. Just a quick summary of a regular morning in Bray, Ireland. In poem format, of course. 

Cold morning, white snow
Hot fire, soft glow
Good book, steaming tea
Thick sweater, set of keys
Big snowboots, woolen mittens
Windy coast, bench to sit in
Numb fingers, view of the sea
Watering eyes, hard to read
Scalding drink, flushed face
Deep breath, beautiful place
Stand up, smile wide
Look around, grey seaside
Wandering feet, nowhere to go
Cold morning, white snow. 

Traveling Troubles

Before I write a post about how marvelous it is to be IN IRELAND and one step closer to home, I really want to tell you about my traveling troubles and why I'm quite proud of myself for overcoming them. Before I left for Mombasa, I was nervous.Scared. Terrified. What if my plane crashed? What if I missed all my flights? What if all my stuff got stolen? These were the kinds of thoughts that were flooding my mind as I prepared for my journey. When I was dropped of at the Mombasa airport and left to fend for myself, new fears came up. What if I wasn't allowed out of the country? What if something went wrong? As you can tell, I was really trusting in Jesus and thinking positive thoughts. Finally, I decided that if something did indeed go wrong, I might as well be on everybody's good side. So everywhere I went I was bright and cheery and as adorable as I could possibly be (I toned it down a little after a Kenyan guy started relentlessly flirting with me. Actually I toned it down all the way because I pretended to be asleep for the entire plane ride.)

Anyways, I landed in Nairobi and had a seven hour layover (from 9pm to 4am) during which I Facebooked and smiled and had a lovely chat with a girl who reminded me vividly of Luna Lovegood and of Stargirl. Then it happened. My worst nightmare came true. I was feeling so happy and quite prideful that I'd gotten myself this far when, at the imigration desk, those fateful words were uttered. I had smiled and had attempted to be as perky and as nice as was possible at 4 in the morning, but the man at the counter crushed my joy by tersely informing me that my Kenyan visa expired one month ago. My face crumpled and I stammered and let out an immature but quite understandable tear or two as I racked my brain and thought of all the terrible things that awaited me. A massive fine? A lifetime in JAIL?! My terror and distress must have been transparent because the man actually looked taken aback. He then condescendingly explained what had happened, looked concerned for me, let me say a few things, and let me go. No fines, no jail, no missing my flight. Nothing. My smile returned and up the escaaltor I went, completely aware that Jesus had rescued me from (maybe not a lifetime in jail) but a pretty sizeable fine. From then on in my travels I went to the Lord about everything!

I was feeling sick and cramped and clausterphobic on my flight to Istanbul, and I prayed that maybe during the next flight there wouldn't be anyone sitting beside me (kind of crazy since the flights are usually packed) because I'd love to have some space to spread out. And, of course, during the flight to Ireland there was nobody next to me and I was able to sleep happily for almost the entire time. Then, I got held up at the Irish immigration desk (seriously?!) and after stuttering and wondering if I'd be sent back to Africa, a peace came over me and I figured out what to say and (after lots of complications) got through.

All that to say, God is good all the time! I love Him and I LOVE IRELAND.

thoughts on traveling the world

Sometimes when you dream of adventure you imagine far off places and brand new faces. You think of jungles or castles, new accents and new sights and new smells. You think of anything that has nothing to do with home, and your heart soars and your eyes sparkle at the idea of going away and coming back with stories everyone else would only be able to pretend that they had been a part of.  You’re a bird wanting to fly, home is a cage keeping you inside, and the people around you are the ones that have clipped your wings.

Have you ever felt that way? I have. After graduating high school and not having a dime in the bank, I watched my classmates make plans for college and discuss with joy the futures that lay ahead of them. All of the sudden, I didn’t feel ready. To pay exuberant sums of money for an education that I wasn’t prepared for and didn’t yearn for seemed to me a waste. And, hanging up the phone that sunny afternoon after deferring my acceptance into my dream school, my heart felt light and already in my mind I was traveling the world, gaining experience and knowledge that no school could give me.

A blissful summer flew by and plans were constructed and Africa was to be my destination. I saw myself on a safari, hugging children, eating mangoes, and cooking African food and I felt excited and happy and ready. When the day of departure dawned, however, I didn’t want to leave. Suddenly, those people and those places that had once seemed confining were the very places and people I never wanted to leave. It was not with a joyful heart that I boarded the airplane that day, it was with a regretful heart. I thought of my dear classmates enjoying college and wished that I, too, were living a life of schedules and classes. However, I was going to Africa, and that is just how it was.

My life in Africa had too many ups and downs to count. I say this with a smile, remembering the deep lows and heavenly highs I went through over these four months. My idea of adventure before coming here was skewed. Adventure, my friends, is not an all-positive word. To have an adventure you must have unimaginably low times in order to make the good times that much better. Those nights spent crying for want of my home and shower and family only made the beautiful moments more wonderful. It’s a hard concept to explain, and I suppose you won’t truly understand until you’ve experienced it.

All of this to say, I’m leaving Africa with no regrets. I’ve learned so much through this experience and I wouldn’t change a thing. The main thing I’ve learned, however, is that I’m not as independent as I once led myself to believe. The number of times I’ve called my dad has bordered on ridiculous and I have messaged my mom far too faithfully. I’ve discovered I’m not meant to live in faraway places, although occasional visits wouldn’t be so bad.

For me, my heart is where my home is, and my home is where I know every street and sidewalk. Home is where my family can sit and watch The Middle and laugh so hard we cry. Home is where I know the location of every Chick-fil-A in town and it’s where I can sleep soundly and speak honestly and cry openly. I adore this world and all of the beautiful places in it, but there’s no place quite like HOME.

Goodbye, Africa

It’s the kind of evening where you put on your pajamas at a ridiculously early hour, eat as many chapatis as you can, and drink cold Sprite while watching the sunlight slowly leave the living room. It’s a perfect summer night, the kind of night that leaves you feeling nostalgic for all other wonderful summer nights and leaves you feelings a happy kind of sad. It’s so perfect that it almost feels like Africa’s saying a beautiful goodbye.

It’s my last evening here at Royal Kids School. Tomorrow will be a day of doing laundry and packing my things and moving to Mama Grace’s (the director of the school) house for my remaining time. There, I will enjoy the running water and I will rest up for the days of traveling that await me in the near future. So that’s what’s going on in my life right now. That, and saying my goodbyes. Have you ever had to say goodbye to a whole community of people you most likely won’t see again? If you haven’t, you are so unbelievably lucky.

How can I smile and say goodbye to children who will grow up and live in poverty, possibly for the rest of their lives? How can a hug and a few words be sufficient for a goodbye to the people who have been so wonderful to me during my stay here? It doesn’t seem like it’s enough, and maybe it’s not, but it’s all I can do. Today I said goodbye to my favorite little boy named Denzel. He and a few other children had to wait for a while before their parents came to pick them up, and I hung out with them for a little while, dreading saying goodbye to my little friend. Eventually his dad came and he had to go, but before he left he looked back and told me, in his sweet little voice, not to forget him. Let’s just say I had to smile and leave right away so nobody would see my tears.

Goodbyes and endings are as heartbreaking as hellos and beginnings are heartwarming. While leaving Royal Kids School is sad for me, it also means that I’m starting something new in Ireland-and I’m four months closer to coming home! So tonight is a sad night of goodbyes, and this weekend holds many more goodbyes in store, but come Monday a new adventure begins and I think “I’m quite ready for another adventure.”

If you didn’t catch that ode to Bilbo, I’m not sure why we’re even friends.

Love, Christie

Me Without You

It's like a chocolate chip cookie without the chocolate chips

Like a perfect first kiss without any lips

It's like going to the beach when there is no sun

It's like getting married to someone who's just not the one

A puzzle missing its last piece

A mouse without its cheese

The sky being anything but blue

That's me without you

It's like a rainy day without a good book to read

Like a plant growing before you've planted the seed

It's like a smile missing it's happy glow

Like when you want to go somewhere but you don't know where to go

Celery without peanut butter

Windows without any shutters.
Tennis shoes that are just too new

That's me without you.

Something Hard.

TECHNOLOGY.
Can I just give you a little summary of what has happened with all my technology in the past four months?

1. I leave my computer charger in Ireland
2. It takes a week to figure out how to get my phone to work
3. Once I get my computer charger, my converter blows out
4. I get a new converter
5. The new converter blows out
6. My phone gets stolen

I've been trying so hard to stay in touch with people at home that some days I've forgotten I'm even in Africa (not really, just trying to make a point...) and I think that all my troubles with technology are God's way of telling me to CHILL. This entire trip has been a crazy one, and I've felt the need to always have a way to contact people at home.

An awesome quote that I have heard several times recently is: "Wherever you are, be ALL there." Jim Elliot said this and it struck my heart because if you're in Africa, you should be in Africa. Many times during this trip I've felt that part of me is in Africa and part of me is at home with my friends and family. And that's been a struggle throughout the whole trip.

Looking back on my experience I know that there were many opportunities for me to put down my phone and engage more fully in what was going on here. But at the same time, through talking with people at home, ties with friends and family have been formed and strengthened and that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been able to communicate with them. SO...

I just wanted to say that the trip hasn't been easy and that I'm grateful to the people at home and the people here for helping me through. When I look back on this trip, I won't see experiences as much as I'll see FACES of the people I've met. It was hard finding a balance between talking too much to people at home and talking just enough, but I think that balance was easily found once my phone was stolen :) God works in crazy ways, that's for sure!!

This post has been a little bit all over the place and maybe kind of pointless but lunch is waiting and I'm uber hungry so I admit that I'm rushing a little bit and I'm gonna go now...

xoxo Christie

Something Beautiful.

For those of you who don't know, a friend of mine came from the States and spent a couple of weeks in Kenya with me. She has such a huge heart for Kenya and inspires me so much to get the most out of every adventure. One night we had made dinner plans, but they fell through and we were left with empty stomachs and forlorn faces until we remembered that we could compensate by buying chapatis and mangoes at a nearby cafe. We took the deliciously fresh mangoes and ridiculously too-good-to-be-true chapatis to the kitchen roof where we took a deep breath and let it sink it to our very souls that we were in Kenya and that life at the moment was truly beautiful. We ate and were merry and laughed and talked about the most random things imaginable until we realized that nobody knew where we were and that we should perhaps go back. 

Another night while she was here, we decided to do our laundry. Instead of doing it in the middle of the day which is when I've done it in the past, it was about 8pm and completely dark. We took our laundry buckets filled with soapy water and our bags of clothes outside to a few benches and began to wash our clothes. Again, it was such a simple moment, but a really beautiful one. There is a different feeling in Africa than America...doing laundry by hand outside in America at 8 at night wouldn't produce the same happiness or fulfillment. So, what's different?

If you stop and listen, there is undoubtedly the dull hum of cars flying by on the freeway. Maybe there are police sirens and the noises that we have labeled as every day sounds. In Africa, though, there's none of that. The sounds we heard when we were ravenously devouring chapati or clumsily washing our clothes were of people. Just people living their lives. Babies crying, mamas talking, and so many kids playing and laughing. When is the last time you heard a group of neighborhood children talking and laughing and playing outside together? When is the last time you have gotten together with your neighborhood friends and learned about what's new in their lives? In Africa, everyone's life is intertwined with each other. And sitting outside, breathing in the sweet African air, you only hear lives being lived. 

That's something I'll miss coming home. The community and the fellowship, unhurried by fast cars and loud cities. It's a slow life, yes, but it's richer than many lives around the world simply because it values time and community more than anything. 

xoxo 
Love, Christie 

Something Funny.

From America to Africa, a person is just a person. Back at home, I would take my sister’s clothes and wear them whenever I wanted. A part of her was probably relieved when I left because that meant she didn’t have to continuously confront me anymore to ask me to stop taking her things even though for some reason I just never stopped.

When I got here, I left a few things out on my dresser like deodorant, a hairbrush, lotion, etc. Once, there was a visitor who stayed in my room for one night. I went to sleep early that night, but woke up when I heard a noise. I looked over and the visitor was rubbing my deodorant all over her body while wearing one of my dresses. The next morning she woke me up to say goodbye and asked me if she could borrow a shirt. I agreed, too asleep to process anything, and I never saw the shirt again.

Since then, people have used my malaria pills, my internet credit, my shower lotion, the food I bought for myself, and more. Also since then, I’ve learned to hide my stuff AND I’ve learned that it’s almost impossible for me to stay frustrated with anyone who is using my stuff because…I did the same thing to Kari.So basically, just treat others as you want to be treated. Even if your sister’s clothes are really, REALLY cute, remember how indignant and violated you felt when you saw someone rubbing your deodorant all over their body.

Lesson learned. 

Love, 

Christie

[the visitor came back into my life a few months later. the lord put it on my heart to befriend her and it turned out that she is very sweet. the second time around, however, i did keep my last stick of deodorant hidden away.]

Hey, Dad. I love you back.

My dad is so very wonderful. When I was little he would come in to Kari's and my room to say goodnight and he would say "I love you" and (I don't remember this, but apparently it's true) I would refuse to say "I love you" back. I have no idea why this was the case, but I was one of those stubborn children who wouldn't acknowledge that I had done anything wrong no matter how long I sat in time-out for. I would also sit at the dinner table for hours after dinner was over because there was no way I was going to drink my milk. Sometimes I cried when people sang "Happy Birthday" to me on my birthday. And, I guess, this streak of craziness compelled me not to tell my dad that I loved him. 

The thing is, my dad has always been and still is my hero. I've admired him for as long as I've been alive. I love him because he was always there to play with us and was never to busy teach us games when we were little. He would read the Chronicles of Narnia every night and during dinner he'd read to us from the Bible. He's the leader of the family and I'm so blessed to call him my dad. 

As I grew up I realized that I was just like my Dad. We both doodle all over our paper when we take notes. We both leave Diet Coke cans around the house because we honestly forget to pick them up like Mom asks. We both love and value relationships and authenticity. And we have the exact same sense of humor. The jokes Dad used to tell that used to be the cause of rolling eyes and exclamations of "Dad, pleaaase stop!" are now absolutely hilarious. And when I suddenly wanted to go to Africa, Dad found me the cheapest plane tickets. He found a good deal on an iPhone, so that I could still communicate with people back home. He helped me with everything and sent me off to Africa, where, upon the third day of being there, I called him in tears and he gave me the exact encouragement I needed. When I decided to come home early, he was the one to change the plane tickets. Am I dependent on my dad? Well...yes. I know how to be independent and how to live on my own, of course, but for as long as I live I don't think I'll ever stop needing him in my life. So, Dad, for all those times I never said "I love you" back, I LOVE YOU, TOO. 

This blog post was inspired by the burst of pure love I've been feeling for Jesus these days. All those times Jesus tried to get close to me, I refused to tell him that I loved him back. And now after 4 months of it just being us, I can honestly say that I love the Lord and I KNOW that he's there and will always be there when there's nobody else to turn to. 

So here's to my earthly father and my heavenly Father, who are both there for me and love me even when I pretend I can do it all on my own. 

xoxo 

Love, 

Christie

CHANGE OF PLANS - where You go, I go.

Nyaje marafiki!

(What’s up, friends!)

    This week has been a week full of decisions and conversations and lots and lots of prayer. These past three months have been full of both negative and positive experiences and, as life-changing as Kenya has been, I have come to the decision to end my African adventure earlier than planned. I will be boarding the plane on January 22 rather than February 26 and heading to Ireland. I will then spend my remaining time in Ireland, living with my good friends and helping them out with their ministry as they balance both their work and their newborn baby boy! I feel peaceful about this decision and I look forward to what the future has in store!

     As for my stove project – don’t worry! I still have over two weeks here in Africa and the down payment has been made and the stoves are on their way. Kenya operates on what I like to call “African time”, which turns five minutes into an hour and a few days into a week, etc. It is very laid back and I am currently trying to somehow get the stoves to arrive in non-African time. When I come home I’ll have not only jet-lag to deal with, but the initial shock of people being on time! In Africa, however, the laid back culture has proved to be relaxing and void of pressure and oddly refreshing.

     Everything has happened so quickly and before I know it I will be on the plane bound for Ireland. What does all of this mean for me and for those who have been so supportive of me? It doesn't mean that I've failed, nor that I’m giving up. It simply means that I believe there was not as much of a place for me here as I was anticipating, and while this experience has been unforgettable and not at all regrettable, Jesus and Ireland are calling my name. Your wonderful prayers and sweet messages have gotten me this far and I hope you will continue to keep me in your prayers as I serve with the same heart for the same God in a completely different country.

Thanks again and I love you all!

XOXO Christie 

a quick update

    I apologize to any of you who keep up with my blog and my adventures for my lack of communication about what has been going on in my journey for the past few weeks. I also want to extend a huge THANK YOU to all of you beautiful people who decided my stove project was a worthy cause and felt led to donate. We are now over my goal of $2000 and I pray that we will be seeing pictures of the new stove soon. We have yet to purchase it due to a few setbacks, but I promise you it will arrive and the kitchen staff will have a load lifted off of their shoulders thanks to your generosity and the Lord’s miraculous ability to provide. For that, I thank you.

    As for an update about what is happening here in Kenya, I don’t have too much time or too much to say. Christmas and New Year’s was such an adventure as I navigated and experienced the Kenyan versions, and I know for a fact that I will never forget the holiday season of 2012. People were coming in and out and there was food and fellowship with people who have only been here since the beginning of December yet with whom I have already formed a bond with. I’ve met so many wonderful people this holiday season and will be sad to see them go as the new school year starts and everybody goes back to their homes or to their schools.

    I am currently drinking a cup of strong coffee at 5:28 in the morning, listening to Africa wake up. Every day I learn something new and every morning I am more grateful for my life than I was the day before. I am blessed and the Lord has been showing me His heart for me in big ways over these past few days, especially. Thank you for your prayers and your continued support. I love you all and I wish you a wonderful New Year.

Xoxo
Love, Christie