It seems that all I've written about Colombia makes it sound like the kind of place you would never return from, the kind of place where only danger awaits, the kind of place your mother would never let you go. I am here to try to redeem the image people have of Colombia. I hear a lot of jokes about drugs; yes, even at Union, especially at Union. Side note:I laugh a lot and its usually very loud, and the later it gets in the night, the less I make sense, the more stupid things I say and do (ehem.. "woooaaaah.. look at my arms, guys!!). My friends like to suggest that I've been resorting to my "special Colombian stuff" whenever I act like this, and it just adds to what people think about Colombia.
Yes, Colombia has been in a civil war for the last 50+ years. Yes, Colombia is one of the main coca producers (Coca is the plant they make crack cocaine from, not what you make hot chocolate with). Yes, there are rebel armies fighting against the national military for power and control. Yes, there are parts of the country that we can't access because of the war. Yes, people get kidnapped. Yes, it is a 3rd world country and overwhelming poverty hinders at the edges of society. Yes, my family has been robbed, personal or house, about 8 times in the 6 years we've been in Bogota. Yes, I have to be aware of my surroundings when I'm riding the bus alone or walking down the street.
And now you've really made up your mind: "It is even worse than I thought, no way will I ever go to Colombia." I've laid out most of what people think about Colombia, the hard truths and the stereotypes that are unfortunately rooted in history and reality, but here is my attempt to help you see that, in all reality, its not that bad.
1. Have you ever been to a 3rd world country? If you're white, you've always had to watch your back. If you haven't, others have been watching out for you. You just haven't been aware of all the security measures people went through to make you feel safe, oblivious to any danger. There were so many more risks that surrounded you that you had no idea about. We don't keep secrets in Colombia; we tell you straight up what the risks are when you come to a 3rd world country. In some ways, that makes it a better place to go to, am I right? Honesty is the best policy!
2. Yes, there is a civil war going on. There are rebel armies fighting, but all of that fighting goes on in places where you will not be going. I have never felt that part of the war affect my life in most of the places I've been to in Colombia. Its in parts of the jungles and in far-off states. And besides, its not like they're about to take over; the national army is whooping the rebels, taking the head honchos out one by one. Colombia's got your back, just don't be stupid going where you shouldn't!
3. You don't even have to go to a 3rd world country to have to watch out for robbers, pick-pockets, and other shady types. Just go to New York City or some other big fast-moving city where need hides at the mouth of every alley. People steal because people are not perfect, whether they resort to it because of material need or laziness. America has thieves and rapists to the same sinful extent as 3rd world countries.
4. Now for the drug part, my faaavorite (totally joking!). We all know what "crack cocaine" is because its the people in America that consume it, mostly at least. And may I add, all that Colombian crack bought in America is funding the rebel armies in the civil war. So we only grow it because you buy it. "We" being the indigenous (i.e. indians, natives, tribal people) who are pretty much forced by the rebels to cultivate the coca plants. So, yes, Colombia grows it, but you sniff it ;)
5. Colombia is kind of amazing. Andes Mountains, beaches on both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans, the freaking Amazon river and the whole jungle around it, "los llanos"-the plains. The culture, the people, the heritage, the poverty--these have all taken over my heart and made me call it home. Of course I'm biased, but it really is the most beautiful country I have ever been to, but don't trust my word for it, go see for yourself :)
And with that I hope to maybe help you all think not only of drugs and violence when you hear "Colombia." Its far from perfect, from its still great.
p.s. Colombia is spelled with two o's, no u's.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
So good! FAIL
Heading into J-term I didn't have many expectations. I figured I'd be studying a lot, sleeping even more, and socializing some. I planned on starting to learn to play the guitar and reading whatever my heart desired. I was going to get updated on the world and American politics-- I figured that since I'm now in a country where I can vote without my name getting on a list that could end up in the wrong hands, I should try to understand what is going on, even if I don't end up voting. I wanted to be super intentional with whichever friends were here, and I planned on setting a good routine.
Its not like none of this happened! I have started to learn to play the guitar again, I have studied.. ish, I've gotten slightly updated on politics, and I'm halfway there to getting a good routine of Jesus, eating, exercising, and studying.. still working on the sleep part. Now my socializing skills have shot off the charts! For the first week and half I slept great at night, took naps, read, and was on my way to getting rested after who knows how many months of being worn out. And then I started hanging out with the friends who like to do stuff at night. Almost only at night, and late at night. I had been hanging out some with a great group of friends who cook together and play games and just hang out, but those nights were usually over by 10.. and then I started getting those calls at 10.. 11 to play music, run to IHOP or some other obscure plan, and my nights started getting longer. And it really helps that I had an 8'clock class with a couple of those goofballs, one of which sat in front of me distracting me as he drew the best drawings of Nazis, monks, and the professor and the other one walked into class 20-40 minutes late every single morning.
When these late nights started up again, I had just figured out my swimming routine-- afternoons, for J-term at least. This of course got ruined and I swam afternoons half the week and nights the other half, and this just confused my whole life. When I got less sleep at night, because I was at IHOP or playing music at Chris' pool house or being creepy with Celia till 2 a.m., I was in great need of naps during the day. Nap time is around 2 p.m., or at least an ideal one is. Problem: that's when I had been planning in swimming. So of course I swam instead of taking naps--big mistake. Not that I regret starting to swim again, but I should've been making sure they were both happening. And the rest of the time I was awake I was studying, cooking, at basketball games, socializing with my sane friends, or sitting in Celia's car talking about everything on the face of the planet. My J-term ended up being far from what I expected. I wasn't getting the sleep I wanted, my routine of what you expect to be the basics of life now was being ruined by facebook messages and calls to play music or eat. My sleep routine was worse now than it had been even in the fall. And that was pretty bad. I can tell you I spent 8 of the last 10 nights at IHOP or Steak and Shake till at least midnight, usually closer to 2.
It probably sounds like I'm whining about how my J-term ended up being. But I loved it. And I hate to say its over. I have to move out of Andersen's apartment and back into the dorm tomorrow, and though I'm so excited to be back with my roommates, I absolutely love the girls in this apartment. I love how if its not full of people, its full of the most unexplainable laughter. And those late nights, I wouldn't give them up. I'm one of those weird people that's willing to give up a little sleep at night--to a healthy degree-- to spend time with friends. Of course I have to take care of myself and make sure I'm getting enough sleep, and that's why I can't keep this up. But for now, it was great. Most of what I "wanted" to happen over J-term didn't, but it was worth it. I set expectations and goals easily for myself, knowing that I will most likely not accomplish them. Maybe I let go of goals like getting rested, reading, and setting routine too easily, but for now it hasn't posed itself as too much of a problem.
I didn't try to take control of J-term and make it what I wanted, I just let it happen.. I said yes and I loved it. I took the initiative on things like Jesus, real food, swimming, and studying, but I just let the rest of it happen. I made some new friends and so many great memories. Spoons, mustaches, optical ...., "I got jokes," HEY, "look at my arms!!!" Just a few of the things that keep me laughing about J-term. Its not like we're all dying with J-term. I'm not that fatalistic, but then again, J-term is over. Back to semi-normal schedules. I probably won't have class with those guys again. None of us will have the same amount of free time or energy, and we won't see each other as often. Of course late nights will happen just as before, but not as often.
And the masses will return. There are maybe a dozen people that I will tackle when I lay eyes on them, but I don't want the crowds in the PAC or the lines in Cobo, or the obnoxious mobs of frat boys. I have loved campus as it was during J-term: quiet, calm, and all mine. I'm a selfish person, I know, but I liked always having a place to put my bike and there always being several comfy seats to choose from in Barefoots and there always being an empty piano room in the Bowld. I loved being able to ride my bike around campus and maybe once having to go around someone. The parking lots and sidewalks were almost always all mine. I could go crazy and no one knew it. I did find myself once or twice riding in a zig-zag pattern singing off key to The Tallest Man on Earth at the top of my lungs. No one was in sight, I felt free. There weren't crowds of people whose eyes were judging me, and I took advantage of that. J-term: when there are less people to think about me, my cackle-esque laughter, and all else that is weird about me. I just decided that that's why I love J-term.
Its not like none of this happened! I have started to learn to play the guitar again, I have studied.. ish, I've gotten slightly updated on politics, and I'm halfway there to getting a good routine of Jesus, eating, exercising, and studying.. still working on the sleep part. Now my socializing skills have shot off the charts! For the first week and half I slept great at night, took naps, read, and was on my way to getting rested after who knows how many months of being worn out. And then I started hanging out with the friends who like to do stuff at night. Almost only at night, and late at night. I had been hanging out some with a great group of friends who cook together and play games and just hang out, but those nights were usually over by 10.. and then I started getting those calls at 10.. 11 to play music, run to IHOP or some other obscure plan, and my nights started getting longer. And it really helps that I had an 8'clock class with a couple of those goofballs, one of which sat in front of me distracting me as he drew the best drawings of Nazis, monks, and the professor and the other one walked into class 20-40 minutes late every single morning.
When these late nights started up again, I had just figured out my swimming routine-- afternoons, for J-term at least. This of course got ruined and I swam afternoons half the week and nights the other half, and this just confused my whole life. When I got less sleep at night, because I was at IHOP or playing music at Chris' pool house or being creepy with Celia till 2 a.m., I was in great need of naps during the day. Nap time is around 2 p.m., or at least an ideal one is. Problem: that's when I had been planning in swimming. So of course I swam instead of taking naps--big mistake. Not that I regret starting to swim again, but I should've been making sure they were both happening. And the rest of the time I was awake I was studying, cooking, at basketball games, socializing with my sane friends, or sitting in Celia's car talking about everything on the face of the planet. My J-term ended up being far from what I expected. I wasn't getting the sleep I wanted, my routine of what you expect to be the basics of life now was being ruined by facebook messages and calls to play music or eat. My sleep routine was worse now than it had been even in the fall. And that was pretty bad. I can tell you I spent 8 of the last 10 nights at IHOP or Steak and Shake till at least midnight, usually closer to 2.
It probably sounds like I'm whining about how my J-term ended up being. But I loved it. And I hate to say its over. I have to move out of Andersen's apartment and back into the dorm tomorrow, and though I'm so excited to be back with my roommates, I absolutely love the girls in this apartment. I love how if its not full of people, its full of the most unexplainable laughter. And those late nights, I wouldn't give them up. I'm one of those weird people that's willing to give up a little sleep at night--to a healthy degree-- to spend time with friends. Of course I have to take care of myself and make sure I'm getting enough sleep, and that's why I can't keep this up. But for now, it was great. Most of what I "wanted" to happen over J-term didn't, but it was worth it. I set expectations and goals easily for myself, knowing that I will most likely not accomplish them. Maybe I let go of goals like getting rested, reading, and setting routine too easily, but for now it hasn't posed itself as too much of a problem.
I didn't try to take control of J-term and make it what I wanted, I just let it happen.. I said yes and I loved it. I took the initiative on things like Jesus, real food, swimming, and studying, but I just let the rest of it happen. I made some new friends and so many great memories. Spoons, mustaches, optical ...., "I got jokes," HEY, "look at my arms!!!" Just a few of the things that keep me laughing about J-term. Its not like we're all dying with J-term. I'm not that fatalistic, but then again, J-term is over. Back to semi-normal schedules. I probably won't have class with those guys again. None of us will have the same amount of free time or energy, and we won't see each other as often. Of course late nights will happen just as before, but not as often.
And the masses will return. There are maybe a dozen people that I will tackle when I lay eyes on them, but I don't want the crowds in the PAC or the lines in Cobo, or the obnoxious mobs of frat boys. I have loved campus as it was during J-term: quiet, calm, and all mine. I'm a selfish person, I know, but I liked always having a place to put my bike and there always being several comfy seats to choose from in Barefoots and there always being an empty piano room in the Bowld. I loved being able to ride my bike around campus and maybe once having to go around someone. The parking lots and sidewalks were almost always all mine. I could go crazy and no one knew it. I did find myself once or twice riding in a zig-zag pattern singing off key to The Tallest Man on Earth at the top of my lungs. No one was in sight, I felt free. There weren't crowds of people whose eyes were judging me, and I took advantage of that. J-term: when there are less people to think about me, my cackle-esque laughter, and all else that is weird about me. I just decided that that's why I love J-term.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The Old Man
A few blogs ago, I talked some about my family, and how I won’t be seeing them for a while. I said I would be dealing with this throughout the year. Well, my dealing with it starts now, with Dad. This realization that I won’t be home till next Christmas hits me every time I’m reminded of him, and since getting back to Union, it seems that it happens almost daily.
Because he has had such a big influence in my present taste in music, it’s hard not to be reminded of him. Half of what I listen to reminds me of him in some way. Whether its a song we would sing obnoxiously together, an artists he showed me, or just some stupid memory that was somehow related to the song, I'm reminded of him. Whenever Bob Dylan, Kansas, Creedence Clearwater Revival and so many other artists come up in conversation, which is oddly quite often, it reminds me of him. On the way back from a hiking trip with some friends, my uncle and aunt invited us to have dinner at their house. My uncle’s expressions and humor reminded me so much of Dad, I couldn’t help but think of him. Whenever ministry is mentioned, I am reminded of the afternoons I would spend with Dad in the Garcia’s home and the mornings we spent talking to the Embera Chami on the sidewalks and at the motorcycle wash in downtown Bogota. The long car rides we had during those days of ministry were some of the best. We would sing at the top of our lungs to James Taylor and I would mock his Petra CD. We made stupid jokes that we would both just die laughing about. I blame my ridiculously bad jokes and how I am so amused by them on my father. Every time I’m reminded of him, I can’t help but smile because most of the time I have spent with my dad has been filled with laughter.
Even though I love being reminded of Dad because it makes me smile, I think it hurts me more. It is those moments that I am reminded that I won't see him or sing with him or joke around with him or hug him for almost a year. A few years ago I don't think I would've said this because I hadn't come to know Dad the way I have now. I always saw Dad as the man who was in control of the situation, the family, his emotions, and all else that happened around us. Not to say that he isn't, but I started seeing much more of who my dad is and he became one of my best friends, along with Mom. I think this started when I started tagging along when he went to "work." I say "work" because although it his job, he doesn't treat it like that-- I can tell he pours his heart and everything he has into it, and I know that he finds joy in it, even when its frustrating and hard.
These times when, for one reason or another, I wasn't at school and could go with him were crucial to our relationship as it is now. I saw my father's passion for the men, women, and children that he had built relationships with at the medical houses as he spoke with them and prayed with them. I witnessed his commitment to God's call as he persevered through what seemed to be fruitless times with the Chami. I loved seeing his bad jokes come out with his gringo humor as he made friends at the motorcycle wash in one of the worst parts of town. I laughed inside every time we were walking through dangerous streets and he would reach for the metal stick in his back pocket and stared down any possible danger. Not once have I felt like I was in danger when I've been with Dad in downtown Bogotá. In these times God showed me that my father loves us, but even more, he loves God.
As my senior year rounded out with spring plays, mission trips, and all the events tied into graduation, I saw more and more of Dad that I loved. He brought me roses on the opening night of the spring play, he brought me fruit and juice and drugs the next morning when I had to return to the stage as sick as a dog. He encouraged me with Scripture and words of wisdom before I left for the Amazon, and he teared up and hugged me at every "last" I had in Colombia, whether a school event or my last Sunday at church. Sidenote: when I see a grown man that I respect cry, I choke up. Needless to say, when my father teared up, I had to quickly look away before completely losing it. I love that man. I know he loves me, but what makes me happiest of all is knowing that he loves God more than he loves me, even more than he loves my mother.
I now saw Dad as a man who loves God, loves his family, loves the people he is called to, and loves life. He not only brings laughter to my worst days, he brings love and comfort. He's had the words I needed to hear, and the silence in an embrace that I needed to feel. He's been given 4 ridiculous children who don't deserve him, but he's done his best to love us and take care of us, to lead us and teach us, to share with us and spur us on.
What a man. And what a handsome man!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Dirty Sinner
I'm just a dirty sinner who's in so deep that I don't even know it. That's pretty much what you're telling me. You've got it in your head that I'm wrong, I'm living in sin, I'm headed to hell, and I need to repent, and BIG TIME. But I'm not. I'm just not. I haven't committed that sin that you're judging me for, because it wasn't a sin. Yes, I am a sinner, and I need to repent on a daily basis, but what you're talking about was no sin. I don't regret it, I'd do it again, and Jesus is not disappointed in me for doing it.
If the Spirit convicts me of the daily sins I commit, why wouldn't he convict me of this one? When I lie, when I compromise my standards, when I judge others unjustly, the Spirit convicts me. I feel bad for what I did, knowing it was wrong, and I'm sorry for those things. But the Spirit never convicted me for this one-- because it wasn't wrong. If this one is "so much worse," wouldn't the Spirit convict me even more strongly? It isn't sin.
What you're telling me is wrong is just the psychology of tradition taking its toll on you. Whatever it is that I'm doing might not be traditional, but it doesn't mean its wrong, and much less sin. What I'm doing is not un-Biblical, its not hurting you, me, or my soul.
There are so many things that the church is convicting people of that I'm not sure are actually sinful. So many churches have a list of do's and do not's that aren't all so legitimate. The "do not's" have been on that list for so long that no one questions them. Anyone who had doubts was just shut down, and still so today. Most of them are sin, of course, but some of them really aren't. And a lot of the questionable ones are what's splitting up churches. If God doesn't condemn it in Scripture, and He hasn't convicted me about it, how can you tell me that I'm in the wrong?
Romans 14: 5-9 says "One person considers one day more sacred than another; another considers every day alike. Each of them should be fully convinced in their own mind. 6 Whoever regards one day as special does so to the Lord. Whoever eats meat does so to the Lord, for they give thanks to God; and whoever abstains does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God. 7 For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. 8 If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. 9 For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living."
I understand if you've decided to abstain from something because you're better off without it, but that's not particularly true for everyone else. So please don't judge others according to your own standards. Correct brothers according to Scripture, but don't judge them according to yourself.
If the Spirit convicts me of the daily sins I commit, why wouldn't he convict me of this one? When I lie, when I compromise my standards, when I judge others unjustly, the Spirit convicts me. I feel bad for what I did, knowing it was wrong, and I'm sorry for those things. But the Spirit never convicted me for this one-- because it wasn't wrong. If this one is "so much worse," wouldn't the Spirit convict me even more strongly? It isn't sin.
What you're telling me is wrong is just the psychology of tradition taking its toll on you. Whatever it is that I'm doing might not be traditional, but it doesn't mean its wrong, and much less sin. What I'm doing is not un-Biblical, its not hurting you, me, or my soul.
There are so many things that the church is convicting people of that I'm not sure are actually sinful. So many churches have a list of do's and do not's that aren't all so legitimate. The "do not's" have been on that list for so long that no one questions them. Anyone who had doubts was just shut down, and still so today. Most of them are sin, of course, but some of them really aren't. And a lot of the questionable ones are what's splitting up churches. If God doesn't condemn it in Scripture, and He hasn't convicted me about it, how can you tell me that I'm in the wrong?
Romans 14: 5-9 says "One person considers one day more sacred than another; another considers every day alike. Each of them should be fully convinced in their own mind. 6 Whoever regards one day as special does so to the Lord. Whoever eats meat does so to the Lord, for they give thanks to God; and whoever abstains does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God. 7 For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. 8 If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. 9 For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living."
I understand if you've decided to abstain from something because you're better off without it, but that's not particularly true for everyone else. So please don't judge others according to your own standards. Correct brothers according to Scripture, but don't judge them according to yourself.
Pathetic.. or just apathetic
I'm going to tell you a story that has repeated itself one too many times in my life.
Seems like everyone's crying. Except for me. They all probably think I'm some heartless person who hasn't grown to love them as much as the rest of us. But they're wrong, I love them, I really do. I spent a good 8 days translating for this group of students and adults from Prairie Christian Academy and I loved every minute of it. I watched them struggle, cry, and laugh together as they poured themselves into every single day that they spent in Colombia. I saw a passion for God in these people like I hadn't seen in a volunteer group in a long time. They impacted my life, and I thank them for that. But, after 8 days they left. It was a short term missions trip, it was a great trip, and we shared such powerful moments that tears were inevitable on their side of it. But they didn't come from me. My face looked cold and emotionless in that crowd of hugs and goodbyes. But they wouldn't come, the tears wouldn't come. I wanted to cry, but not because I was so moved by emotion, but because I didn't want to seem like a heartless person. I didn't cry because it wasn't anything new to me. I had been saying goodbyes my whole life, and I was over it. Not to say that I wouldn't miss them, because I did. But then again, how many times had I gone through this-- spending a great week or two with a group of people I came to know and love, and then saying goodbye. I just knew that I would most likely never see them again. I knew that the odds were against us, and, like too many other relationships, they would fade. We would hold on, quite pathetically for a while to the traces of whatever is left of our friendship. But it will trickle until all is gone and we have nothing left to hold onto. We couldn't hold onto memories from 8 days to keep us close. I would still love them, and I do, but I couldn't just hold on.
Now before you say "Sierra, you really are a heartless cold beast, what a jerkface," let me give you a little information that may give good reason to my cruelty. My parents are missionaries. Have been since before I was born, will probably be till the day they die. I've lived in 5 countries, including Brazil, Aruba, Venezuela, Colombia, and good old US of Hay. The first time I remember really having a problem with saying goodbye was when we moved from Aruba to Venezuela. Up till this point I really hadn't said too many goodbyes, at least not like the ones I would face for the next several years. I had spent 7 1/2 years in Aruba. It was my home, my childhood, pretty much all I knew. All I knew about Caracas, Venezuela was that it was a big city. This can go far in a child's imagination. When dad had to go visit before we all moved, I imagined him sprinting across a city, which happened to be on fire, as he dodged bullets that were coming at him from all sides. Needless to say, I was afraid and had no idea what to expect.
In the time slot of those four years we lived in four countries, with four cultures, spoke a total of 4 languages, went through most of that horrible middle school stage in 3 different small private schools and one large American public schools. I had met so many people, made so few friends, and said too many empty goodbyes. I was emotionally exhausted. Why would I try to settle when I would be on to the next place before I could enjoy it?
The three years after we left Aruba was when I lost my place with people, because they were never the same, and found it in resentment. Resentment didn't change; it was there, consistent, when the rest of my life wasn't. I hid myself in bitterness and anger. I stopped caring and started pretending.
It had felt like my childhood and all that came with it, all that I knew, was slipping through my fingers, and I had no control at all. When you're in middle school you have no sense of identity, and I had lost everything I thought made up who I thought I was. So who was I supposed to be? When you get tossed around so many places with so many people at that age, you don't know who to be anymore. So I just imitated whoever I was around. I lived under the radar because nothing about me was different; because I wasn't "being me," however cliche that sounds. I was just pretending to be the person everyone else could be friends with. I didn't stick out because I did not want to. When I am really being me I stick out like a sore thumb because I'm loud and considered very weird.
In a time when you'd imagine a kid's angry rebellious side would come out, my anger brewed within. I seemed to be handling it very well, I worked hard to get the Honor Roll, if not High Honor Roll every quarter, I participated in ministry with my family and school, and I had fit myself into a group of good wholesome kids. My parents had nothing to worry about.
All this time I had grown cold. Since then, God has really changed my heart and I've bound myself to Him, but the 4 years of inconsistency left its marks. In the four years of high-school at ECA and North Side, I had met so many volunteer teams, made so many friends, gone so many places, learned so many names that they all blurred together after awhile. You can only have so many deep, intentional, and lasting friendships. I found that I would politely meet these people, enjoy the time I had with them, and then just move on with life, without thinking twice. Whenever it was time to say goodbye, I gave them a hug and sent them on their way-- I had said too many goodbyes for them to really affect me anymore. I had learned to befriend people and detach as easily as if I had never met them. There were too many people for me to truly care about them all.
When I started realizing that I had become so cold, I called for a change of heart. I wanted to really care, be intentional, and one day miss these people I was meeting. And I did, and I do. But I don't cry. I know I am able to now be open with people and build friendships, but unless I can see them sticking around for a long time, I can detach just as easily. I do think I've matured, but I'm realistic. I love people, but I can't wear myself thin trying to build friendships with them all. I know my limits, and I know that life happens and if the odds are against the friendship, if it isn't very developed, I won't be very intentional. Keeping great friendships over distances is hard, but worth it. Building great friendships over distances is almost impossible.
Back to goodbyes. Many of the goodbyes I say so often seem devastating to some people, but to me, they have become common. I can't just break down every time I have to say a "hard" goodbye, or I will never cease to be emotionally exhausted. Not that these goodbye's aren't hard, but they've become a part of my life, so I get over it. Yes, that sucks, sometimes life sucks. But there is nothing on earth I can do about it but thank God for letting me have those people in my life, if even for a little while. Telling me "it shouldn't be like that, you shouldn't have to say so many goodbye's, I can't imagine how horrible that is" doesn't make things better. I really do just fine, these goodbyes don't tear me apart inside, I'm used to it. Saying those things doesn't change anything, so while I get over it and move on, you can too.
Right before leaving for Christmas break-- to go home to Colombia-- I heard a lot of "oh goodness, two whole months, I am going to miss you guys so much!!" And I told them all I would miss them too, but I can tell you I probably lied to most of those people. Two months, are you kidding me? I hadn't seen my parents or best friends in 5 months, I think you can survive 2 months without the 300 people you've recently added on facebook. I'm not sure I even feel bad for having no, if any sympathy for some of the other students who were getting choked up about not seeing each other for 2 months. Maybe this makes me selfish, maybe this makes me resentful, maybe I just have a long list of crap to sort out and deal with.
I don't mean to sound like I don't care about my friends at Union, because I love them, but when I'll be pretty living with these people for a good 9 months of the year, and I'm only spending 3 weeks at home. I'm not really focused on missing them. When I was in Colombia for 3 weeks, I didn't have time to miss anyone back in the States. If I told you I missed you, then that probably means there was a moment or two when you came to mind, but for the most of you I did not spend my time thinking about you and what you were doing, sorry to say.
I didn't feel sorry because I knew that 3 weeks later I would be saying goodbye to my parents and some of best friends for a year. Yes, 12 months. I had to really hold my tongue finals week, but I am not today. I know its not their fault for having been fortunate enough to be close to family, but I wanted them to realize how amazingly blessed they are to GET to spend 2 months with their families, see them on Thanksgiving and Fall break. Yes, I have family in Tennessee, and others who are as close as family, but they are not my parents. They are not the dad that teared up at every graduation event or the mom that poured into my life while cooking me curry. Those three weeks I spent at home went by too quickly and the night before leaving I laid in my bed and cried. I cried because I realized that I would leave, after only 3 weeks, and not come back for a year. I realized that a lot can happen in a year. People can get sick, people can be in danger, crap happens. Don't mean to scare you all away, but because my family lives in Colombia, there is always that constant fear in me that something will happen. Its generally a safe place, but come one, we're talking about Colombia- civil war, rebel armies, and drug country.
I cried because I knew that for the next year I would have to deal with not having my family there. I wouldn't be able to just go home for the weekend to get that time with them; I would have to hope that they happened to be sitting at the computer signed onto Skype. When I process things, I do so verbally. If I trust you, you being very few people, and you're close enough, I will talk your ear off for hours in a conversation with myself as I process stuff and solve things and you won't even have to say a word. When I deal with things, I do it alone. This is why most of the times that I've cried, I'm alone in my room. Yes, this is quite pathetic, but I'm one of those people who puts up a strong front to keep from being vulnerable around others. When I deal with things, there's no processing, just thinking in circles with some "this sucks" thrown in there. On the few, and very few, occasions that I have dealt with something in front of/with someone, I break down, or I shut down and get cold. Well I realized that this whole not seeing my parents for a year is something I'm going to be dealing with often. I know I can't deal with it on my own for the next year, and so I'm telling you this. God has been there every time I break down, He has comforted me, He does so now, but He doesn't like it when His kids hurt alone. And so I write. I'm going to be dealing with this, as I am now, and probably be doing so on a few other occasions throughout the year. Just writing about dealing with it brings me to tears, because writing the words about my parents makes me miss them that much more which reminds me that I won't be seeing them for a long while. Its a vicious cycle. I've decided that I will not try to cover up my pain here like I will to your faces, and I will be honest and vulnerable and broken. Its going to be a messy ride, hope you don't get too disgusted by the wreck that is my life.
The Head and the Heart got it spot on in "Rivers and Roads"
A year from now we'll all be gone
All our friends will move away
And they're goin' to better places
But our friends will be gone away
Nothin' is as it has been
And I miss your face like hell
And I guess it's just as well
But I miss your face like hell
Been talkin' 'bout the way things change
And my family lives in a different state
If you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate
So if you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate
Rivers and roads
Rivers and roads
Rivers till I reach you
Seems like everyone's crying. Except for me. They all probably think I'm some heartless person who hasn't grown to love them as much as the rest of us. But they're wrong, I love them, I really do. I spent a good 8 days translating for this group of students and adults from Prairie Christian Academy and I loved every minute of it. I watched them struggle, cry, and laugh together as they poured themselves into every single day that they spent in Colombia. I saw a passion for God in these people like I hadn't seen in a volunteer group in a long time. They impacted my life, and I thank them for that. But, after 8 days they left. It was a short term missions trip, it was a great trip, and we shared such powerful moments that tears were inevitable on their side of it. But they didn't come from me. My face looked cold and emotionless in that crowd of hugs and goodbyes. But they wouldn't come, the tears wouldn't come. I wanted to cry, but not because I was so moved by emotion, but because I didn't want to seem like a heartless person. I didn't cry because it wasn't anything new to me. I had been saying goodbyes my whole life, and I was over it. Not to say that I wouldn't miss them, because I did. But then again, how many times had I gone through this-- spending a great week or two with a group of people I came to know and love, and then saying goodbye. I just knew that I would most likely never see them again. I knew that the odds were against us, and, like too many other relationships, they would fade. We would hold on, quite pathetically for a while to the traces of whatever is left of our friendship. But it will trickle until all is gone and we have nothing left to hold onto. We couldn't hold onto memories from 8 days to keep us close. I would still love them, and I do, but I couldn't just hold on.
Now before you say "Sierra, you really are a heartless cold beast, what a jerkface," let me give you a little information that may give good reason to my cruelty. My parents are missionaries. Have been since before I was born, will probably be till the day they die. I've lived in 5 countries, including Brazil, Aruba, Venezuela, Colombia, and good old US of Hay. The first time I remember really having a problem with saying goodbye was when we moved from Aruba to Venezuela. Up till this point I really hadn't said too many goodbyes, at least not like the ones I would face for the next several years. I had spent 7 1/2 years in Aruba. It was my home, my childhood, pretty much all I knew. All I knew about Caracas, Venezuela was that it was a big city. This can go far in a child's imagination. When dad had to go visit before we all moved, I imagined him sprinting across a city, which happened to be on fire, as he dodged bullets that were coming at him from all sides. Needless to say, I was afraid and had no idea what to expect.
In the time slot of those four years we lived in four countries, with four cultures, spoke a total of 4 languages, went through most of that horrible middle school stage in 3 different small private schools and one large American public schools. I had met so many people, made so few friends, and said too many empty goodbyes. I was emotionally exhausted. Why would I try to settle when I would be on to the next place before I could enjoy it?
The three years after we left Aruba was when I lost my place with people, because they were never the same, and found it in resentment. Resentment didn't change; it was there, consistent, when the rest of my life wasn't. I hid myself in bitterness and anger. I stopped caring and started pretending.
It had felt like my childhood and all that came with it, all that I knew, was slipping through my fingers, and I had no control at all. When you're in middle school you have no sense of identity, and I had lost everything I thought made up who I thought I was. So who was I supposed to be? When you get tossed around so many places with so many people at that age, you don't know who to be anymore. So I just imitated whoever I was around. I lived under the radar because nothing about me was different; because I wasn't "being me," however cliche that sounds. I was just pretending to be the person everyone else could be friends with. I didn't stick out because I did not want to. When I am really being me I stick out like a sore thumb because I'm loud and considered very weird.
In a time when you'd imagine a kid's angry rebellious side would come out, my anger brewed within. I seemed to be handling it very well, I worked hard to get the Honor Roll, if not High Honor Roll every quarter, I participated in ministry with my family and school, and I had fit myself into a group of good wholesome kids. My parents had nothing to worry about.
All this time I had grown cold. Since then, God has really changed my heart and I've bound myself to Him, but the 4 years of inconsistency left its marks. In the four years of high-school at ECA and North Side, I had met so many volunteer teams, made so many friends, gone so many places, learned so many names that they all blurred together after awhile. You can only have so many deep, intentional, and lasting friendships. I found that I would politely meet these people, enjoy the time I had with them, and then just move on with life, without thinking twice. Whenever it was time to say goodbye, I gave them a hug and sent them on their way-- I had said too many goodbyes for them to really affect me anymore. I had learned to befriend people and detach as easily as if I had never met them. There were too many people for me to truly care about them all.
When I started realizing that I had become so cold, I called for a change of heart. I wanted to really care, be intentional, and one day miss these people I was meeting. And I did, and I do. But I don't cry. I know I am able to now be open with people and build friendships, but unless I can see them sticking around for a long time, I can detach just as easily. I do think I've matured, but I'm realistic. I love people, but I can't wear myself thin trying to build friendships with them all. I know my limits, and I know that life happens and if the odds are against the friendship, if it isn't very developed, I won't be very intentional. Keeping great friendships over distances is hard, but worth it. Building great friendships over distances is almost impossible.
Back to goodbyes. Many of the goodbyes I say so often seem devastating to some people, but to me, they have become common. I can't just break down every time I have to say a "hard" goodbye, or I will never cease to be emotionally exhausted. Not that these goodbye's aren't hard, but they've become a part of my life, so I get over it. Yes, that sucks, sometimes life sucks. But there is nothing on earth I can do about it but thank God for letting me have those people in my life, if even for a little while. Telling me "it shouldn't be like that, you shouldn't have to say so many goodbye's, I can't imagine how horrible that is" doesn't make things better. I really do just fine, these goodbyes don't tear me apart inside, I'm used to it. Saying those things doesn't change anything, so while I get over it and move on, you can too.
Right before leaving for Christmas break-- to go home to Colombia-- I heard a lot of "oh goodness, two whole months, I am going to miss you guys so much!!" And I told them all I would miss them too, but I can tell you I probably lied to most of those people. Two months, are you kidding me? I hadn't seen my parents or best friends in 5 months, I think you can survive 2 months without the 300 people you've recently added on facebook. I'm not sure I even feel bad for having no, if any sympathy for some of the other students who were getting choked up about not seeing each other for 2 months. Maybe this makes me selfish, maybe this makes me resentful, maybe I just have a long list of crap to sort out and deal with.
I don't mean to sound like I don't care about my friends at Union, because I love them, but when I'll be pretty living with these people for a good 9 months of the year, and I'm only spending 3 weeks at home. I'm not really focused on missing them. When I was in Colombia for 3 weeks, I didn't have time to miss anyone back in the States. If I told you I missed you, then that probably means there was a moment or two when you came to mind, but for the most of you I did not spend my time thinking about you and what you were doing, sorry to say.
I didn't feel sorry because I knew that 3 weeks later I would be saying goodbye to my parents and some of best friends for a year. Yes, 12 months. I had to really hold my tongue finals week, but I am not today. I know its not their fault for having been fortunate enough to be close to family, but I wanted them to realize how amazingly blessed they are to GET to spend 2 months with their families, see them on Thanksgiving and Fall break. Yes, I have family in Tennessee, and others who are as close as family, but they are not my parents. They are not the dad that teared up at every graduation event or the mom that poured into my life while cooking me curry. Those three weeks I spent at home went by too quickly and the night before leaving I laid in my bed and cried. I cried because I realized that I would leave, after only 3 weeks, and not come back for a year. I realized that a lot can happen in a year. People can get sick, people can be in danger, crap happens. Don't mean to scare you all away, but because my family lives in Colombia, there is always that constant fear in me that something will happen. Its generally a safe place, but come one, we're talking about Colombia- civil war, rebel armies, and drug country.
I cried because I knew that for the next year I would have to deal with not having my family there. I wouldn't be able to just go home for the weekend to get that time with them; I would have to hope that they happened to be sitting at the computer signed onto Skype. When I process things, I do so verbally. If I trust you, you being very few people, and you're close enough, I will talk your ear off for hours in a conversation with myself as I process stuff and solve things and you won't even have to say a word. When I deal with things, I do it alone. This is why most of the times that I've cried, I'm alone in my room. Yes, this is quite pathetic, but I'm one of those people who puts up a strong front to keep from being vulnerable around others. When I deal with things, there's no processing, just thinking in circles with some "this sucks" thrown in there. On the few, and very few, occasions that I have dealt with something in front of/with someone, I break down, or I shut down and get cold. Well I realized that this whole not seeing my parents for a year is something I'm going to be dealing with often. I know I can't deal with it on my own for the next year, and so I'm telling you this. God has been there every time I break down, He has comforted me, He does so now, but He doesn't like it when His kids hurt alone. And so I write. I'm going to be dealing with this, as I am now, and probably be doing so on a few other occasions throughout the year. Just writing about dealing with it brings me to tears, because writing the words about my parents makes me miss them that much more which reminds me that I won't be seeing them for a long while. Its a vicious cycle. I've decided that I will not try to cover up my pain here like I will to your faces, and I will be honest and vulnerable and broken. Its going to be a messy ride, hope you don't get too disgusted by the wreck that is my life.
The Head and the Heart got it spot on in "Rivers and Roads"
A year from now we'll all be gone
All our friends will move away
And they're goin' to better places
But our friends will be gone away
Nothin' is as it has been
And I miss your face like hell
And I guess it's just as well
But I miss your face like hell
Been talkin' 'bout the way things change
And my family lives in a different state
If you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate
So if you don't know what to make of this
Then we will not relate
Rivers and roads
Rivers and roads
Rivers till I reach you
Monday, January 16, 2012
Setting yourself up
We all claim something. We claim to be certain people. We claim to live certain lifestyles. We claim to have certain faith. With whatever philosophy we claim, whether personal or general, religious or noble, come expectations. When we say something, those around us are waiting for us to live up to it. We're setting ourselves up for observation. We've set up this image for others to have of us, and you better be picture perfect. They are watching to see whether the way you roll the dice lines up with the way you've written the rules. Lets call these rules "standards." We've given people a set of standards to expect us to live by. When our actions line up with our words, our "philosophies," they grant us credibility and we can go on living that way, hopefully holding ourselves to the same standards. When we fall short, its noticeable and embarrassing, another incentive to keep it up, to keep the crayons inside the lines.
But we have a little problem. Some of us are claiming something that just doesn't line up. We write rules to games we say we play, but in fact, we're not playing them at all. And the lines on the picture are blurred. We claim the same name but change the picture, our standards are broken, but by this point, whose following them anymore, right? What about those who are actually living according to those standards, that image of what they claim? They're left to try to explain why we, who claim the very same, aren't actually playing by the rules we say we hold to. They're left to deal with other people's questions and doubts. These other people doubt the credibility of our words because we've messed it up--we've led them to believe so much worse about our name, because we don't live up to what we claim. To clean this up we need up for the rest of them, there are two options: 1. take ourselves seriously and live up to our words or 2. stop saying things we aren't even trying to achieve. Those who are actually playing by their own rules will be much better off when the rest of us stop acting like we're doing the same and start taking the whole thing seriously and hold ourselves to the same standards we set out at the beginning of this whole shindig.
Now for a little of what I call Sierra's corner of useless words.
You say your home is where mine lies and you wish to set sail along my side. You step in the boat, take up your oar and find your place. We face a sea of difficulty, so let us row strong. We set out, on our way home, to the farther coast. Before we lose sight of the port behind we come to trouble. Our crew is strong, but trouble stronger. "Ahead!" we shout, "Lose not sight of Him!" We row strong, we row north, we strain. I look behind to see you, not rowing north, not rowing ahead. Did you not say your home was the same as mine, on the farther coast where He awaits? Why then, do you not row with us? Do you not wish to go home?
But we have a little problem. Some of us are claiming something that just doesn't line up. We write rules to games we say we play, but in fact, we're not playing them at all. And the lines on the picture are blurred. We claim the same name but change the picture, our standards are broken, but by this point, whose following them anymore, right? What about those who are actually living according to those standards, that image of what they claim? They're left to try to explain why we, who claim the very same, aren't actually playing by the rules we say we hold to. They're left to deal with other people's questions and doubts. These other people doubt the credibility of our words because we've messed it up--we've led them to believe so much worse about our name, because we don't live up to what we claim. To clean this up we need up for the rest of them, there are two options: 1. take ourselves seriously and live up to our words or 2. stop saying things we aren't even trying to achieve. Those who are actually playing by their own rules will be much better off when the rest of us stop acting like we're doing the same and start taking the whole thing seriously and hold ourselves to the same standards we set out at the beginning of this whole shindig.
Now for a little of what I call Sierra's corner of useless words.
You say your home is where mine lies and you wish to set sail along my side. You step in the boat, take up your oar and find your place. We face a sea of difficulty, so let us row strong. We set out, on our way home, to the farther coast. Before we lose sight of the port behind we come to trouble. Our crew is strong, but trouble stronger. "Ahead!" we shout, "Lose not sight of Him!" We row strong, we row north, we strain. I look behind to see you, not rowing north, not rowing ahead. Did you not say your home was the same as mine, on the farther coast where He awaits? Why then, do you not row with us? Do you not wish to go home?
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