Our trip. First post. First disaster.

We have had so many adventures that I haven't been able to post yet, due to monetary struggles and a failing battery. However, Bethany and I are here in Granada at a little pub with free wifi. It's wonderful. 

The first thing went wrong. We just got an email from Kara, our other traveling partner, who was supposed to meet up with us in Granada. We both had phones and computers to contact one another when she arrived here to figure out where to meet one another. Bad situation though. Kara got into Barcelona last night and spent the night at the bus stop. Early in the morning she had her phone, camera, ipod, and laptop stolen from here. We received a frantic email, I don't know how she was able to do that. But she is getting here via bus at 7:45 this evening. We are supposed to meet her at the bus stop at that time. However, it will be late and we don't have a way to contact her. The bus stop is approximately 5km from where we are right now. We don't want her hitching her alone. So, we are walking 5km to the bus stop and hitching with her to the city center where we may or may not have a place to stay. Our friend is not picking up the phone and our computer is about to die. 

Last night, Bethany and I met a guy from Berlin named Jergo and we spent a few hours talking with him. He could speak English. We ended up staying at his flat about 100m away from the pub we are currently stationed. It was a cold night without blankets and sleeping bags. (We dropped our sleeping bags off in Manchester for Ryanair weight purposes-it was a good decision, we promise.) 

Tonight, we hope we can get a hold of Fernando. Or someone. We hope if not him, then we can find another couch surfer that would be willing to house us for the next few days before we meet our friend from L'abri, Sarah, in Malaga. 

I'm concerned for the first time this whole trip. Everything has gone so well. Hitching has been perfect. Couch surfers have been wonderful. Exploration galore. Limited finances. Careless wandering. Perfect.

We hope we can find Kara tonight. A young non-Spanish speaking American girl traveling alone. Es mal. 

pandora's box

the ills, the tills, the sadness, the sick. 

hopeless driven by hope. 

penance after overt penance. mistaken for the genuine. await, now young tension dealer. patience young tiller, but fight. 

greeks the jewish precursor. or greek the embodiment of the directive? the director silenced. knowing the misleading; misunderstanding, we approach the impossible. a tension inescapable. t'what echoes the reality, or t'what reality echoes the beheld?

and beheld, i can not behold. 

but extend from an extension of ambiguous confusion. and confusion i can not disguise without pretense; hesitance to relay that which can not be simplified, but to the stupefied. or so i say? and what i say? what? t'what? t'where? to do. i can not do. because the capitalistic method with which i act remains a counteract culturally, relatively. and relative i can not formulate. at odds. 

and director, i ask:

?

and director you exclaim:    .

winning a battle, losing a war

ii

winning a battle, losing the war. losing the war. losing the war. 

nauseous without description. hopeful without realization. 

Even though I'll never need her, 

even though she's only giving me pain, 

I'll be on my knees to feed her, 

spend a day to make her smile again 

Even though I'll never need her, 

even though she's only giving me pain 

As the world is soft around her, 

leaving me with nothing to disdain. 

Even though I'm not her minder, 

even though she doesn't want me around, 

I am on my feet to find her, 

to make sure that she is safe and sound. 

Even though I'm not her minder, 

even though she doesn't want me around, 

I am on my feet to find her, 

to make sure that she is safe from harm. 

The sun sets on the war, the day breaks and everything is new...

finite.

laziness breeds apathy. apathy gives way to renouncement. 

seeking breathes confusion. confusion gives way to renouncement. 

choice seems choice less. 

left corner creepo.

Marriage

Ode to the thoughts of a young and seemingly naive trespasser...

redemption. "His love", hope, etc. 

I listen to friends. I attend shows. I share in conversation, and always falter back to a perspective, or to a tension of belief. Belief is the catalyst for action. Lately, of nay I say to action. 

If you do not believe in immortality, more I say, in the absolute redemptive and spiritual fulfillment that occurs after this life-this present life, these present circumstances have limitations in actions and thoughts. If you do not care to give rise or to challenge pain by our belittled understanding of hope-a simple, common, redundant vernacular-then choosing to follow the teachings of Christ and of what is understood (although not without interpretation)-this life will falter, will fail to be rewarding. Complaints of God's silence will ring ever more powerfully because we are waiting for some kind of spiritual fulfillment, full excitement, complete satisfaction, on earth. If you do not believe in an eternity, or, choose another word that can more powerfully surrender tot he acclaim of redemption, then you will forever be praying to a cloud, of non-existence, of silence. You will forever be struggling with a life of oppression, repression. Because this life that Christ offers, or demands, exudes waiting-patience. It is, if  under a limited perspective, oppressing. 

To follow, to parallel Him seems to defy that which is common to man, the natural desires of both body and mind. Although sounding arrogant-what I mean to say is that, in terms of something as simply complex as sexuality, following what God says seems oppressing-causing man to repress certain desires, or to not act fully upon. (One question I ask. According to Christians, what or how does one live as a fully holy, but sexual being, obedient to Him?) 

The Christian life, if you don't trust fully in an engaging, spiritually fulfilling, and loving God, is simply talking to a cloud, following the next ant to the sanded hill, on a diet of celery sticks and pickles. If eternity is not our waiting and hope not our present occupation, then obedience in this life is formidably exhausting and preludes a repentance of doctrine. 

Question. And what is obedience? What is obedience in America, a land of freedom and apathy? But the double check, triple check to a fervent desire to know and trust and live in this beautiful life only offered through Him. How confused with behaviorism. Redemption sold on morality, spirituality excluded. 

He, and I say He not without fear of epistemology, has given an inescapable force, at least to my present knowledge, that two powers are at work. I can say good and evil-but in a culture of emergence and of epistemological lighthouses that will not persuade the Socratic, yet still Euclidean, mind. Perhaps justice and injustice? (Numbers of this day hate right versus wrong-but I feel no need to simply accommodate the reader's socialized attitude of temperance in relation with justice.) All to say, I see in my life two forces at work, two desires--and it is an exhausting tension. Can be or has been. 

Last night I realized that there are two things I questions. Two ideas I can not sufficiently marry. There are two things I question primarily, but I will counter or confuse with questions of seemingly philosophical thought. Eh, not always, but at times. 

They are as simple and as seemingly ignorant as these: Is God good, or is He psychologically, manipulatively egocentric, which in my arrogant mind is evil? And, if He is good, does He really, could He really, how do I know He really loves me? 

Trust that an academia stemmed from protestant thought has shed wisdom on the belief and saving hope, they call it, of the cross. But, at times, that mammal-like, evolutionary cling has lead me to a fear of manipulation. 

If God is good, and if I believe He really loves me-(meaning what?)-then I can follow Him in times that seem oppressing, silent, or manipulative. Because the only thing at stake then is either my arrogance or my ignorance. If He is not good and if He does not love, then this present life will be one of either cultural accommodation or pragmatic, Christian-legislative, oppression, devoid of spirituality.  

From these two beliefs stem an array of questions, thoughts, valleys, struggles. I would say that my struggle is the latter of these questions--it is one of value to an infinite creator. If I understand the process of salvation correctly-then I am not now questioning a need for a Savior-if, again, I am following the process of Christian salvation. 

Due to past wickedness and present struggle, the seemingly manipulative need for a Savior is not dimmed by a pompous power in an ability to follow correctly. The need, "my need", is rampant. (Which is precisely why it seems manipulative). 

However, aside from my wondering if, because of my "sin" He could really love and forgive and justify me, I am asking on a completely rational basis...(as if anything can be completely rational.) 

I am not simply "over that" but am, rather, excluding it momentarily. Not excluding. Eh, All to say, I love, if what the Bible says is true, that He came for the scum. I am,  not due to neglect or passivity or negative esteem, that scum. I am that scum--in it's greatest capacity. (Not a matter of feigned humility either).

The question is not one of need. Tis rather, one of simple misunderstanding. Does the God, creator of the cosmos, across generations, royal over time--does that God truly and belovedly love me? (I've read the christianism ish you'll throw at me).

But does He really? Does He really care about me? Insignificant me? Dying me? Passing me?

(and it is my hope that this is not some simple flip flop of arrogance running in parallel, only with a facade of humility). 

But it almost seems silly and contradictory that the God of the Universe loves someone as temporary as me. That means, if I believe what God and the Bible profess--that He is not only bringing glory to Himself through creation(at times at the expense of earthly joys in my life and the lives of others), but while, He is simultaneously loving and caring and pouring His sweetest sacrifice (which is such a bizarre concept present day) out for me. If He loves me and is bringing glory to Himself--it leaves me in a frustrating mystery of absolute awe and confusion at the dual risk and dual choice-while, of course, that alludes to my limited cognition. 

I can hardly combine power and glory with that of something as simple as carpenter, Jewish love. It seems in limbo. A striking contradiction. To say that all this is for "his glory," and to throw out terms of his endearment towards man, seem in complete and utter contradiction when examining the temporary and dying world. These two beliefs are in limbo, seemingly. 

Yet, I falter it as madness or as truth. 

And if truth, I believe it as the maddest and wildest story ever written. And if truth, I believe it as the only one. 

---now you'll ask about islam, hindu, buddhist beliefs. etc. 

Every great math problem seems an addition to a simple prerequisite. Which, I must understand a matter in simplest terms before building a procession of claims-otherwise my claims are ignorant, and hypocritical. (While a bit of ignorance is fundamental to belief in the faith of Jesus). Some call that the beauty of faith. I call it an abuse of loving God with all your heart, soul, and mind. It is loving God, at times, absent of the mind. Ah, but erase this end, as it is justification for my epistemological simplicity, and a passive aggression towards an apathetic generation of church-goers and quota fulfilling "Christians." 

Oh, marriage. 

a grouped maybe

Maybe what I am hoping for doesn't exist. I ask that question- what do I hope for? Maybe, by chance, I'm hoping for the wrong things. Maybe what I'm waiting for is misunderstood. Maybe my waiting is all ready acquainted with what is actual. I'm waiting for some kind of earthly restoration, for some kind of strengthening period. Maybe that's not what redemption, really, is about. Maybe my life and the lives of others having powerfully good outcomes is not, really, why I am here. I'm coming more and more to believe that this life, or that my "obedience" is not about me. (Its tough to explain fully without relaying the thoughts preluding this). I don't know if goodness from God is going to mean having a family restored on earth. I don't know if His goodness can be categorized by removing painfully abusive experiences. I don't know if I believe that restoration means having a life pieced together on the terms that I perceive as just or unjust, right or wrong. I think my ideas of what I need or what I think would move towards restoration are wrong. I guess I am coming more and more to believe that "restoration" or "redemption" applies solely to the tension that existed between me and Him, us and Him. Our lives having redeeming qualities are simply, I think I believe, a by product of the redemption that occurs in the vertical relationship first. I don't know if I believe that my life having some kind of trivial good is all that necessary. At least for now. The only redemption that is truly necessary is the reconciliation of my relationship to Him-in a way that fights for the renewal of the inner self....being a transformation of my previous condition as wicked. (Wicked and previous don't seem to be mutually exclusive though, not fully). But I guess that that's the only reconciliation that matters, which is not to discredit or devalue earthly and human reconciliation on terms of purposeless.  Of course from this vertical, true and real and authentic renewal of self to Him will, usually, pour a life that has redeeming, tangible, and outwardly visible qualities--as the inner renewal creates an outpour, flooding to the furthest extremities of a persons visible life. That would be called perfection--but the purpose of my life is a disease like spread of holiness, that must begin from within. It's almost like a righteous cancer, in the mentality that from the inside this disease begins and spreads and spreads, and then, when without treatments, causes a full surrender, some may call decay, with time. Interesting to think of holiness like a twisted from of righteous cancer. (The idea of treatment is unnecessary to my image) But, like cancer, it, being holiness or Christ-likeness, begins with a small region of the human self, from the central function, and then spreads and grows into all functions of the body. Like a bloodstream of righteousness. Once the righteous cancer pours itself into every vein, artery, muscle, bone, and marrow, the man then fully dies to self, his old life then, fully, broken and deteriorating away. 

This makes some kind of backward sense to me. So, what I am waiting for is not solely or expectantly, that my life will exhibit some kind of familial, relational, or external good occuring in those around me. That's not what I ache for. because those things are not promised. at least not in this life. I do not believe in an obedience of legalism, thinking that if I obey and follow Him, that my life will be full of blessing--this life on earth. I don't think obedience is about that. I think, more and more, that this life is less about me. I don't just "obey" to receive. I don't even know what obedience would necessarily be. If perfectly, it would be an outpour of gratitude. It's not about me having a good family, or one that's put together. It's not about that. It's not about me never experiencing abuse or pain. It's not about that either. Life is solely, the life of someone wanting to follow God, about the continual reconciling of self to Him; his righteous, holy cancer spreading to every bone, blood, and muscle of my body. 

I think, and I don't know why fully, that humans have value to God. In midst of circumstance, of looking at the world, I can't get past the abuse, the poverty, the death, the depression, the addiction, and the pain. Those are what most would call either injustice or brokenness or torture or suffering. These things, I can't escape it. They happen. "So you have to choose. You have one of two options. Either the tortures are unnecessary and there is no God, or a bad one. Or, the tortures are necessary, and there is a good God. You have to choose." I am coming to believe that there is a good God, and that, for the most part, these tortures are necessary. 

(I'm still struggling with these options). I don't know why. I don't think it's just to strengthen us or for some kind of trivial good. I don't believe that that is His only purpose of allowing evil. I too, don't think evil is always necessary---there are sometimes other options from which man can choose. But the choice doesn't negate a good God, or an absent one. 

I have called Christianity a psychological manipulation. But that still seems limited. And maybe wrong. 

I don't know why there is such evil and such heart shattering pain. And I don't know why some experience pain in severe circumstance and some in stubbed toes. I can't answer that. I know I can work towards alleviating certain social injustices and towards righting certain wrongs. But in that I know I am also limited. At some point I reach the conclusion that I have value, but my ability to change or to make change is still limited. If we "fix" one evil, another always form. that used to be defeating, and can at times still be. But the fact that evil continues to exist doesn't mean that the follower of God gives up, retires, in seeking to make justice. Just now though, there is understanding that my actions have a limitation. Which can be both comforting and an allotment to trust. 

I can't get past a God who is there. And I can't escape who I was or where I've been. I can only draw one conclusion. That I don't have any other options except redemption. It's what my heart aches for, waiting for Him to intervene exhaustively in every facet and extremity of my life. The aching now is for the reconciliation, in full, of myself to Him. The desire to improve the conditions of man is out of some form of gratitude and trust in what his righteous cancer is doing within, and powerfully so. The fear, well... that I would forget, and keep trusting myself. 

My friend Chase.

I am going to see Chase tomorrow. Update. He got into a car accident about three weeks ago. He's been in a coma and progressing slowly. He's starting to wake up. I get to see him tomorrow for the first time. 

I can't tell if it's fear or peace; if it's lack of struggle or God-given resolve. I wasn't terrified and I wasn't numb. I was pained but resting in a lack of control, which is an odd place to doze. I'm still trying to discover if distraction can be good. Until late, it's been my resilient response. I have to fight to not fall into incessant distraction; it doesn't help being easily bored and easily excited. 

But then, when the crowd dissipates and I find myself in a world of solidarity, of which I am capable of retreat even while surrounded, a whole realm of thought attacks the unconscious of experience.

 

But what I am finding seems surprising, specifically in this situation. I am finding that I'm not angry, but curious. I'm not exhausted or nervous. I'm not scared and I'm not negligent. 

Part of me wonders what will be best, but my wonder isn't nullified by the term: fear. It's not fear. 

I feel disconnected.

But not absent.

 

He's starting to wake up.

I wonder if he'll want to wake up. 

Is it selfish to pray that he does? 

Is it morbid to hope he doesn't?

There's this tension of believing and trusting the potential best and of desiring the rekindling of a friendship. 

But of what use are guesses or thoughts? The only thing that can heal right now is him. Everyone else seems left in an array of clouded thought, patience. 

Part of me is scared to see him.

There were times before that I saw his life passing...when my brother and him were dared, by myself, to jump off the bridge right before Branson. I should have known before the words were released that, of course, they would jump. And they did. It was then, when their foot left the balcony of the lake that I forsook my own Huckleberry Finn creation. 

But not now. Not now. There were moments before that I saw his life passing, but not now. And there are these saline drops of emotional perspiration because now is a question mark...spelled with uncertainty...but I think he's improving...

I keep seeing these images of him. In random places. I keep remembering these conversations and consolations. Simple memories. These little encounters that led to this dear friendship. I remember the runs. The twenty four hours at Starbucks. The painful exams and soda challenge. I remember the conversation of earned trust. You tube videos. Duct taped doors and his dirty room. Cardinals games and winded drives to Katy's. Road trips to Kamp. Bridge jumps. I keep remembering Kirkwood Farmer's Market and spilled drinks in the car. The concert. The dancing. The basketball game. The K-life skit. Cookie dough runs. Movies. My cowlick cream. I remember the conversation on the porch at Rollins, and the talk after the walk to next door. The conversations. The calls. Honesty. Integrity. Loyalty. Forgiveness. And some more forgiveness. 

I remember the other stuff too. It wasn't always pretty. But it was always honest. He's so honest. 

I hope these past terms of language will become present terms of reality. 

I hope it's not now. 

You were deceived.

Ok. So. I went to this soccer game over the fourth of July. Blah, blah, blah. It was great. Kansas City and Dallas tied. Dallas was the better team and Kansas City soccer players are a bunch of woosies. It was fun. Blah. 

But here's the real kicker. I had this bizarre craving for the wonderful little temperatureless balls of summer---Dippin' Dots. So, what do I do? I wander around Dr. Pepper Stadium alone to find this hopeful mini refreshment. 

I remember being this little kid, seeing these creations of enjoyment for the first time and thinking...

"Oh my goodness golly gee (Yes, I said it just like that) is ALL of our ice cream going to look like this in a couple of years?!?!"

It was along the same lines as the question I used to ask about whether or not we would have flying cars by the time I turned twenty and remote control children. All in the same. 

And truly, I feel deceived. I mean here's the thing. This random guy named Curtis Jones stumbles across this incredible idea to provide animal feed in the form of little frozen yogurt balls. This new innovative scheme goes mainstream, catches on, and now we have the promising little animal appetizers at every Cardinals game and Six Flags attendance. It's beautiful really...and interesting to see what a love for microbiology can lead to. 

I mean, don't get me wrong. I looooove dippin dots. But, I feel like it's false advertisement in the way that it appears misleading. Is this really the ice cream of our future? I haven't seen anything else like it...which, in a sense, is great. I mean, he did something truly unique...and for that he should receive some kind of nobel ice cream prize or whatever. 

I mean, I'm sure they patented it or something. But really.

I called my friend Samantha in such distraught, because, genuinely, I felt mislead as a child...and it wasn't until now that I realized I was mislead. Which was, in part, kind of painful. You and I were lied to. The children of this generation are being deceived. Dippin' dots has NOT become the ice cream of our future. Not yet at least. And maybe it's just because I am impatient. 

Well, the good of my character flaw is this...actually the good natured soul of my friend Samantha shared in entrepreneurial creativity...anyways---we thought of making our own invention. I told her that I think we should make our own kind of ice cream...she said miniature square shapes. I said it was beautiful. She agreed. 

But our marketing tactics are different than Sir Jones. We would start our business selling to third world countries, or creating some kind of market economy over there...in all of them...and in that way, we could benefit the world and serve as an aid to obesity in other countries. We even thought to get Bono to eat the ice cream or something...a real kicker. 

So, if it's cubed, you say, "what would you call it?"

Well, we are still working on this. It's "ice cubed" for now. And, I mean, there are still a lot of momentary flaws in our thinking of how this business would function. But, we are working through those....with my Creative Sciences degree and her...well, her other degree. 

Goo. 

Food for thought...hahaha!

i can't believe i'm sharing this...

Ok. It's time for confessions. 

Big confessions.

Part of me hesitates sharing this...at all...because it is so wretched and hilariously disgusting. I feel like my blogs would be difficult to read. Maybe I should make two separate ones. One with a pen name and just write out embarrassing moments. Then the other one can be my more serious and thoughtful collection. I just feel like I am confusing people. Oh well, I guess this isn't for anyone in particular...so here goes....

Like this is ridiculous and anyone, if anyone, who reads this might be so bothered that they stop. And that's ok.

So here's the deal. We're in Jamaica right? It's our last day right? 

Let me just preface this by saying that I am pretty consistent in my bodily flow, meaning I average about 5 stool passes per day. That's an average. (I know. We thought it was a problem. But the doctor said it was ok.) So, knowing that I tend towards that kind of high number, any number less than that, is, well, kind of painful. 

I get to Jamaica. The first day my average is pretty low. That's ok. All is well. At least I'm doing it. Well, two days pass...and no flushing for me...To say the least it was quite painful and I will never take a laxative ever again. I hate them. But I mean, understanding that I was rather "backed up" before, any opportunity I received to process human waste, I took in strides of glory with shouts of mass exodus. (Matt Dingler may or may not have prayed over me.)

So. When I had to go. I would go. There was no holding back. Preface concluded.

It's the last day. We get to Ocho Rios. I'm pumped to snorkel. I'm actually an incredible snorkeler. I wish there was a snorkel sport. Baseball is America's past time. Snorkeling is Emily's past time. 

Here's the deal though. To really see anything of real use, you usually pay an extra 5 flat to get this humdigy boat to take you out about 1/4 to 1/2 miles off the beach. I thought to just swim out there. And to stay out there for 3.5 hours. 

I'm floating out in the water. I took/tour guided this high school-soon-to-be-couple out to where the real coral was at. I took full ownership of this truly authoritative snorkel leadership, swimming ahead to make sure that they would be safe. So, I'm sitting there just acting like I'm not watching or whatever, treading water and such...and this revolving washer like pain swirled in my stomach. 

It was coming. I had to go. And bad. Real bad. 

There was no way I could get back. I mean that was like a .5 mile swim, and it may have been worse to leak. THERE WAS NO OTHER OPTION! So, I made the necessary adjustments and let loose the human canon.  

Well, as we know from physics, salt water causes a floatation effect. I mean this human waste was rather hefty in size and firm in character and it plopped up right behind me. Right behind me! 

So, I swam away from it...a little to the left. I look up to see the two students swimming underwater toward me. Kelsey was coming to my left....and "nameless" was coming to my right...to my far right...getting rather closer, and closer, and closer, and closer to the....."oh my gosh, did he just swim into my....oh my gosh...no. no no."

I went into a frantic as I saw this high school students head literally knock my waste, propel my waste forward...it was awful. 

And worse. Right after he hit it, he popped his head out of the water. 

I'm thinking of all these lies...all these things I can say...I was going to LIE to this student's face, to his stained forehead. 

"Oh, whoa, that's an odd looking string....uh chunk...of seaweed."

"Oo buddy, I think you hit some of the coral up...Yeah that is an odd looking piece of coral..."

I mean, I am running through every creative thought and they all seem negligent. I mean, I can't lie to this student! That's like a triple sin. First, I stained the ocean. Then, I allow this student to swim into it. Third, I LIE and tell him it's just a J-shaped coral! 

Wrong. Everything just seemed wrong. 

But he popped his head out of water and looked at me, while this piece of...well...waste...is bobbing right below his peripheral vision. It's just bobbing there! 

"So, uh Emily, where should we go next?"

HE DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE!!! 

I mean there it was, sitting, bobbing, floating in the waves right below his chin...and he had NO CLUE what he hit...

I was shutter shocked. How did he miss it? But ok...."Uh, yeah, right this way....follow me..."

Oh my gosh. I am the worst of the worst. I am so low on self esteem because I, literally, stunk as a snorkel tour guide. The only thing I guided him into was human Jamaican turd. 

It hit him in the head! And he has NO idea! 

That is so horrible. I should be banned. I feel like I should apologize...but what would I say..."uh hey man, remember the other day that I led you into fields of beautiful coral and tropical fish....well, uh....I may have led you into a little more than that....uh...."

Can I ever be forgiven for such a heinous sin?!

No Words Necessary

I'm learning to speak less and less. It's been a progression of sorts. There used to be this need I had to fill every silence with "love" or "ministry" or "story" or some kind of probing noise. I'm learning, slowly, to find love and some kind of brilliant hope in speechless moments---where tongue loses it's ability. 

I just got back from Jamaica. I want to say  that somehow this trip "completely changed my life." But it didn't. Because of a variety of circumstances, I have had the opportunity to serve and experience similar things like Jamaica before. Apart from any kind of trip, my life has been a rough progression in growth. This trip has deeply aided in that journey...but it did not, in any way, ignite a journey or "re-stimulate" it. 

We went to the infirmary when I was in Jamaica.I didn't quite know what it was or what the infirmary meant. All I was told was that it would require a 45 minute bus ride home in silence. We arrived though--and I was waiting to be shocked. And I was. I was shocked at the deprivation, at the disconfiguration, and the mild care for the elderly escalation. It was tear striking, if that's the word that fits. (Language, my language, has some kind of limitation that falters in accurate conveyance.) 

I wandered at first, until I found an awkward place that seemed fitting, sitting on the ground--the red concrete and hard earth...next to her. Legs crossed, her bones had adjusted, or broken, to the criss cross position on the ground. Toes overgrown, mangled. Eyes lazy and fallen. Dress open and her chest falling through the thinly simple material. Her body had the misfed representation of a small 12 year old, and the toddler coincided when I noticed the large yellow diaper, suited for her adult use. No teeth, but this one that loosened itself from any kind of gum gripping and just sat, dangling. 

She sat, and when I came down beside, she retreated in a number of concentric circles---which seemed to translate--"go away." So I stayed. I felt like I was at a museum exhibit, or worse, at a corrupt zoo, watching this frightened animal turn towards a comforting block wall, afraid, seemingly, of the person. It was the most painful feeling.

I didn't know what it was that drew me to stay, but something ached every time I thought to go. We both sat there, her refusing to take notice of my eyes, but rather shook and grunted in some kind of misunderstood pain. 

I reached out to stroke her boned leg. She swatted me away. I tried again. She turned to the wall. I kept trying. And trying. And she let me, and then timidly lifted her head towards me to catch one of my eyes. 

This kept happening. 

She would draw back in circles to hug the wall. I would touch her leg. And she would wait, almost fearfully, to make an association with my eyes. 

We were supposed to bring our Bibles. I guess to read to them. But she was mute...and from what the nurse said, could hardly understand words. 

She started moving closer to me. She saw my Bible and she picked it up, upside down. She opened it and began grabbing at the pages. I suppose she found Psalm 119 entirely unnecessary.

The page fell to the dirty floor, but her anxious hands grabbed for more. Next was my journal. She picked up the pages of a month of empty writing and held them at an unreadable slant. She then tore at the bindings, and I thanked God that my words could be few. 

Another lady living in the infirmary walked up. An elderly woman, with communicative and demonstrative abilities. She saw my nameless friend with my upside down Bible and holding my ink filled pen.  The lady spoke to me, or rather, rebuked me and my friend sitting on the ground. She told me that she should not be touching my Bible, the Holy Book. She said that she would ruin it and was going to destroy the Holy Book by ripping out the pages. This elderly woman seemed offended at the lack of regard for the Words of Scripture and continued by explaining to me that this woman was mute and that she couldn't understand me. The only thing I could say was that it was ok. She kept telling me that I should stop. But all I could say was, it's okay. Thank you ma'am, but it's okay. 

There was something painfully beautiful about this interaction. The elderly woman walked away and I was left with my friend on the floor. No talking. No words. No language. No stimulative thought. We sat in concentric turned explorative silence. 

I said one thing. It was the only thing that I could think to say. I was embarrassed that tears filled my eyes, but I looked at this woman and the only words that were misunderstood but poured were, "We are the same." It seemed to be the only thing slightly fitting. Both, we are broken and mangled and unresponsive(at times) and disabled and timid and fearful and in need.  Both. We are. At different levels and to uniquely separate degrees. 

My nameless friend and I sat in silence, with occasional simultaneous clapping when I would sing in this tuneless voice amazing grace. And she would smile. And that was it. But there was such a hopeful beauty in the more persistent absence of sound. Our interaction, thought some may call slight, lasted the entire duration of the groups' time at the infirmary. Maybe it wasn't worth it to some because she was just one of the many. But maybe the many wasn't as important as the one. And maybe, probably, tomorrow she'll forget. But the stillness of sound exceeded the ability of voice in volumes. At least for me.

"We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls. " Mother Theresa

"I hate goodbyes...just go..."

I keep getting this queasy feeling. 

Timing is everything I'm learning. There's a time to leave and a time to stay, a time to sit and a time to move. 

Timing (the knowledge of) is the antithesis of anxiety. I feel that...I feel anxious. 

Yesterday, I guess it was, they (Bethany and Becca) hitched with me down to the train station for my departure from Aigle, Switzerland. Goodbyes were savored by hope, or an understanding that location does not suffocate such complimentary relationships. 

I boarded the train, said goodbye, shortened by a moving door, and they started running as the train began it's departure. They ran the length of the train, full of absurdity and absolute silliness, sprinting alongside the departing vessel. I kept laughing, audibly, and then watched as they both screamed, silently, goodbye, just before the track ended. Sitting down, I pulled out their goofy postcards and the tears created a home in my eyes, watching the mountains of Aigle minimize with the distance. A moment such as this, one of serene sobriety, eradicated the previous joy I had experienced in solo travel. 

I sat in this wave of loneliness that seemed contradictory to my categorical excitement in such independence. I felt like my time of breaking renewal was shortened by the deadline of my departing flight. Some may ask if I will ever go back/return to L'abri. I guess my answer would be one of distant hope...combined with sadness in understanding that the dear people and growing community would be remarkably different, qualifying this experience as uniquely unrepeatable. I learned a lot, not simply through books or scriptural text. I learned a lot, and I presume, by the nature of what has been experienced, that the process will not cease. 

But, I was challenged by the rare combination of background experiences, hurdles of distrust trailed by intimately honest bonds, and the unknown masturbation of struggle met with lightened love. 

None can compare. The rarity could never waiver in light of a new experience. There was an inconceivable beauty in the model of these three weeks. Purely a mark of some kind of sovereignty. 

So, I feel this aching queasiness...as I wait on the drugged American flight to settle in Chicago. 

Timing is everything, and I wish I could retract. 

And Chicago is ugly. 

Americans just try to recreate the architecture of the place they denied in an effort to pursue freedom...Freedom  huh? 

Freedom to copy? 

Ugh. 

The Quality of My Faith?

Here's another thought or expression of thought that I haven't had the ability to post until now...This was about a week ago. 

Preface--I am studying Epistemology, How to Read the Bible for All It's Worth, the Canon of Scripture, and had just started on "A Grief Observed" less than a week ago. It was read in a day. 

I wandered off alone today, during my study time. I do this too few. I sat, or more literally fell onto this bench...and cried. I hesitate sharing because It was such an intimate moment with God that I don't want to molest it of it's value. 

I share though, because, mainly, its on my mind. 

It's hard or difficult to prelude this event without sharing my entire journal or recording every monologue I address to God. It was one of those times that my agitation against Him was able to be voiced, without fearing that I am "asking the wrong questions." 

I was really angry today, feebly wishing to compound the distance that I felt my anger was creating. 

How can I begin to explain without your presence in both my mind and body for the past two weeks? I've been studying, reading, listening, and writing. In fact, my entire journal is full and it's been a simple month...no more. There have been books read alongside my study including fiction of J.D. Salinger, Dave Eggers, Vonnegut, and more. I can't even begin to discourse on the different discussions that have occurred during formal lunches. A few dealt with include: "What is truth and how can we know? What is the role of the church and the Christian in response to social justices? What does it mean to enter into the sufferings of Jesus or to take up your cross? How is language limited in our understanding of God? What is the purpose of obedience?

Some of you may believe that these are simple questions, healed by a simple verse in Acts, Romans, or Ephesians. Discussion has become a vital part of my learning experience. 

Anyways, today with God-I realized that I "know" a lot more than I believe. What I actually believe about the character of God has been discouraging in responding with obedience. In fact, I would go so far as to say that, in some cases, I have become defiant. 

I think book study can really aid in "bible study." I used to hate that or say that, but now, I am coming to believe it. 

I started reading "A Grief Observed" by C.S. Lewis. It's almost as though you walk through the pain that C.S. Lewis dealt with, without offering room for rebuttal of emotion. He walks/writes through a period of "selfishness", anger, depression, bitterness, and onto an honest discovery of his faith--one, he says, not made of cards like his old cardhouse. I want to quote so many parts of it, but I would rather just recommend. 

"If these profound tortures of my life are indeed unnecessary,  then there is either no God-or just a bad one."

C.S. Lewis very literally writes out, sequentially, the lot of my own thoughts. So, when reading and then approaching some of his conclusions beyond the point I am currently at--I wept. He didn't give me the answer I could spout off right away. Instead, he walked through with me my angry thoughts, not neglecting to hear those in spite of "the truth," or the "quick fix." 

I've always hated abrupt answers to my questions. Some may call this pride, and it may very well be. But these writings of C.S. Lewis, in addressing the pain after losing his wife, don't negate my anger and doesn't formulate a response for me too quick. A forty-five year old man had some of the same struggles against God! It was NOT due to a misunderstanding of identity! It was due to utter and irrefutable pain. After recognizing and being honest with his "negative" thoughts--he is then quieted by, intermittently, the good God and not the "Cosmic Sadist." 

How refreshing! I am not alone! 

God revealed, I believe, something intimately powerful about His character through the blatant honesty of a distant writer. 

I cried. And I fell. I fell! My knees literally went weak because I was so overtaken. I wept, as the quantity of my anger crumbled in the hands of the quality of my faith. My anger subsided along with my tears as, for the first time, it clicked. C.S. Lewis said what I've heard before; but his honesty made TRUE his conclusion. 

So, I sat and planted my face on the bench because the tears couldn't stop. 

It's difficult to, at the loss of something, acknowledge that you have lost it. It is even more difficult to be ok with and content with what you are without. The sufferings, the pains, and the losses have a profound affect on the way that I function. It doesn't change the fact that I function, but just the way that I do it. 

C.S. Lewis gives an example of a man who has his leg amputated. It's still a wooden stump, but it's not his leg. 

Loss, any kind of loss, in my case a sense of innocence then compounded by years of secrets, will be grievous. And perhaps, should be grievous to a degree. I don't think it should be downplayed, but also should not be obsessed upon. I think the appropriate response is one of honesty, recognition of the difference in function, and a continuation of progressing forward. 

Just some thoughts. 

Thoughts and Studies.

Broken people create a perpetual community here, uniting in open heartache and disillusionment. I could not, but for a feeble attempt, try to recreate a similar ounce of brokenness that the people here exhibit. I do not presume, however, to believe that the intellectual questions are, alone, a facade to inner pain. However, from my experience, prolonged pain stimulates a questioner, and, plausibly, a thinker. It's a reasonable response to a severe reality. Without the pain or distinguishable sickness, there would be no need. It is no longer that need that I question. Rather, I devour the idea of a humanitarian God in light of these distinguishing realities. He came to heal in light of our disease or in spite of it? I'm learning that my intellect has formed as a rather memorable regurgitation of vocal or read knowledge. That intellect, however, has fallen prey here as I rediscover the actuality of what I believe. What I have come to know has remained hidden. It has been for, at times, the preservation of pride and respect that I have allowed my thoughts to fester behind some guise of wisdom. Now, I am finally able to, without fear of "discovery", address my "forbidden" questions, doubts, and thoughts. How relieving to not have to maintain some sort of feigned image! How real He has become! For that alone, there, I can muster up some sort of courage to praise Him. Thankfulness right now is a struggle that no person can sufficiently respond to. The aching that lay hidden does not need a medication or a response of man, but, rather, a directive guide. How does God act in this world? That is my question. (Trust me. I have been well schooled in an arrangement of thought and "scriptural truth." I don't want, and not for the sake of my pride, yet another unfounded, innate response. If for prides sake I would not ask and appear the fool. To a degree, and I question myself, I just want to know Him and learn to respond AUTHENTICALLY to Him.) I am, indeed aware of the well-received "biblical" run around answers. I do think that God is bigger than some verse out of context, and that is not to undermine the authority of the Bible(which is another, dog gon me, that I am struggling with). That may sound concerning to some, but my questions are my questions. I would rather be honest with the extent of them rather than to spout off the Westminster Confession of Faith, without having thought the implications of it. 

Here are just some simple thoughts I was dealing with in the beginning, and am still dealing with now.  

Innocence and Beauty of the Alps

I wrote this out a long time ago...but here are some L'abri thoughts and not just adventurous events...

The blueness of the sky had arranged the mountains ahead of me today. Yesterday, clouds literally smeared my vision, my sight. It's been a long time since the awe of a place has truly ignited some form of wetness from my eyes. They didn't release themselves, those pulses of emotion, but a picture of stillness paralyzed my position. I moved away from the crowd, to a quiet place, down to this scene where an old, wooden bench hides itself from the walker. I've never seen pure color juxtapose such jagged figures. The dissimilar concoction magnified a scene that could not be hidden in a Monet painting or blackened in beauty by Ansel Adams. Burning, my throat felt that pre tear ignition as my body lay the barometer of the shining sun. I can hardly stand the temptation of this scene; this day will not exist again. There may  be others---but I want this moment to continue, unadulterated by, perhaps, the transparent beauty of someplace else. So, I just sit and let my salivation meet quiet satisfaction. 

30 Hour Adventure part 2

There are no pictures for this section of the blog...but that is due to the wide variety of photos accessible on facebook...if mom or doug you are interested...just ask Jared or Josh to hop on theirs...what I did was incredible...but's lets begin with that Thursday morning....

So...we slept on a police rescue boat...in Lausanne. At about 5:50 am I was awoken by a gleaming sunlight and the sound of a noisy bay area...which seemed confusing at so early in the morning...I sat up a little bit to see that Bethany had moved and was sleeping...sitting...weird.

I stood up and yawned, looking out to the sea area...but heard several voices behind me....

I turned to see the awkward stares of native Lausannians passing by on their way to, perhaps, work...with a confused but polite little grin, I looked at them, hit Bethany from her snore, and grabbed my bag. We both meandered off the boat, throwing first our bags to the shore, followed by our bodies. Although they stared, we were too exhausted to pay much attention, and we nonchalantly began taking PHOTOS of our scene before heading up to the train station.

Long story short, it was quite a trip up and around this big 45 minute corner to a cute little local hot spot, breakfast food of course, my favorite. After eating, it was time to board the train...and the 45 minute corner became a running 15 minute corner as we rushed to our departing train...we made it....

Hopped on the train, first class style, to Bern where we would catch another train to Interlaken. Again, I won't say how this was a free excursion for us other than to say that 2 hours in a first class bathroom is much more comfortable. (Long story short). 

We get to Interlaken and begin wondering why EVERYTHING has worked out so well, and so freely. We easily find our canyoning reservation destination with a quick 10 minute walk. Canyoning works out PERFECTLY as we came just in time, 1 hour before, the next excursion would depart. Bizarre. It all sounded too good. We were expecting death. 

We meet a guy from Dubai and two friends from Texas who will be following us in this wild adventure. A quick 15 minute hike up the mountain resulted in a 2 hour repelling, jumping, and sliding down waterfalls. (For a better and more vivid picture of this ridiculousness, please see photos via facebook.) Our guides were Australian and beautiful. The people who came were daring and wonderful. The trip was beyond a doubt the most exciting experience of my life...incredible. Back to the town of Interlaken, we were greeted with free drinks and local advice on where to dine. 

Andrew and Stephen, our lovely American friends, joined us for an incredible dinner at this local hotspot, name forgotten, where we ate a Swiss favorite, Raclette. It was about time for us to leave...and time for the bad luck that Andrew and Stephen had faced on their trip to Interlaken to begin to effect our "free" adventure. They walked us to the train where we would depart for Bern, a long way home at about 8pm. 

We took the wrong train.

We went to this connecting town called Spiez that was a little out of the way...or a lot out of the way. From there, we then hopped on a train, about 45 minutes later, to what we hoped was Bern. French and German are hard to read and Spiez is a very small town where English is not as wide spread. 

A double decker pulled up---I won't go into detail other than to say that the ticket man saw that we were American from the time we boarded the train. What should have been a 10 dollar ticket cost about 30. We get to Bern. Some of my money is missing. We can't find our way around Bern. We start to get angry. We try to go home. From Bern is a train to Lausanne. Well, another double decker comes and we steer clear of the ticket men, and just decide to, oh you know, sit in FIRST CLASS!

No ticket guy came. Free trip. 

We got a little cocky. 

We get to Lausanne and are going to board our train at about 11:30 at night, one of the last trains to pass through until Aigle. So, we go up to this internet cafe...spend a little too much time on the internet via a ridiculously addictive social network...and realize we have 2 minutes to get to our next train....We run. 

We get up to the train as it is LITERALLY pulling away, right as the doors had just closed. 

I was not about to sleep on the lake again. Praise goodness that there was one more train leaving in an hour, at 12:30 heading to Aigle. Last train of the night. Long story short, we made it. That's all that's necessary. We were so tired that first class seating sounded like a good option again. Well, two dirty English speaking women sitting and occupying first class seating was rather obvious. We had to pay...again. We were so tired though...

We get to Aigle. It's about 1:30. There's no chance, not even a hair, of getting back to L'abri that evening. Bethany sees a van sitting alongside the road and says, "Let's just sleep in that..." I, going up to the door of the vehicle responded, "There's no way it's open....it's open..." The car was unlocked. But...(mom and dad), using our "better judgement" we waited, thumb up, by the road. A sweet old man pulled up in a van and asked if we needed a ride. He was a retired taxi cab driver. I think he felt bad for us, so he drove us all 30 minutes back to Huemoz, back to L'abri, and back home. We got in at about 2:30 am. To say the least, we had some friends a little nervous...and maybe rightfully so. 

I do just want to vouch for myself here though...Switzerland is VERY different than America. It's safe. It's kind to hitch hikers. And...I mean...we are ADULTS. Mom, I know you are reading this worried...Doug, you are probably shaking your head....and Josh is saying, "whatan idiot Em..." I just want to tell you...well...it was worth it dog gon it! I've never had a better 30 hours in my life. I won't take it back, and neither will she. 

In fact, tomorrow, we are headed to Milan, Italy....

30 hour adventure part 1.

There was one thing I was commanded to do when I came over to Switzerland...and that was canyoning...located in Interlaken....

The thing I didn't realize is that Interlaken is about 4 hours from  where I am staying in Huemoz and it costs about 110 swiss francs, including transportation via train, amounting to about 250 total per person. That's a lot of money....but I was willing to make sacrifices...

I didn't want to go alone, so I asked Bethany, my dear friend, to come with me. Since we get Thursdays off, we thought it perfect to leave on Wednesday night, stay the night in Lausanne, and then take the train the next morning to Interlaken...It was a great plan...but, of course, very few things went according to the "plan." Thus the adventure begins...

8:30 pm we pack up our things and head out saying our goodbyes, perhaps forever, to friends of L'abri. Canyoning is supposively rather dangerous as it requires jumping, sliding, and repelling down waterfalls...scary. I have a meager backpack and Bethany grabs this old mountain woman backpacking backpack, in which we put our meals for the entire next day.

We had two rules.

Rule 1.) NEVER, never can you ever turn around...until canyoning is complete.

Rule 2.) Spend as little money as possible...except for the fees of the actual "canyoning adventure."

So, we sit at this bus stop waiting for a hitch hike at about 8:45...no one comes for thirty minutes...we got kind of nervous...regardless, we finally get a hitch down to Aigle, where the train station is. While in Aigle, we decide to go and get internet at the Saxo bar, a good 1/4 mile away from the train station. That night we were going to stay with some friends in Lausanne that we had met at L'abri. I lost their telephone number and was thus banking on them receiving my email telling them we were still coming. We didn't have their address or any contact information before we got to Aigle. But remember, NEVER turn around. The short end of the story is that...well, they couldn't take us for the night anymore...we thought to ourselves...hmmm...well we are for sure not paying for a hostel...this should be interesting...we'll see what happens...

Our train was supposed to leave at 10:30. We left the Saxo bar at, oh, 10:26. We literally RAN to the train station, across the tracks, about 30 seconds before the train pulled up. It may have been a little dangerous, but we couldn't have missed the train because it was the last one of the evening that was headed to Lausanne. 

I won't go into detail about the course of events while on the train. But I will say that bathrooms are quite small and humid if you sit in them for the forty minute ride to Lausanne, while carrying two heavy backpacks. 

We get to Lausanne. It's about 11:30 and we are homeless. Completely homeless. We go to this Internet Cafe and start looking up couch surfers. These are people that give up their couches for free. The key is, you have to give up yours in return if ever there be a need. (Sorry Mom.) So there's this single man, Pascal Martin, who lives within the area. We call him three times...to no avail...

How did we get a phone you ask...well, Bethany asked the man who owned the cafe....which was quite funny...We used a french mans phone and could NOT figure out what words meant, like how to hang up the phone. Rule number 3 should be that Bethany and Emily are NEVER allowed to travel together...alone. 

It's breaching midnight and we are still homeless...hmm...We refused to pay for a hostel. So, we started walking, asking people along the way how far away Lake Geneva was from the train station. 

It was a 30 minute walk down. Far down. We had to stop along the way to eat some chocolate. 

Upon arrival at the lake, we realize that it's more of a boat harbor than a beach...so we keep walking around the small part of the lake that was accessible. There was this rock that jettied out from the path, and it looked rather comfortable....

Keep in mind: we have no sleeping bag, no tent, no blanket, no flashlight. We have nothing, but our backpacks and bodies. In our backpacks was simply bathing suits, food, and chocolate. We were trying to live simply, especially under the original notion that we had a place to stay in Lausanne.

So, we lay down on this rock. Well, at night, lakes get pretty cold. The only reason we chose the lake was because it seemed like the safest part of town. Hmm. I see the flaw in this thinking. Hinds sight is 20/20. It's getting cold and Bethany and I are cuddling, extreme cuddling. I, of course, fall asleep after having watched the beautiful heat lightening in the distance. Bethany woke me up, curled in a ball, saying, "Em....can we move...I'm freezing...." I couldn't resist helping a friend...so I lead us to the boat harbor. She said, "Those boats look so nice and warm." To which I responded, "Ok," and found us a boat that was easy to hop in...(later we would find out that this was a police rescue boat....not a good idea....)

We both threw our backpacks on this boat that had a canopy covering over most of the parts. We found this corner, a literal corner, to stuff our bodies in, making sure we could keep warm. And we did...

Until the heat lightening actually turned into a chinese torture thunderstorm. Our response not being to get out of the boat, but just to scoot further down until we could rest under the canopy. 

May sound like a bad idea...but at the time, in a daze of false sleep, it was the only valid option. There was NOTHING else we could have done....this was the ONLY option and the most logical as well. The next morning was rather interesting. 

Pendititis

I got really sick today for some reason...

it was quite bizarre...

but I had a fever and was quite nauseous. 

My sweet friends here were incredible. Kara, Bethany, Becca, and Josh took care of me all day long. 

At one point I am told that I was hallucinating.

Kara came in and asked me how I was feeling, and I told her that I didn't think I was too good because I had "pendititis. "(not to be confused with appendicitis) She said, "Oh...mm...well I haven't heard of that before."

I think I told her that was because it was really rare. I also told her that my friend Katy Robb had it and I thought I did as well. This being said, I asked her what the symptoms were....

To which she responded, "Well, hmm, I don't know...."

I did not think that that was a sufficient response and so I told her to go and ask Dr. John. 

She asked, "Who's Dr. John?"

I told her that it was Dr. John Sandri and made her feel like an absolute fool for even having to ask. (John Sandri is not a doctor. He is a volunteer worker at L'abri and he works in the office right next to my room.) 

So, to appease me, she went and asked "Dr. John" and explained to him my dire/deathly situation. 

He was confused as he too did not know the symptoms for "pendititis." He had her tell me that I had the L'abri flu....to which I was satisfied and resorted back to my coma. 

I slept the ENTIRE day but was woken up so that Kara could help bathe me. I guess I had a fever, and I guess I didn't smell very good. She literally sat alongside my bath and helped me wash my hair. 

It was quite humbling actually. 

I was humbled and hungry. So, at dinner, I woke up and went down to sit in some corner and eat. Eating felt better, but I am really weird when I get sick. They told me some more stories. 

Kara said she had to check to see if I was breathing a couple of times because I laid in the same position for about ten hours. 

The people here are wonderful. Later in the evening some of us sat on the upstairs porch and Bethany read Franny and Zooey to us. It was good, but I still had chills a bit. 

Right now I just feel simple and shaky....and I can't sleep...

I hope this doesn't start a bad pattern. 

This is SPECIFICALLY to Michael Alan Drackert.

Why you ask? Why write a blog dedicated to someone?

Oh no. Don't worry friends. This is no dedication. This is a WARNING! 

Here's why---because of him I 

a.) have a bruise on my right leg

and b.) got cow dung stuck inside my shoes. 

How could this all be his fault you ask..."oh he's so innocent" you say. Guess again!

So, why Emily are you so bitter? Well, let me explain---so I am getting ready-packing for Switzerland. I made a list, checked over it, etc. And dear, sweet, generous Mike comes over...I show him my list--and what does he do?--he LAUGHS! He laughed at my list. I was "overpacking" I guess and he thought I should take some of his guidelines. Of course. Good ole mountain man Mike shows me the ropes...and I TRUSTED him! I trusted him....

He said, "Em, do you really need running shoes and "dirty" running shoes?" (I had specified in my Microsoft Word document.) 

I like to be specific. 

He basically went through my list and told me that I should get rid of the "non-essentials." Aw thanks Mikey poo...You must be so smart and sooo sweet...whata helper. 

Some of these "non-essentials" may have included: rollerblades, frisbee, paints and paint brushes, hiking boots, drawing supplies, watercolor paints, a film camera, and, of course, some cute shoes(aka brown boots). I thought, "Ya know, Mike is probably right. He's always right....right?" WRONG!

Here's what happened. Some friends said, "Hey Em, wanna go see these caves down the mountain?" To which I responded with an excited "of course!" I get all geared up in my caving gear-T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and a fleece. Perfect. 

Well, it's a 45 minute hike down to the bottom of the mountain from where we were. We all chug on down there right after dinner to catch a glimpse of the sun setting over the Alps. Merciless. We get to the bottom of the waterfall river thing---I would go into more depth but this whole thing is to discredit Mike as royalty. 

Anyways, cave. We all climb in, it's incredible. Pictures will come later. We have flashlights and cave lamps. We're prepared. This cave experience is a story in itself involving new exploration, army crawling, cavern climbing, and quarter sized spiders---the exact reason it became an urgent retreat. 

Ok, so we all get out. It's not pitch black and about 11 pm. So, we just chill on the cave outside telling scary stories and such. Great. 

Well, the rule of hiking DOWN a mountain is usually, if you climb all the way down, you normally, if not always, must go back up. It was a 45 minute hike down from L'abri...so just imagine the hike back...up....right. It's pretty dark and is probably time to get back seen as though it's just...oh...lightening.  I guess that bringing only one pair of tennis shoes, my running shoes, was a bad idea in this condition...which goes onto explain my blistered and bleeding right knee....mmm flashback....

"Hiking boots Em? You don't need all this..."

Oh really Mike? Really? Ok, you can pay for my blister (or at least buy me some of that cool scar cream...). No hiking boots? Great idea! Thanks for that!

Anyways, we keep on up the trail. It's pitch black, until we get to this clearing of the trees...I want to explain how beautiful the stars were but that's for another time...After the clearing, it's only a little ways up. You think, ah, this should get flat....but no. It's always a steady incline. Sweet. 

So, we realize that we are close to L'abri because we hear the calling of our chalet....the freaking cowbells screaming and alerting us that we are "oh so close" to home. Oh, and don't worry, we just got a little off trail and ended up having to pass through the sweet little COW PASTURE in the dead of night. Fun. And guess what? The cows, of course and explained previously, are still awake. I love territorial swiss cows. 

Right as I ask, "Cows can't be mean right?" I see the turning of this brown head towards me as I am stared down by these green, ominous eyes. AND THEY START RUNNING!!!!! They start coming towards us. So, what would any rational human do in this fearful animal situation---run. Good thing I had running shoes right? I scurried away and right as I am about to exit the gate....I feel something mushy....

I STEPPED IN COW DUNG! Let me just tell you how fun it is to step in crap the size of a boot. And then let me tell you how much more fun it is to have shoes with little "breathing" holes that allow the cow crap to seep in. Mmm, yes please. 

This is the second time I cursed Mike. His cursed name bellowed through the Alps. 

No hiking boots necessary Mike? Overpacking is such a girl thing to do Mike? Really? 

The ONE time I listen to him I am bleeding and cleaning out cow dung from between my toes. A real treat. Thanks for that. 

I have a fever...and the only medication...is more cow bell.

I might kill a cow.

No more poor little guy. No more sympathetic Emily. Bell meet your damnation.

I was sitting on the roof the other night, wrapped in blankets with my friend Becca; it was incredible. The misty skies had died, giving birth to clusters of stars. My eyes, after having exercised all day, wanted a little rest and rejuvenation. 

Impossible. 

Although weather was warm under the blankets and the wind was sweet in melody--one sound made drunk the sweet serenity--those bloody cows and their rusty freaking bells. 

I'm going to kill them, all of them. Screw cheese. Screw milk. Screw meat. In fact, screw their bloody life! These cows are such dumb oxen. You wanna know why it's not abusive for them to have bells anymore...because they are DEAF! They probably can't even HEAR the ringing anymore. But I can. Oh yes, I can indeed. 

My friend Jason just came by. I told him that I had been writing 6 pages about how much I loathed the swiss cow. He looked concerned. He also sympathized with the cow and told me that if the farmer takes the bell off, the cows get depressed. DEPRESSED. Abusive farmers!!! Isn't that like stockholm syndrome or something? 

He also told me that maybe the reason I came here was not to seek guidance...but to realize my life calling: dairy farming.

I said he was wrong...

I do pay a lot of attention to cows....

My next book of study is Decision Making and Career Exploration. 

Midgets in Yellow Straightjackets

I didn't realize that my biggest threat here would be a killer bee. Yes, I understand it's a little guy in a yellow jacket....it's dead with a simple hand swap...blah, blah, blah.

But no, it's like a crazy little man in a yellow straight jacket following you around with a rusty old knife attached to his backside. It's NOT nice little bee---it's the psychologically distorted, sword ready midget. I think people thought it was the first burglary of Huemoz, Switzerland when I came running around the house screaming, "He won't leave me alone...ahhh...he's following me...."

These little psycho midgets have the capability of making me, ME, feel insane. Yeah. That's how psychotically manipulative these straight jacket midgets are----they get everyone else to see ME as the creepo. When, let's be honest, they are just suicidal creeps! One sting and they are done...right? Yes. But still, they come to find and scare ME in an effort to just kill themselves? 

Oh, and I'm messed up for running from a midget psychopath? I think not. Who would have thought the suicidal creatures would be so attracted to me. I for sure don't smell like flowers (note to self-see a doctor to figure out odor dysfunction). Maybe that's part of their distortion---they enjoy BO-they LIKE when people are scared. 

They are freaking MADMEN! It's like those pets that love following the person who hates it the most. Or like the little babies that cry and cry until the awkward, incapable fool holds them. Dementia I tell you, and not a mild case either. 

So the question is....how do I get these attachment disorder bees to be scared of ME? Maybe I'll start blowing kisses and run after THEM....mmm no. I could dress up as mama bee and just try to follow them everywhere....mmm no...ok. ok. Idea. Everytime they come after me...I will play dead. So, in that way, to prepare them for the absence of life they will face if they puncture me with their midget butts. Perfect. 

Thought experiment. What if everytime we got angry or upset with someone, we could just turn a "horny" backside on them and injure them with some kind of human butt stinger? It would make life so much easier, and would, perhaps, make girls more assertive...

What's all this mumbo jumbo about anyways? I haven't ever been stung...although they come, they'll never catch me. I'm like a human ginger bread WOman. (knock on wood). 

Swiss L'abri Teachings:

1. Chocolate indulgence is not limited to womens monthly aversion to low iron. In fact, it can be used on any and everything, including but not limited to: bread, ice cream, cereal, oatmeal, sandwiches, wine, tea, coffee, and fingers.

2. Questions are NOT a matter of spiritual immaturity.

3. Daily showers are over-rated, unnecessary, and an immature waste of money.

4. Americans are ignorantly arrogant (see blog later for more details).

5. It is NOT ok to lie to people of other ethnicities. Specifically, it is NOT ok to tell a German that you are a professional ping pong player in America and then continue to repeat the lie until their departure. Doing so may cause excessive email and facebook invites from people of German descent asking for autographs. This is not a good idea, and is usually frowned upon.

6. Stereotypes usually aren't true, unless it involves good looking Englishmen.

7. Hitchhiking can be awkward and expensive if you don't realize that the car is an odd shaped cab/taxi.

8. You will still get carded for alcohol if you go into a pub laughing obnoxiously, even though the drinking age is about 14.

9. Running up a hill does not necessarily mean that you will ever run down it...unless you simply turn around.

10. Never cut onions right before a prayer meeting.

Moody Mondays...

Let me just explain my situation. It's almost too beautiful. This morning I woke up, opened my curtains to look out on the most beautiful scene even William Eggleston could not rightly capture. I fell in love this morning. I thought it was near impossible, but a man named Matterhorn wooed my young heart in a matter of a sunrise. Breakfast was full of tea, homemade bread, and young minds. Honestly though, I think I can say this...I'm going to say it...I like my collection of teas better than this swiss crap...I said it. The chocolate here though...it's so good I want to curse it. Make sense? Have you ever loved something so much you wanted to wrestle it? (This is for sure not a valid excuse of physical abusers or attackers.) But you know, have you ever loved something so much you just want to curse it, use passionate vernacular as it is, perhaps, the only way to convey the beauty and glory of something. Anyways, that's beside the point. Just know...it was beautiful this morning...and the chocolate is passionately remarkable.

Mondays. The whole community of L'abri gathers around to pray together. It was beautiful. There was a girl there, name unidentified. To hear her pray in her primary language, German, and to listen to the tears that flowed was an experience of vulnerability no Websters dictionary could ever encompass. (She can speak English, but her main language is German.) South Koreans, Germans, New Zealanders, English, Hollanders, Jamaicans, and Americans gathered together to do something that can be so difficult for the confused wanderer. It was a beautiful representation of something that exceeds simple Western culture Christianity.

I imagined this place for years, and such is it's beauty, perhaps far more. Combine culture, art, music, outdoors, literature, and spiritual seeking--you have Swiss L'abri. The people here are difficult to distinguish by certain traits or thoughts. Imagine a place of combined cultures coming together in the pursuit of something, of a desire pertaining to the character of God. The desire is to know God. And, although he is mysterious and beyond all thought or knowledge, that doesn't stagnate seeking, nor should it necessitate a surrender of search. If I were to continue ignoring, or closing my eyes, to that which he has revealed, I would be a fool to glory. It's not about making God who you want Him to be. I'm learning that that is my valued pride. Sometimes it can be so difficult for me to accept God as He reveals Himself because I would rather form an image of my own mold. How painful and how disdainful to have a God as limited as me!

The people here want something, and they are willing to forgo the pleasures of business, of workplace, and of certain freedoms, to seek after such. I do not mean to judge those who are not here, diswarranting their pursuit amidst their distinguished scene. Both are valuable. Both are, or can be purposeful. And both have the potential of being abused. However, I am simply addressing the uniqueness of the people I am surrounded by. They are all so different, but among the group is a bond of choice that goes undismissed. Meaning-the community of this place is so valuable because it is a place that most have chosen to come to, have sacrificed to be here(whether of finances, of relationships back home, or of, simply, time), and all are interested in similar things--to an extent. It's a certain crowd that this place draws, which builds close relationships quickly, easily, and, perhaps, permanently.

Also, serving is not an option. The community thrives because you work together, you eat together, you discuss together, and you, sometimes, study together. Serving is part of L'abri. It's not a part of an awards program. You won't receive an "I am third." or some kind of recognition for "helping out." Those things, being service, are part of the program. At least once a day you are expected to volunteer to do dishes. Half of the day you spend working, involving either cleaning, gardening, baking, or organizing. The other half of the day is, of course, study.

I will get to what I am studying soon, as well as some discourse on things of swiss perception.

How do cows sleep, or even venture to fall asleep with cowbells?!?!

I'm naively bothered by this trait of Switzerland society. I mean, let's get PETA on out here and identify this utter(no pun intended) abuse. How would you feel if you had some kind of chinese torture like constraint to your sleep? It's like everytime you get those hazy eyes of pre-R.E.M. and fix to relocate, you're immediately awoken by a nonsensical bell preventing even the beginning of such. How daringly mischevious these abusive farmers are! They use them to "identify their cows" and "keep track of them in the fields." Yeah, I'm sure. Right before you killed the derned thing. These poor cows vegitate on the incredible grass of Switzerland. It's probably confusing to them--like "Oh, I must be so spoiled. This grass is so pure and beautifully clean." Yeah right, cow. They just want to keep you awake to kill you slowly. They get so spoiled by pure destination that it's like, they aren't going to put up some kind of fight. Almost, they feel indebted to their owner. Like "Yeah, I won't sleep. He gives me such good grass." "Yes, I'll wear this bell for you so you can keep track of me. Wow, you must really love me owner." B.S. he loves you. He just wants your meat to sell to some expenive, organic grocery store back in the states that will budget the price on increasing exponential amounts depending on the rate of swiss stock. Little do these cows know that their death is NOT some mysterious breakdown. The cow bells prevent sleep, and then, BAM, in a matter of weeks...or even days for the weaker ones...they are "somehow dead."

Hark! You are a cow! You are more than a beast of the field! You are more than my valued burger! Free yourself you cow! Free yourself from the manipulative belly of man! Free yourself! Shake off the reigns of the free market! Shake off your reign of bell slavery! Shake it cow! Shake it! And wander the fields of the hillside freely!

But no. There the cow stands, grazing lowly the hillside of the Alps. I went for a run yesterday with my new friend Bethany, along the swiss greens and grass superior, and I almost fell in cow dung. I looked up at a cow mooing and bell-ing right in front of me and though, "Kill the darned animal!" But then I saw his meager bell, and looked off to the gorging face of a dawned sun over the Alps glaring in front of me. I realized my selfishness and though, "LET THE POOR GUY LIVE." My heart broke for the poor guy.

I plan on reporting to PETA when I return.

Free food and the Internet

I get free everything!!! It's wonderful. I have so much to say but time is limited. This morning I left London and got a FREE breakfast voucher because I talked to the lady at the front desk for awhile and she just OFFERED it. It would have cost 15 pounds to eat breakfast. Convert that to American money, and that is 30 dollars. P.S. The American dollar sucks in the UK. 

This is bad. I should be banned from England and Switzerland. I have fallen in love...if you guys don't reach me in 21 days, it's because I left the country and am not coming back. 

Is it bad that the entire plane ride I was thinking of "Into the Wild." Don't tell mom....

Also, this is huge, very important news. 

I FOUND THE INTERNET!!!!!!!!!

www.cern.ch

The world's largest physics laboratory is located in cern, switzerland. It is where the world wide web was born and there is a particle accelerator underground. It is just five minutes from the airport. So, during one of my days off, I plan to go there---speculate, investigate, and create something even better and bigger. You may be asking, "is that possible?" or saying, "that's not possible." But, what did they say to the artist that invented the camera? What did they say to the train before it became a car? What did they say to the house phone before there was cell phone? 

The buck doesn't stop here men and women. I am going to create something even bigger and better. Wait for it.