"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.