"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. 

Quick Lessons of a Traveler

All right friends. Here is a little gift for you, some traveling tips. Ready, set, go. Lessons of traveling.

 Lesson 1. Always make friends. I was on the plane today and met a man and his wife who were teachers in St. Joe, Missouri at Missouri Western. Small world. 

Lesson 2. Always eavesdrop. They started chatting about where they were staying, which was, crazy, the exact destination of myself.

Lesson 3. Be upfront. Right away I asked them if I could follow them to their hotel. This may sound bizarre, but our relationship was developed enough to where anything could be said. I move fast in these situations...like walking wise...

Lesson 4. Bring a credit card.

Lesson 5. Have a t-mobile phone. Yes, I have sprint, and while it is great in the Americas, it blows in the UK.

Lesson 6. Make sure you know exactly where you are staying and have confirmation that everything has been paid for. Keep receipts. Ask for every piece of information.

Lesson 7. Build relationships EVERYWHERE you go. Talk to everyone. You may think you are being annoying, but the only way to function in a sole travel is to talk, to eavesdrop, and to stalk.

Lesson 8. Never let someone else make your plans without your knowing the EXACT details. 

I got to the Hilton today and I gave the lady at the counter my name. She said, “Emily Camp, ok, can I swipe your credit card.” I said, “I don’t have a credit card. (Mom, I knew you guys should have helped me out with that, for emergencies).” She said, “Well, do you have your confirmation sheet.” I said, “No, what is that and how do I get it?” She said, “Well your dad should have had it and given it to you, or he could fax it. Can you call him?” To which I responded, “My phone doesn’t have any service.” This is when the helping hands of that couple came in handy because the man walked over and said, “What does she need?” The lady said I needed a credit card and a cell phone that functioned. The man gave me his cell phone and I called my dad. Good thing he answered….not. 

He called me back though.

 Long story short, I’m still not sure what happened. Part of me feels like I may have gotten a free room from the hotel because they felt bad for me. The other part of me wonders if they maybe messed up and my dad was in the right. I am honestly leaning towards the primary. The lady looked at me and saw my utter fear/confusion and said, “Room 140 is on your left. And the bar is straight ahead.”

 

 

Flatulence in O'Hare

I don't know if I ate something. I don't know if took some kind of pill. I don't know if my pants were too tight. Whatever the issue, today I suffered from severe flatulence. Look it up in the dictionary or for use of more common words... I was quite gas-y. 

I mean, I'm sitting there waiting for my flight to London and for some reason, it just came over me. A tight knot of pain in my lower abdomen. 

I kept tooting and this lady behind me was with her husband. I could tell they wanted to get up to leave because of the awful stench but they continued sitting. I heard her voice behind me go, "oo oo." as she would wave her hand back and forth around her nose. She tried playing it off like they didn't know who it was, but let's be honest. We all knew it was me. They were trying to be really secretive and talk about it under their breath. They must have been near sixtie or so years of age. They were this sweet and gentle and kind couple, and I kept stinking up where they were sitting. 

I felt soooo guilty. I wanted to apologize so badly, tell her how sorry I am. But it’s like, what can I do? I should have gone to the bathroom, but I was just journaling some really good stuff and couldn't afford to get up in such a providential train of thought. Plus, I didn’t think it would stink so bad. Oo. I feel so guilty. 

But what would I have said? "Um excuse me ma'am and sir...it was me. I just don't feel too good." (Lie. I felt great.) "Hey guys, I am sorry for stinking up your area..." "Hey, I'm really sorry about that, I'm just super gas-y today...wanna be gas-y friends?"

I mean NOTHING good was coming out of this. And 2, how would they respond in that situation. Any kind of response would be so idiotically awkward. I mean, there was nothing to do but sit and dwell in my S.B.D.'s. Is this disgusting? Whatever. You know you have all done it before, and if you have a kind and honest heart like me, then you want to apologize because you feel deceitful for sitting in silence acting as though it wasn't you. 

It’s times like these that I just realize…sometimes it is better to say nothing. I mean, what would I do if someone apologized for making my condensed area smell for about ten minutes straight? I would probably just be like, yeah it’ fine. Even though it wouldn’t have been fine in the moment. It would have been awful. I probably would have just left. 

Ok. Ok. Thought---Why didn’t she leave? Did she like the smell? 

That’s weird.  I don’t know why I am thinking so deeply about this.

...or maybe they won't....

Oh no. 

I just realized something. 

I literally am addicted to everything. 

Maybe it won't be diet coke for 3 weeks...

but I think I am addicted to blogging. 

It's been less than 12 hours and I have held back the urge to post a good twenty four times. 

Scary thought....

I'm such an addict. This is no good. 

Addictions Will Die.

Let me just begin this by saying- I have a problem.

ad.dict.ed.

adjective

physically and mentally dependent on a particular substance, and

unable to stop taking it without incurring adverse effects:

enthusiastically devoted to a particular thing or activity.

I've decided that blogging is humbling. I think that is why everyone should blog. I think everyone needs to post their stupidity via internet, visible to all, in an effort to come to terms with the fact that we are all a bunch of bumbling idiots. We are. Don't argue that. Or you will prove the fact that all humans think that they are so much cooler and more intelligent than they really are.

Maybe the only reason I want to say these things is because I am trying to place myself on an even playing field with man, so that, perhaps, what I am about to confess will not sound too terribly ridiculous or outcast.

I'm addicted. I have an addictive personality, but lets be honest. I think everyone says they have an addictive personality. I hear that all the time. We are all addicts. If it's fun, you keep doing it right? That just makes sense, right. I mean, fun isn't always good...but lets embark on a whole list of cliches while we're at it.

I am physically and mentally dependent on coke. Diet coke. I realized just now that I said coke...and since that is indeed a drug, I realized the irony and sought to replace it. Nope. It's funny. But I meant diet coke, like the soda. Not the diet you think a coke high can give you. That is for sure not what I meant.

This is hard to say, but...I am unable to stop drinking diet coke without incurring adverse effects. Such as: anger, hostility, lying, deceit, and potential crime. Without my diet coke...I am a mess. I drink about 5 a day. Probably. And the thing that sucks is that I make excuses to have it.

"Well it was free."

"Well, it was only a dollar."

"Well, I get six refills for the price of one at Denny's."

Truth be told. I am addicted. I just drank my last soda of American society. No more soda for me! I am traveling and free!

I just thought about that. I did just drink a diet coke. (P.S. The caffeine no longer affects me. I can stay awake for hours after gulping a 44oz.)

But wait, one problem...I get free meals on the plane. Free sodas.

Ok, ok. I will give it up once I get to L'abri.

Friends, family. I just made a promise. 3 weeks. No soda.

Well after this one or two on my way across seas....

Whatever. I need it...I'm scared of flying over the ocean without my friend aspartame...

But then there is always splenda soda...

Leaving Tomorrow.

Honestly, I have no idea how to use this thing or if it's even going to work...and honestly, no one may even read it. That's fine and dandy though. I suppose I'll just use this handy dandy little tool as a means to communicate thought and share (with myself....) what I'm learning. 

So, what am I learning today. It's about 8:14 on a Thursday night. I leave in less than 12 hours for L'abri. Plane goes shoop shoop shoop and straight to London, where I will stay in a hotel....alone...for the evening. I have to wake up in the morning and get to the airport 3 hours before my plane leaves on Saturday. This is bad. I forgot my vibrating alarm clock at Mizzou. A vibrating alarm clock. Yes. It's weird. It's actually a deaf person's alarm clock. How did I find it? Online. How do people find anything these days? We all subscribe to this crazy wavelength of communication energy called world wide web. 

Here's the issue. 

I've never traveled internationally before. For anyone who knows me, this could be bad. Very bad. Oh dear. 

My stomach is kind of churning as I think about waking up at 4:30am, checking bags all the way to London, layovers, transferring flights, changing money, finding cabs, paying for a bus ticket. I have a painfully strong feeling that something could go wrong, very wrong. 

Well local bloggers near and far, this will be quite an adventure. 

Here are my plans. Let's see how many of them come into fruition. 

I go to L'abri for three weeks in the good ole cheese heartland, home of chocolate, and fine young men. Switzerland. I will arrive on Saturday at about 6pm. 

Things I hope for:

Questions

Stimulation

Growth of experience 

Knowledge

Service

Challenges

Friends?

A mountain adventure in the Alps

Interlaken Canyoning

Bread baking

Tea making

Coming home without stalkers, babies, or illegal traveling substances....such as but not limited to - bombs. In which case I would not still be living. Swiss army knifes are ok. As long as they are not pulled on me in a black and dark alley. Which, surely, I will not be in a black and dark alley.