live. move. be.

This week feels like saying goodbye to Greensboro. I'm moved out of my summer apartment (currently living out of my suitcase at a friend's house), my psychology class ends on Thursday, my lab work is done for now, I'm saying goodbye to the little boys I babysit today, and I'm done working at Church World Service. I know I'll come back here at least once before I fly out in September, but this week definitely feels like goodbye.

This has been an excellent summer, though not at all when I expected. For several months (April, May, June) I was going crazy searching for a job. I was out applying or interviewing almost every day, and feeling more anxious and stressed by the minute. I began to feel an overwhelming sense of failure (when Bojangles won't call you back, you begin to wonder why you're getting a college education) and dejection. Towards the beginning of June, I realized that I wasn't just anxious about my lack of money....part of my security and identity was wrapped up in being competent on my own and usually being successful at whatever I want to do. In my mind, my inability to get hired was just foreshadowing a long, bleak future of failure (this sounds very silly now, but it was very serious at the time)! Not to mention I felt very lazy and wasteful because I thought I was "supposed" to be working.

Clearly I had some issues, but thankfully I wasn't the one in control. Not finding a job turned out to be the biggest blessing I could imagine for several reasons. One: because it taught me to rest. During my frantic search, I could never just accept that maybe God wanted to me to relax and rest and savor my summertime. Two: because I stumbled into the work I was really supposed to be doing.

Volunteering with refugee resettlement has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I can't quite describe what it has meant to me. The stories I've heard have been absolutely heartbreaking. Sometimes I come home crying. I met Iraqi men who have watched their family members be killed and fled for their life after being persecuted just because they worked with the U.S. army. I met a man from Rwanda who fled into the jungle as a 13 year old when genocide hit his country, and now is fufilling his dream of getting his Master's degree. I met many people who have lived their entire life in refugee camps. I met a woman who was never allowed any education as a poor refugee in Vietnam, so when I asked her to sign her name on a form, she didn't even know how to hold a pen (it was incredibly moving to see her 14 year old daughter come over and hold her hand to guide her along the letters of her name).

I could spend hours writing stories like that. The courage and determination of these refugees utterly humbles me. If I could describe my summer in one word, it would be gratitude. I have felt so overwhelmingly grateful for everything I have been given....my family, my education, my freedom, my health, my access to food and shelter....I have taken so much of it for granted. I don't even know if "grateful" is the right word....sometimes I feel ashamed that I have so much when others have so little. I feel sickened by my American culture when I turn on the TV and see the obsession with wealth and celebrity after I've worked all day with people who are struggling to survive. I've wrestled with feeling like I don't deserve any of this in face of such poverty. These people are so thankful for shabby apartments and menial labor jobs, and I complain because I'm not as "successful" as I would like in a career path or in the academic word. This summer has really redefined "success" for me in a whole new way and made me look at every day as a gift, just for the sheer joy of existing as one of God's children on the earth.

Here's the thing: we like to think poverty is the exception to the rule, so we can go on living our indlugent lives carefree. We even often like to "blame the victim" for their poverty (i.e. they must be lazy, they must not work hard, etc.) which allows us to ignore it. We diffuse responsibility onto the world's governments or onto various aid organizations or onto the church (which is sadly failing to address the issue or even care about it), which allows us to keep a clear conscience. The truth is that poverty and brokenness is rampant and wisespread, it is in your town, and it is everyone's responsibility. How can we stand by and shut our eyes and ears to suffering?

I know I might sound preachy, but I have felt so passionate about this all summer and it's hard to stay silent. Honestly, I don't think any follower of Christ can be silent about this.

Yesterday in psych class we talked about what makes a person physically attractive. According to extensive research on facial features that are universally attractive across many cultures, here's what's up:

women= delicate features, large eyes, high eyebrows, wide smile, etc etc etc. the list goes on and on and on. Apparently it takes a lot to make a girl pretty.

men= a large chin

I'm not kidding. According to many studies, this was apparently the only universal characteristic for male attractiveness. A chin, really?! As a very scientific example, my professor had us stare at pictures of Brad Pitt on his Powerpoint to illustrate the point.

I'm not sure I buy it. And why do men get off the hook so easily?

....I want to be there, running down the mountain into the sunrise....

This past week I got accepted and cleared to work as a research assistant at one of the psychology labs at the university, which I'll mostly be doing once I get back from Scotland since I have such little time left here now. I've been incredibly excited about the opportunity (research experience is a major plus to get into grad school for counseling).

But then today I observed my first weekly lab meeting, and I began to think for the first time that I might be in over my head. The language and atmosphere is so different from what I'm used to.....in my English and Dance major classes, we use abstract, murky concepts. We talk about creativity and beauty and depth, we talk about critical perspectives and what constitutes art. In Psychology Research World, it's all about numbers and data and producing a product, all about end results rather than exploration of a process. As I listened to the assistants give their findings, it was clear that being busy was considered a virtue and producing results was the bottom line. They all kept throwing out terms I didn't know and discussing tests they were running that I didn't understand. I walked out feeling a bit overwhelmed from academic culture shock. As I left the building, a grad student from the meeting walked up beside me in tall high heels, clutching a Prada handbag as she remarked, "I didn't understand anything when I first got here either. You just need to pretend like you know what you're doing for a few weeks and you'll survive." As she waved and walked off, I couldn't help wondering if I would even know how to pretend. I'll give it my best shot....

I love my psychology classes this summer, but sometimes I think I learn more about it while I'm sitting in coffee shops. Confession time: sometimes I pretend to read in a coffee shop just so I can watch and listen to the people sitting around me. People watching is absolutely fascinating to me. Try it sometime and I guarantee you will hear some interesting (often crazy) stuff.

Speaking of summer school classes, a funny story: In Social Psych, we were discussing "self-discrepancy theory," the idea that people get depressed or anxious when their actual self does not equal the self they ought to currently be or the future self they would ideally be. Our professor asked us to list 5 characteristics of our current self, 5 of the self we should be right now, and 5 of the self we would ideally like to be someday. After a long awkward silence in response to his request to share our answers, a girl in the back piped up (her cheeks beet-red): "I am currently single, I should be in a relationship, and I will ideally be married."

Needless to say, we all cracked up laughing. So much for profound insights into the conflicted psyche....but hey, way to be candid.
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currently reading: "The Ragamuffin Gospel," by Brennan Manning, in addition to about 5 other books. I need to stop all this simultaneous reading-- it's a bad habit.

While babysitting, I was reading a Star Wars kids book to a five year old yesterday. He interrupted me mid-sentence and asked, "Is God faster than a podracer?" I laughed and said, "Of course!" I was about to resume the story when his five year old mind took a wild leap to the next theological question: "Did God make Satan?"

Not really something you expect to discuss as you're reading a Star Wars picture book.
I stumbled around a bit trying to find the right wording and I think I essentially summarized the plot of Paradise Lost in pre-K language for about five minutes (you would laugh so hard if you heard me, I promise). I eventually realized that it actually tied in with our book quite well....you know, good Anakin Skywalker turning into evil Darth Vader. Once I drew that analogy, my little 5 year old friend seemed quite satisfied and allowed me to proceed with the story (which culminated in our own lightsaber battle, and let me tell you, those plastic lightsabers are no joke. I think my leg is still bruised).

Kids....you never know what you'll get.

I keep telling myself, "Today will be the day that I blog." And then every single day gets busy, and writing on here becomes the last thing on my mind. Today was just so crazy I had to write....to give you a sneak preview, I'll tell you that I got handcuffed by a police officer today. Intrigued?

My second summer school class has started, so I'm back on campus every day, back to the familiar routine of reading pages and pages of material every night. Whenever I'm not doing schoolwork, I'm researching plane tickets and hostels and train routes for the UK, which all sounds delightful until you start obsessively pouring over every possible option for hours and can never decide on buying anything. I hate gigantic, expensive purchases that need to be made with money I don't have.

Anyway, today was a long, long day. I sat up late last night mapping out plane routes, and then decided to check my phone for messages at 2 AM when I finally rolled into bed. I had a call from my supervisor, telling me that refugees needed to be picked up at 8:30 in the morning. Running on 4 & 1/2 hours of sleep and multiple shots of espresso, I drove across town, loaded up my car with a mother and her small children, then headed to ESL classes.

This was my first time observing ESL class, and it made me feel overwhelmed and befuddled for everyone involved....the students who couldn't understand almost the teacher was saying, and the poor teacher who was trying desperately to communicate basic concepts like "Sign your name" while all the students were talking to each other in their various native languages. It was a bit like watching people simultaneously punching either side of a brick wall in the middle of a three ring circus.

I also found out that I'm apparently a big hit with the Middle Eastern crowd. As we were sitting in the class, an Iraqi guy in his twenties walked into the room and began excitedly speaking Arabic as his face lit up when he saw me. The other Iraqi students in the class quickly began speaking to him in Arabic as they pointed at me and shook their heads, correcting his mistake. Apparently he mistook me for a fellow Iraqi refugee ( which I consider quite a compliment, considering how lovely Middle Eastern women are). The language barrier was apparently not a deterrent, because a couple of Iraqi guys tried to give me their phone numbers as I left the building.

While the class was in progress, I walked out to the main room, where close to a hundred ESL students (most of them presumably refugees) had gathered to hear a presentation on their new civic rights in America. It was neat to look out over the room, where were so many nationalities and ages represented, all of them listening intently to the several translators scattered across the room. Through translators, a policeman gave them a lecture on the function of the police force and why they shouldn't be afraid when they see them, etc. When he spotted me as one of the few English speakers in the room, he asked me to come up as a model for a basic friendly interaction (such as showing your license when you get pulled over). He then leaned over to me as said "How do you feel about being handcuffed?" I almost snickered out loud, and then I remembered I should act serious.

You know those surreal moments when you have to remind yourself that this is really your life? That's how it felt when I put my hands behind my back was led across the room in handcuffs in front of about a hundred eagerly watching refugees. After some initial expressions of surprise and disbelief, waves of laughter spread across the room, particularly when the cop pretended to lose the key. Situational humor seems to transcend language barriers.

After driving refugees back to their home, I broke multiple speed limits to make it back to campus, just in time to run into my psych class, still running on espresso and struggling to stay awake as I listened to a two hour lecture. What a day....

As a means of recovery, I decided to make myself some fried chicken and roasted potatoes for dinner, and I'm about to go devour a bowl of ice cream as I continue my incessant travel research.