I'm not dead!

I think I've forgotten how to words to some extent.
I've been moving from place to place, I've been switching gears and hats and mentalities and filling different roles. It's been crazy and overwhelming, but I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, exhausting and terrifying as it was.

So.
Basic summary of my life since January.

In January, I moved to Antigua, Guatemala. My first 3 weeks I spent with Florecíta, Brian, and Byron in the Hermano Pedro house on the south east side of the beautiful little town.
Then I moved to the south west corner of Antigua with Cindy and Anderson, where I spent 3.5 months. We were gone quite a few weekends, everywhere from visiting the capital to the ocean to the rainforest.
Then in May, I moved back stateside, where I spent 2.5 weeks or so in Michigan with my family trying to manage some crazy reverse culture shock and re-adjust to speaking English and driving cars.
And then I spent 11 weeks in Indianapolis as an Immigrant Justice Intern at Neighborhood Christian Legal Clinic, which entailed driving, translating, interpreting, note-taking, phone-call-making, scanning, driving, visiting, listening, question-asking, people-loving and making-it-up-as-I-went.
Return to Michigan for 2 weeks, where I unpacked from a semester of college, Guatemala, Indy, and then repacked everything for a semester. Oh, and worked for a week and a half.
Now it's back at the arbor, where I'm finally settling again.

It's hard to go back to being a student after living abroad and interning out of state. I have literally walked in the places that we're learning about in Latin American civilization (um, Mayan dialects? Ziggurats vs. temples vs. pyramids? corrupt governments? history? walked it, seen it, got the t-shirt) and I've implemented the strategies that all of my social work classes this semester are covering. (Practice with Groups? Practice with Communities and Organizations? Social Welfare Policy? Macro social work, guys. Macro social work. That's kind of what program management looks like. That's kind of what nonprofit life looks like. That's kind of what my summer looked like.)
I'm not saying that I'm somehow superior to other students, because we've all got a lot of learning to do yet, but it's hard to change my mindset back to that of a student.Especially when that student mindset means reading hours a week for each of my classes and sitting at a desk taking notes on lectures.

This last year is going to be a challenging one. I've got 15 credits this semester, one class plus hopefully registration for my honors thesis (a year long, 60+ page project) in January, and then a 10 credit internship, 1 credit internship seminar, 3 credit online class, and 3 credit Spanish class (17 credit hours of crazy, thank you very much).
Basically, the goal is to survive and graduate and in that process figure out what in the crazy world I'm supposed to do with my life after graduation. And that's a massive, already-looming question of applying to graduate schools, sending out job applications, and trying to line things up.
I'm not sure I want to stay in Michigan, but that means that I'm looking at schools in Indianapolis, northern Virginia, and can't for sure rule out anything in between them.

So right now, I'm making it up as it comes to me.
God has been teaching me some amazing things, and I'm thankful that He's doing it so gently and patiently. For the past 9 months, all He has done is carried me and given me just enough clarity to get to the next half step, commit to it, and trust through the whole messy process. So as I start on graduate school applications, pray over my future, and try to remain present in my final two semesters, all I can do is trust that He will continue to do just that.

{whoops!}

This semester has been one of the absolute craziest times in my life.
I've juggled stress and academics and faith and friendship and pushed through a lot of little things that very easily could have gotten me down.
I've had late nights and I've gone to bed ridiculously early on some occasions.
I passed Physiological Psychology with a B+ (which is not a small feat!).
[No, I didn't 4-point this semester because of that class; I am learning to be okay with that.]
I journaled a lot. I prayed a lot. I cried a lot.

But one thing I did not do was blog a lot.

Part of me is disappointed in this, as I don't have the photos and memories assembled so neatly as to be able to scroll through them and see the highlights of the semester. I didn't share what I was feeling in every given week or process through publicly everything on my plate. My plan to blog through my 20th year of life in photos failed miserably.
But I think, for once, that that's okay.
Life isn't something you can just effortlessly document and relive in any given situation. It's messy and confusing and there aren't enough words in the English language (or in the little bit of Spanish that I currently know) to portray things.
That's one of the things I guess I'm learning this semester; sometimes all you can do in life is just keep living it, through good days and bad days and long days and overwhelming days and hard days and days when you pretty much forget everything except your own name. It's life and you just have to keep going.



So how is life now?

Well, finals are rough. At this point, I have three finals down with one final and one (very large) research proposal to go.
I presented on "The Autonomic Physiological Effects of Non-Compulsive Self-Injurious Behavior in the Brains of Non-Psychotic Individuals" and I'm drafting a research proposal entitled "Effective Means of Improving Latino Client Satisfaction in Clinical Social Work Services." I've researched and studied my butt off.

Three days until I'm home free for the holidays, which will bring with them their own set of craziness and chaos, along with lots of coffee and cookies and memories. (And hopefully a white Christmas. As much as I dislike always being cold, which happens year round, Christmas just isn't Christmas without a foot of snow, and not having it right now is making me a little angry.)

Three weeks from tomorrow I'm getting on an airplane and flying to Guatemala, where I will live for just over four months / 17 weeks. I'll be taking a total of 22 Spanish language credits and auditing 3 or 4 cross-cultural credits (not 'work' heavy, but required experiences, including...) climbing volcanoes, swimming in the ocean, hiking ancient ruins, being a part of the world's largest Holy Week gathering, touring a coffee plantation (drinking LOTS of coffee) and living with a Guatemalan host family (along with so much more yet to be planned or discovered.)
I would be lying if I said that I was not absolutely terrified to the core of my being for this trip. I'm throwing to the wind all of the comfortable things that serve as lifelines for me: regular routine, comfortably, predictability, family, modern convenience, close friends, care packages and safe, hot running water. We've been prepared for a whole slew of potential circumstances that honestly I don't dare disclose because family members would have heart attacks and refuse to let me leave the country. I know what to do in almost any emergency imaginable, though, so no worries there. (And I will be INCREDIBLY well cared for. I can't stress enough the faith I have in Paul and Libby, two points of reference in Antigua, that will see to it that we're all safe and happy.)
But in addition to this fear is just a level of excited anticipation and peace that I never would have expected to find. I'm moving abroad and yet I have a level head and absolutely no question as to weather or not this is truly the right choice for me. I know that it's what I'm called to do and where I'm called to go for the next season in my life, and no amount of fear has shaken this confidence.
I'll probably update this blog another few times before I leave, but for my Guatemala experience I'll be keeping everything in one place at:
"Julia in Guatemala"
[click for link] That's where you'll find posts and photos and glimpses of life as I'm preparing for the trip and updates while I'm there. BONUS: If you're fluent / near fluent / speak any amount of Spanish at all, you'll get to laugh along as my knowledge of the language grows. Posts will be in both English and Spanish, so that (1) you know what's going on, and (2) we can watch my command of a beautiful language grow. Some stuff may only be communicated in English, others only in Spanish. Another piece of this is that the Spanish allows for my blog to be a teaching tool for students at Zeeland Christian School in their Spanish classes. This blog will help them connect language and culture, and the Spanish posts can be used for some of their homework. EXTRA CREDIT: If you DON'T know Spanish, make friends with someone who does and let them translate for you. Yay for new friends!!

{[WANDERLUST]}

I want adventure in the great wide somewhere // I want it more than I can tell // And for once it might be grand // to have someone understand // I want so much more than they've got planned



{[WANDERLUST]}
"a strong desire to travel"

I've got a pretty severe case of it.

Mexico, Cambodia, Greece, Hawaii, New York, California, Alaska, Puerto Rico...
it seems like so many people that I know are either going to school in far-off places,
have traveled recently,
or are making plans to.

And it is truly sparking my passion for Cairo again.
I never really gave up on it or outgrew my excitement to travel,
but I want it more than anything again.

I want to travel.
I want to see the sights
and experience the cultures
and take in the views
and be immersed in the way of life so different from my own.

I want to get on an airplane
and for a little bit,
to be so completely independent.
I want to be out in the world
and traveling
and seeing
and experiencing.

I have in no way lost my desire, my gumption, my passion, my plans, by dream.
...to travel...

/ˈsōjərn/ sojourn:a temporary stay

every so often you just hear a song...and you fall in love with it.
for absolutely no reason.
or does that just happen to me?
anyway...


[Rich Mullins :: Land of My Sojourn]

and the coal trucks come a-runnin'
with their bellies full of coal
and their big wheels a-hummin'
down this road that lies open like the soul of a woman
who hid the spies who were lookin'
for the land of the milk and the honey
and this road she is a woman
she was made from a rib
cut from the sides of these mountains
oh these great sleeping Adams
who are lonely even here in paradise
lonely for somebody to kiss them
and i'll sing my song (i'll sing my song)
in the land of my sojourn

and the lady in the harbor
she still holds her torch out
to those huddled masses who are
yearning for a freedom that still eludes them
the immigrant's children see their brightest dreams shattered
here on the New Jersey shoreline in the
greed and the glitter of those high-tech casinos
but some mendicants wander off into a cathedral
and they stoop in the silence
and there their prayers are still whispered
and i'll sing their song (i'll sing their song)
in the land of my sojourn

nobody tells you when you get born here
how much you'll come to love it
and how you'll never belong here
so I call you my country
and i'll be lonely for my home
and i wish that i could take you there with me

and down the brown brick spine of some dirty blind alley
all those drain pipes are drippin' out the last Sons of Thunder
while off in the distance the smoke stacks
were belching back this city's best answer
and the countryside was pocked
with all of those mail pouch posters
thrown up on the rotting sideboards of
these rundown stables like the one Christ was born in
when the old world started dying
and the new world started coming on
and I'll sing His song (I'll sing His song)
in the land of my sojourn

my friend Fred

I would like to tell you about my friend, Fred.

I met Fred while I was downtown Boston this past week. I would guess that Fred is in his mid to late 40s, but I've never been a good judge of other people's age. His brown hair is turning gray pretty quick, and it goes without saying that he hadn't shaved in a good while. He wore glasses, the thin kind that you don't remember seeing unless you really think about it. When I met Fred, he wore a t-shirt that used to be bright red, but was starting to fade a little bit into orange. Fred has been living in Boston for two months. He really likes lemonade. He has a tattoo of roses and a sword on the inside of his left forearm. Fred puts up a tough front, but his high moral standards and compassionate spirit are close beneath the surface; he has immense respect for women and will always defend the underdog. Fred stopped an abusive boyfriend from killing his girlfriend; both individuals were total strangers to Fred. Though he doesn't show it, Fred really has a soft heart.
Fred is also homeless.
Fred isn't shy about his rough situation. He speaks openly of his gang involvement in Hells Angels Motorcycle Club (a world-renown gang). He brags about the guys he's knocked out with one punch. He talks about how much he doesn't like Boston cops, and how he's told them off; evading arrest by referencing his 'colleagues' and giving threats.

With my mentor an chaperone Charlie next to me, I talked to Fred for an hour and a half. Charlie and I gave him a sandwich and more than a few glasses of lemonade. We broke thru Fred's exterior. We even prayed for Fred. While Charlie prayed, I could see that Fred was moved. He was becoming a little more anxious, but at the same time curious about why two random strangers, very unlike each other and himself, would do this for him. After a few more minutes of letting Fred talk, Charlie suggested that I pray for Fred, too. I probably prayed for 10 minutes, but I have absolutely no idea what I said in that time other than "God, show to Fred...to me, to all of us, that You are more than enough." After I said "amen" and raised my eyes from staring at the ground beneath my feet, Fred was reaching under his glasses to stop tears from falling. I had to do the same thing, and Charlie kept saying "That was beautiful."
Moments later, I said goodbye to Fred. I'm fully aware that chances are pretty slim that I'll ever get to see Fred again. He had had a lot of negative experiences with the church: pastors that were unavailable, congregations that excluded him, sermons that preached condemnation over grace...all very real and painful stories that could happen to anyone, but were amplified because of Fred's disheveled appearance and "homeless" label. Yet, Fred was receptive in a way that I only hope we can all learn from. Though he had every reason to walk away from the love we were trying to extend, Fred stayed. Fred let us pray for him, and he gave us a glimpse of what his life was like. 

to travel {originally a journal entry}

There is something innately and undeniably beautiful about being away from home.
Don't get me wrong...I love my family. I'm a homebody. I love sleeping in my own bed and bubble baths in a familiar bathroom.
As I look out the van window at the world around me, there is a type of spiritual experience I've never felt outside of trips like this.

My bare feet up on the sunny dashboard.
Rich Mullins and Andrew Peterson playing from my ipod thru the grandma van speaker system.
Dressed in my traveling sunday best.
Hair and makeup done ever so minimally.
Surrounded by exposed rock and rolling hills covered in trees.
Underneath a bright blue sky with white, fluffy clouds sparsely littered wherever they feel like existing.
I feel blissfully alive.
Two decently mediocre cups of coffee in my system.
And it is nothing short of beautiful.

Yes, God is moving at home in Zeeland. But at home in zeeland I haven't spent nearly seventeen hours of the past 28 in a van with the same seven people (five of whom are cashed out at the moment).
At home I don't discuss the interaction of faith and modern psychology.
I don't have uninterrupted time to talk and think.
To discuss perfectionism while eating skittles.

I'm learning to be comfortable in this week's discomfort.

........

This is why I go on trips like this...
(besides the obvious reasons, of course)
it's a chance to refocus
and a reminder of what it is
to feel completely alive.