We’ll hate what we’ve lost but we’ll love what we find

Airports are interesting places.  A spectrum of emotions all encompassed in one location.  Excitement.  Fear.  Joy.  Sadness.  Anticipation.  Anxiety.  Never knowing exactly what you are going to think or feel when you’re there or what exactly your destination holds.

I have been to the airport many times this past year, in many different places.  Sometimes merely dropping off, sometimes going, sometimes coming back. 

My times of going have been times of trepidation of the unknown, the ache of leaving behind people I love, jubilation knowing in some ways my destination would make my heart that much more complete, excitement to see family, nervousness at the prospect of making new acquaintances and wanting to be loved and accepted.

My times of returning have been times of leaving behind people and places that would always be dear to my heart, leaving behind things that would never be dear to me again, grief knowing that as I flew away I was leaving my heart behind, peace and comfort knowing that I would be reunited with people I love, uncertainty over when I would return, blessing because of all I have had the opportunity to love. 

The older I get [granted I'm only 21], the more I experience, and the more places I go, the more and more my heart grows and the more it loses little pieces as bits of it stay behind, waiting for my return.  But once the ache of what has come and gone passes, what is left is the knowledge that my heart is more complete because of these places, because of these people, because of these aches.

In French, the word “la bougeotte” translate to  “wanderlust” and in German, the word is “fernweh” which translates to “an ache for the distance.” 

I will always find myself caught in the tension that I see fully encapsulated [word choice?] in airports – this desire and yearning to go and live and experience coupled with the hurt of what is being left behind. 

I drove away from the airport today and looked out across a crazy beautiful view of LA.  While LA will always be my home, as I go far and wide across this world, searching the distance for places that will inevitably steal bits of my heart, a piece of me will find its home in every new place I go.

But that ache, that ache is good.  It reminds me that I'm real, that I love and miss and experience joy and hurt.  It reminds me that I have been blessed with homes that span the globe, each waiting for my return one day.

So bring on the ache.  

Purposeful Conqueror

          I have been back from South Africa for two and a half months. If I could describe these past 75 days in one word, I would say purposeless. I have gone from class to class, event to event, location to location, item to item on my to-do list – the whole time asking “What in the world am I doing here? Where do I fit here?” I went from an entire year feeling so intensely purposeful to a sudden shift to zero purpose. Where am I needed? Where should I pour my time and energy? Where am I useful?

          I’ve been ruminating on this sense of uselessness and lack of necessity. It’s been weighing me down; this feeling that I don’t know why I’m doing what I’m doing; this feeling that my life is being guided and dictated by a to-do list. That’s not a flourishing or thriving way to live. That’s not even a good way to live. That’s not even an ok way to live. That’s a purposeless way to live.

           The other day I was reminded of a time about 4 years ago; a time when my life shifted from old to new. One of my favorite questions to ask people is “What first drew you to God?” It points directly to the specificity of God in that He calls people in the exact way they need to be called. For me? What first drew me to God was that He gave me purpose. Ironic huh? Four years ago as the first semester of my junior year of high school came to a close, God instilled my life with purpose. He gave me a life and a mission greater than myself – living for something far beyond and far bigger than anything I was living for. He gave my life an eternal purpose.

           In a moment my life became purposeful apart from what I did; apart from what I said; apart from my grades, activities, interactions. But because of who I live for and because of why I live.

           So here I have been, living these past weeks stuck in this feeling of no purpose, and yesterday God reminded me, “Chels, remember how I drew you in. I gave your life meaning. Your grades didn’t do that. Your interactions didn’t do that. Your personality didn’t do that. But I did. I gave your life purpose.”

How silly it is that what enticed me about a life of faith was something I was so quick to forget.

           When anyone has asked me how I’ve been, my response has been something along the lines of “Struggles. ” I was talking with a friend the other day about identity. I have been so quick to define myself as a struggler; so quick to don the identity of weakness and failure, yet so incredibly slow to wear the identity of who I actually am. “Struggles”defines me by what I do, not by who I am. Yet the identity that is momentary and based on my own ability [or lack thereof] is the first to come to my lips. That is so backwards. And such a lie.

           I struggle, but I am not a struggler. I have struggles, but I am not defined by them. I am strong. I am valued. I am a conqueror. Not because I struggle, but because God has equipped me and is equipping me to fight and to overcome. I sin, but I am not defined by my sin. I am defined by who God has made me to be and by who God is making me to be.

          Will I struggle? Of course. I’m not perfect. Jesus struggled. But He defined Himself by who His Father was and by His purpose in this world.

I am a purposeful conqueror. And the beauty of it is, not because I say so.

Amazing grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now am found.

Fifth-of-a-life crisis

The title of this post is kind of the story of my life...it sort of is and it sort of isn't. I have this weird thing where most of the time I'm easy going, carefree, everything-will-work-out. But occasionally I'll have bursts of "whats going on in my life?!"

I just finished my last final which means a few things: my semester abroad is officially done, I am officially a senior in college, life has officially started rushing at me. I apologize to whomever is reading this and can't help but think, "get over yourself 20 year old." And you'd be right, to an extent...I'm actually 21 now. But seriously. Here I am. With life in front of me and not really knowing where to go from here. I get to stay in Cape Town for 6 more weeks - way to think ahead last semester me when I bought a later return ticket - and I can't imagine having to leave right now - it'd feel very unfinished, at least for me. I know plenty of people I studied abroad with that were quite ready for the semester to be done [sorry if you're reading this and are part of the wanting-to-stay-longer group].

So here I am. With nothing to do for at least 3 weeks. I can't remember the last time I had time like this. It's incredible and a little daunting. I hate looking back on time and seeing it wasted. But I have time. Time to think and pray and continue exploring this heart-breakingly beautiful place and its people and time to figure out my life. Or not figure it out. I don't actually need a plan. I tend to do better without a plan anyway. I tend to be a play-it-by-ear kind of girl.

I'm back at my flat so here's where I end [I may or may not have typed this as a draft on my phone as I walked home...yep]. I have the most beautiful view of the mountain [Table Mountain/Devil's Peak] from my flat and as I stand here looking at this crazy incredible creation, I'm reminded that Cape Town, and life for that matter, is my oyster [although not really because I hate that phrase slash don't really understand what it means]. So here's to my next two months - planless, purposeful,  and wonderful :)

Have a heart

I love fire. Everything about it. It fascinates me, enthralls me, baffles me, entices me, makes me think and wonder, mesmerizes me. I am a pyromaniac at heart. I have been fascinated with fire since I was a kid. We had a fireplace in our house and a loveseat in front of it. I would sit for hours, and usually fall asleep in front of our fireplace, transfixed by the flames. I can’t wrap my mind around this thing before me, these flames I can very much see and very much feel but can’t touch or hold; flames that are there one minute and gone the next – on to a new location only to appear and disappear all over again. Yet at least two of my senses point to the existence of this fire, so I know it’s there. I love fire.

My blog today is titled “Have a heart,” so why am I talking about fire? Last night I was thinking about accepting the existence of something when you can’t understand it with all of your senses. Namely, the existence of emotion.

The heart plays a central role in emotion. Rather, it seemingly plays a central role. You would never tell someone, “I love you will all my amygdalae.” Super romantic…But really that’s what it is. Compassion, love, tenderness, desire, anger, joy – feelings all attributed to the heart but actually formed in the brain. Can I merely write off human emotion as a chemical reaction or a transmission of neurons in the brain? Or is there something more exquisite, more intricate, more beautiful, and far less explainable at work here? A man may jump in front of a bullet for his wife, a mother may sacrifice her life for her child. Can something like that – a self sacrificial display of love – be categorized as merely adrenaline?

Last night I was taking a bath. I put my ears under the water and could hear my heart beat. I felt my chest – no heart beat. Felt my neck – no pulse. Felt my arm and wrist – no pulse. Yet I could hear it. Like fire, my heart was something only one of my senses was registering. I didn’t doubt it was there though, holding to what I knew to be true despite lacking the “evidence” behind it.

In a way, love follows the same guidelines. You can’t see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, or feel it – in the straightforward sense of all of these. Instead, we believe love exist because of the manifestations we see – a kind gesture, a gift, an act of service, a verbal voicing, a hug – all expressions of some kind of love but not the actual love itself. People show that they love by _______ [fill in the blank]. But you can’t see it. Because it’s not tangible. Only the expressions and results of love are tangible. So how do you know if it’s real? How do you know that the expressions of love that point to its existence aren’t merely habit, routine, something that’s been ingrained in you from a young age – similar to the idea that we should treat others kindly. What if the chemicals in my brain that produce “love” are different than the chemicals in your brain that do so and in terms of feelings, we’re on entirely different pages but because we have all learned the same expressions of love, we are seemingly on the same page?

Or what if my mindless ramble of fire, hearts, and love has gone on for too long and you’re wondering why you’re still reading? Being in South Africa, surrounded by entirely new and different people has led me to a place of wanting to understand people’s motivation behind their actions and the differences that exist between individuals and their motivations. So this is me, thinking and trying to understand and ending with more questions than I started with, but for now I suppose that’s acceptable :)

You bring the mussels, I’ll bring the rice

One of my favorite questions to ask someone is, “Who is your favorite person that you have met in your life?” I still haven’t quite figured out the correct way to phrase that grammatically, but you get the idea. Usually I’ll specify a location, i.e. “at USC,” “during college,” “at work,” etc. I love asking this because it gives me the opportunity to learn about what a person values, how they are impacted by things, and what situations remain with them. Often times the answer is not the best friend, the boyfriend, or any other “typical response.” But rather, I hear names and stories of people who have left a lasting impression no matter how close in actuality they were to said “favorite person.”

One of the most beautiful things about people to me is their ability to come and go and leave a lasting imprint on your life that you will share for years to come, even if the interaction is only for a brief period of time. Last night I met such a woman. I hope very much that our interaction will continue, but whether it does or not, I was blessed by hearing her story and hope I was able to offer her any of my heart that I could.

A group of about 20 UCT students went out to Mitchell’s Plain last night, a local township in South Africa, to interact with a group of people who are continuously being displaced from wherever they find land to build homes and who are being evicted next Monday.

When the students split up to go talk to people, I saw a woman standing by herself so I went to talk to her. Her name was Mitshka [totally just butchered the spelling]. I started talking to her and asking her questions and she was very standoffish at first, giving me the briefest answers to my questions as possible. I had an internal crisis – desperately wanting to learn about this woman and hear her story but feeling such a barrier between us. I persisted though and somehow and for some reason she began to tell me about herself. She told me all about her 4 children – about her oldest daughter, Fatima, who is 12 and loves going to school, her 6 year old daughter who has recently gotten into the habit of stealing at school, her 3 year old son who absolutely loves motorcycles and boats, and her 1 year old baby girl about to turn two who is already talking away. She shared with me when and why her children got taken away from her by a social worker and how her and her husband only get to see them twice a week. She shared with me how she’s torn between knowing they are probably safer where they are and being desperate to have her children back. I ended up talking to her the whole time we were there and got to hear so much about her and her incredible love for her children, got to meet her brothers and sisters and husband, got to hear about her love for going to the beach at night and looking at the stars, about how she pulls mussels off the rocks in the ocean and cooks them with rice. This woman had so much love in her heart that it made me ache – ache for her not getting to be with her kids, but also ache for the rarity of her love. When she was done sharing her story, she told me she doesn’t usually share with people and wasn’t going to at first but for some reason felt so comfortable and relaxed with me that she wanted to share. I don’t know why or what about me compelled her to do so, but my heart was so happy she shared.

A few days before, a friend and I were talking about hope and hope being a guiding factor behind all we do. From little things, like I leave my apartment everyday with the hope that I’ll make it to my destination, to the eternal things, like I go by the name of Christian with the hope that I’ll live in eternal joy with my God in heaven. Behind everything we do, there is a hope of something. Last night I shared with Mitshka about hope. Her name means “to fight” and I couldn’t help but laugh when she told me that after sharing her story with me. She has a fight ahead of her, but such a beautiful hope to hold on to. It’s a hope in something greater and bigger than ourselves that motivates us to move and to act each and every day. For Mitshka, that hope is to be reunited with her children one day soon. She was born a fighter, and I know she will fight because of that powerful hope she clings to.

I selectively have this ability to make people laugh [I say selectively because this is not a constant ability, it tends to come and go] and whether it’s because I am actually funny or just merely ridiculous [the latter which I feel is more accurate], somehow my joy and silliness and lightheartedness can transfer to other people. Amidst the solemn tone that pervaded Mitshka’s story and life, we were able to joke and be silly and my heart smiled when I could make her laugh. When we were hugging goodbye I told her I was going to come back to try some of the mussels she was telling me she makes. I told her, “You bring the mussels, I’ll bring the rice.” She probably thinks I’m goofy and ridiculous, but for some reason me being there blessed her last night and I got to be used in her life in mighty ways.

I hope so much for a return when she’ll bring the mussels and I’ll bring the rice.

Jaywalking

So I have already decided that something I am going to miss about living in Cape Town is jaywalking. Everywhere and anywhere. Cross walks exist but if you need to cross the street you do. Cars generally don’t stop so you wait and weave your way across the lanes of traffic. For anyone who doesn’t know, I hate cross walks. I hate having to walk out of your way, having to back track because of an inconveniently placed cross walk, having to wait for cars to go, and at USC in particular, having to wait 4 times as long to cross with 878997 people because of the 4 way crosswalks.

I will miss jaywalking. Because it’s easy. Since coming to South Africa, I have discovered an unfortunate side to myself – that is, I like things to be easy. Sharing this with someone recently, he told me that he loves a challenge and that challenges excite him. That’s not me. I like to learn and grow and change, but I like those things in hindsight. I like looking back and reflecting on my life and seeing how different of a person I was 5 years ago, 2 years ago, last year. I look back and think, “Man, I’ve really grown. I like the person I am becoming.” Yet how easily I forget the struggles, the trials, the tears, and the hard times that helped to grow and shape me into who I am now [that sentence made my life sound like all I face is hard times – clarification: I have had abundantly joyful times in my life that easily counter and erase the hard times, but I think growth and development is seen more clearly in said hard times]. When I feel like a struggler, I look back at my life and wish for easy – forgetting that the easy times did not always lead to the best times.

South Africa is not a place of easy. There are so many times where I’ll look at the way something is done and not understand. America is so much about convenience. It’s not like that here. “Waiting” is a word found in everything and everywhere here. Waiting for the tram. Waiting in line [in the queue, if you will]. Waiting for the ATM. Waiting for the internet to start again. Waiting for employees to finish their conversations so that they can help you.

There are so many instances where the easy thing to do is not what’s done.

Something else I’ve noticed since I’ve been here: people hug and kiss a lot, and stress and anxiety is not easily identified [I’m wondering whether South Africans even have the ability to be stressed]. Coming from USC and LA, I pass people and students every day with stress written on their faces; hurrying from place to place; going from thing to thing on their hour to hour packed schedules; trying to get done more things in one day than there is possibly time for.

I can’t tell you how many times [and keep in mind I haven’t even been here a month] something will go wrong, people will be late, what was supposed to take 30 minutes actually took 4 hours, and the only response one can offer is, “This is Africa.” It’s virtually impossible to get frustrated or upset because this is Africa. They run on different time – “Africa time” if you will – which South Africans themselves have dubbed it for me :)

Life here is not always what’s easy or most convenient. Yet life here is good. So where is the disconnect? What am I missing? What is LA missing? What are USC students missing? We work so hard for easy and convenient but it leads to stress and busyness and overwhelmedness [yep]. I think this will be a semester, and is already turning out to be so, of learning that what is easy is not always what’s good. Or even what’s best. Learning to wait and be patient and find the capacity in yourself for stillness and silence is where it’s at.

So for the next 6 months I’ll enjoy my time jaywalking. You can bet I will take every opportunity to do so. But I’ll do it with a grain of salt [does that phrase make sense here? I don’t really think so...]. And I’ll learn – not to run on LA time, not to run on busy USC student time – to run on Africa time.

And I'm Off...A Couple Weeks Late

A few people have told me to start a blog so they could hear about my life. I was slash am very wary to do so because 1. I typically don’t have anything interesting to say – South Africa or not 2. I tend to try to be funny and/or profound when I write, both of which tend to fail [at least other people think so…I always think I’m funny] 3. I’m worried people will stop emailing me if I have a blog because all the info they’ll care to know will be right there – sad times. Alas, here I am, writing a blog. Meh.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m in Cape Town, South Africa for the semester studying at the University of Cape Town. I don’t know how I got here or why I’m here. It was a whirlwind of applications, acceptances, decision making, plane rides, orientation, registration. And now here I am. Halfway around the world. Knowing full well I’m here in this place for a reason – a very specific reason – and not knowing when or if I’ll ever fully know what that reason is. But here I am. Wanting to learn. Ready to grow. Desperate to not come home the same person I was when I left – in a good way of course.

As of Tuesday, I’ve officially been here for 2 weeks. I can’t decide if it feels like I’ve been here for a minute or for a year. I think there are moments where I feel both. Sometimes the prospect of being here for 22 more weeks, away from family and the community at school I have come to call family over the past two and half years, is daunting and exhausting to think about. At other times, I remember that I am in Africa. I am in Africa. My life is beginning to carve its path into my future.

Anyway, I don’t know where this blog will go – or if it will even continue after a few posts. I want to stray away from a blog that’s a comprehensive list of my daily activities. Who knows what this will be. I tend to be a rambler when I get behind a computer and don’t really have anything to say. So…enjoy :)