color-wild-culture shock- streeeeetch

This land, these slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro, this peoples and their culture, is uniquely it's own- made of the same dirt, water, wind, fire, sugar, and spice as the rest of His most perfect creation... but in a form not seen anywhere else... so brilliantly it's own that it feels as if you've departed from planet Earth, roamed the galaxies not knowing what you're looking for- at one point pressing the button marked "color-wild-culture shock-streeeeetch" and flop boom crash bang the door opens to Moshi- Tanzania-Africa, a whole new world.

It is red dirt so present in thin-skin form on all surfaces in the dry season and in 'one inch thick on the soles of all feet, flip flops, tire flops, wabo wabos' form in the rainy season.

Moshi- Tanzania- Africa is bugs that fly into me, all around me, onto my food, swim circles in my drinks, climb up my legs, fly over my bed as i prepare for and act out sleep, and bite me (not so much anymore, but i did just heal from malaria which results from a mosquito bite soooooooooo maybe im still being nibbled a bit). However, in all their uninvited, rather bothersome, very dirty- im sure- efforts, they are nearly invisible to me now- having become "just part and parcel" to this adventure.

It is maconde, peelow, banana and corn fritters, rices with spices, potatoes in every form imagined and not, and meat that i dont eat because im pretty sure that it's the same mbuzi i named 'flower' and fed yellow buds to moments previous... but then, every once in a while, I do eat it for the sake of necessary nutrients and really enjoy every bite- all tender and succulent and spiced nice- because the mama who cooked it knew how to do what she did.

Moshi- Tanzania- Africa is mamas who cook- yum- and clean- mopping dirty floors with a dirty cloth and dirty water causing the needed "wet floor" look of a just cleaned floor, but really only more evenly distributing the dirt, mud, and muck already present. But it's Africa and dirty is easily accepted (and quite possibly even advertised) as part of the charm of the nation.
(One quick aside... I was shopping for mens African shirts in a shop called Expeditions and I asked the kind Indian business owner to "please" pull down a very cotton, very hand sewn, cream-colored shirt. It had caught my attention and was now enticing me to buy it(self) but it was dirty... as in filthy and so I asked "did this once belong to someone?" and in kindness and humor, the owner responded with "No, it's... ummm, it's... Moshi. Moshi is dirty." (now read it again but with an indian accent.) Moshi is this region, this town, this land, this home of Kilimanjaro. It was the first time I had heard a local so honestly peg it as such... in such... truth- "Moshi is dirty."
and Moshi is dirty...
but it's truy not a big deal and only obvious when held up against the sterile white back drop of my American experience.

Moshi- Tanzania- Africa is awe-somely beautiful women. There is little affirmation from one to another and even less face to mirror-reflection talk of beauty and worth, but Tanzanian mamas, dadas, young girls, and babies all radiate a beauty.... one much different from every other created woman. They are as different, one to another, as are all females within one given culture and are each complete in their beauty.

They are "black" but really brown, with reds, oranges, and hot pinks blended to perfection.
Cheeks that display the sun's tatoo, in all it's deeply penetrating orange-reds
Lips, painted dark by Beauty, Himself, with tints of hot pink in thin lines, speaking of femininity and romance, conjuring up thoughts of "pretty"
Noses perfectly proportioned to their faces
Eyes, huge and deep and dark... sometimes reflecting the darkness in their hearts, produced through pain and disappointment leading them to anger, mistrust, and bitterness. It brings up, in the on-looker, feelings of sadness and empathy for a lost heart. Most often, however, I find "karibu" (welcome) in these sockets to the soul, sparkling with joy, light, love, and true interest in me as a "rafiki" (friend).
These women are caring, incredibly hospitable- "karibu karibu karibu", wanting of wisdom, hungry for knowledge, searching for "it", and longing for new-ness. If one listens carefully, all of this can be heard as these women speak, with a voice and in a language parrallel to their outward beauty. Swahili is the local tongue here, and it is spoken, as I hear it, in song.

Tanzanian women wear second-hand America teeshirts and jeans, wrapped in kongas. The purpose of the konga is to sheild the "fancy" American clothing from the swirling whirling, ever-surrounding red dirt... but it is in these wraps of colors and shapes, messages in design, rainbow-brilliant bouncing culture-defining fabrics that this dry, even when soaking wet, red dirty (yes, the 'y' is on purpose) land and it's people becomes even more beautiful. Wrapped within the wrap is Africa... color, land, myths, beliefs, drama, design, vegetation, the Mountain, ladies dancing, Mosai tribal warriors hunting, fruits, food, flowers, brilliance, bounce, life, innocence, innocence lost, darkness, and freedom. Truly, all in a fabric... all in a konga!

Tanzanian men also wear second-hand America clothing. Imagine shopping at Salvation Army for every piece of clothing you own- no other options. These things are bought off of street carts and at Kiberloni, an area just outside of town, set up as a huge thrift shop. The style of dress here is similar to men in the Western world... tee-shirts or polos and jeans much too large but, somehow, made to fit. The men always match, where as the women do not. It's no matter. They've made the non-matching into a style all their own, and who they are stands to define their beauty, over-riding any importance placed on the clothing they wear.

There is importance placed on quality of dress on two occassions: trips to mjini (town) and Sunday services. The African is seen in only his/her best. For the women, this means, self-designed dresses made from kitangaes and kongas or dresses, second-hand from America. I digress for a moment to explain the dresses from home-sweet-home. Ladies, go to your storage closets and pull out, both, your mid-eightees, full ruffle, pastel colored, lace trimmed dresses and your high-school prom gown(s). Men, flash back to that night from ages past, think upon that pretty girl you escorted by the hand (or the one you really wished you had gone with... whichever one you most noticed), and remember her dress. These are the dresses, gowns(, costumes) made available to Tanzanian women. It's all they know and is fully understood as very beautiful here (and it is quite beautiful.)

Kongas are not worn as wraps to church. (I was just told that this is only true of the "rich" churches- woman from the villages wear kongas to service.) I repeat, kongas are not worn as wraps to (rich) church(es)... except by Caitlin Joy Pritchard. To me, they are beautiful and add more rainbow-color-Africa-ka pow, to my very me, but, reflective of America- style. It was Sunday, a few weeks ago, when I discovered my faux pas. I was standing outside of Maskani Yake (His Dwelling Place), the church, with Goudencia, my roommate and one of the most beautiful women I have ever connected hearts with. We were discussing after-Word plans when I felt eyes in the back of my head... and all over my being. I mentioned this to the beauty in front of me and she responded with "no, Cait-a-lin, it's not true... well, maybe... ummm, because... you are wearing kongas." She then gave me a look similar to one you give a child who has just done something completely pure-hearted yet so rediculous that even you feel embarrased... followed by a huuuuge smile. I said "What! Why?.. is it wrong to wear kongas?" The Beauty's reply was "No, it's not wrong, Cait-a-lin,... well, you see, the women wear kongs when working to keep nice clothes clean. On Sundays they dress up. Not kongas." I thought about this, pondered it, rolled it over and over in my mind and decided... I am going to rock my kongas when I want to rock my kongas! It is not offensive, it's just not understood.

Moshi- Tanzaniana- Africa is trips to mjini (town)-
As a mzungu, I dont feel the need to dress up like my Tanazanian dadas and kakas... so it's teeshirt or tank and jeans for this girl. Im there to sit at the coffee shop and/or to get some things done... post office, eats, other assorted errands. Sometimes Juma takes us everywhere, door to door. Othertimes, I walk it- just me and my Roxy flops. As I walk, I try to stay conscious of my surrounding. It's so easy to just watch my feet the entire time- noticing rad soda bottle caps that have been lying in that same spot for ages- wondering what I could make of it if I were to grab it up- but realizing how so dirty it is and imagining who, with what had their hands and mouth on it... so I leave it. I get lost in this, I do- but then I get hit with "oh my, I am in Africa. Look at it- Notice it- See it- Take it with you, Caitlin" and I do... all of that. As I look, notice, see, take the surroundings- I am inundated with Tanzanians- everywhere- working, walking, begging, talking, some smiling, most very serious-faced... all surviving! It is very much about survival here- little joy, little pleasures, little ease of heart... too much ease of action... acceptance of non-action. I look at each, taking in their details- God's smoothing out of this ones cheek and His lifting of that ones nose- truly, they are beautiful! I want to photograph them all, but it's a delicate action- not always welcome. Anyway, I look, notice, see, and take them with me as I pass by each. I think about them and their day and their future and their hearts and their dreams. I know, almost for certain, what they did that morning, what they are doing now, and what they will do later that night. There is not much creativity in mixing it up. They dont grow up being told to "dream" or go after anything bigger than what they see directly in front of them- farming the cows, collecting taca taca (garbage), cleaning, cooking, street vending. They dont have access to our dream makers- machines or communication devices or transportation to get someone "out." It is easy to quickly feel lost and broken and hopeless over their situation... but then enters Jesus and His hugeness and His plan for them and their lives.... and the Urgency for the reality of Eternity. Wow!

If the he or she's surrounding me aren't Tanzanian or Indian, they are Mzungu. I am so completely drawn to the mzungu. It's wild because, I am one and yet, dont really ever thing about that fact... until I see one. I get as excited as the little Tanzanian children who call out "mzungu mzungu" everytime we pass by. It is unknown to me why they are here and where they are from and what treasures lie deep within them. They are here for a season and a reason... self discovery, growth, to give of one's self, exploration. I wonder "Is Jesus the reason for this season in their life?"-- "Are they aware of His administrative hand in their lives or are they lost and wondering?"
Each is from a distant, far off land, one on which I have, most likely, not yet tread... but long to. They have stories and accents, new and foreign, but delightful, a tickle to the ear. Each is beautiful... representing well the slight differences God put in each different groups of peoples. Each wants to know more, discovering new in them and the world as they venture through this land. There is something innately in some people- actually, I believe it is most people, but not everyone listens to and goes for it- that cries out for adventure and discovery, seeing and touching all of God's creations, treading new lands, making an impact as opposed to just a footprint. The mzungus you meet in Tanzania have all listened and gone for it. The 'yes' in their spirit put them on a plane and flew them here. The few I've spoken with are fascinating- from England, Australia, New Zealand, Holland- missionaries, mountain climbers, backpackers- here for months or years. I get so much from these interactions... brief shared- heart moments, always increasing my faith and my "yes" to GO.

My prayer is "Lord, let me leave with each those peices of me which You know will bless You in them... and let me grab at, fist, and punch into my heart that which You know will bless You in me."

Isnt Jesus so yummy!

Moshi- Tanzania- Africa is warmth and light and vibrant life. It is beauty beyond the dictionary definition. It is hearts- beating, searching, bleeding- some loving Jesus, some needing direction-- needing Jesus.

Moshi- Tanzania- Africa is a greatest gift, a most precious prayer closet, a blessing which has blessed me beyond Beyond.

Moshi- Tanzania- Africa is in my heart, forever a part of me and to be remembered as a most precious season in Our Love Story... The King's romancing of me and me of Him.

Thank you all for sharing in this with me. Your hearts kept beat with my heart throughout the entirety of this. I have been blessed beyond what I could have imagined.
Love Love LOve

move it or lose it

Africa lives by rules... non-rules... no, Africa lives... but sometimes i ask, "how?"...
As Ive traveled, Ive noted differences between America and the new lands. One super interesting happening in each country is the crossing of roads, streets, highways and biways- whether dirt or concrete, made of stone, grass, or wood, it is happening. It is simple, basic, and occurs trillions of times every day, everywhere. It is people doing the crossing, humans, flesh and bone, slightly different skin suits-facial features- and body builds but, by and by, all the same. It is also people (humans, flesh and bone) doing the driving of the cars, bikes, dala dalas, carts, and buses that drive on these roads being crossed, who must work together with the walkers, the runners, the crawlers- the people crossing. However, though all flesh and bone, though all "by and by the same"... the people occupying the different lands abide by different crosser/worker with crosser rules. In America, the pedestrian has the right of way. Some of you disagree. Okay, what I mean to say is, if you hit someone with your car, you are in big trouble, Mister. It concerns more than the law too in that when one American hurts another- in such an awful odd way- they feeeeeel it. It's an inner ouch (and possibly an outer one if the person hits back). Almost sympathy pains. There is remorse and a great desire to make it right- to make their hurts heal (and then your hurts will heal too). Anyway, I digress so exageratively because Im now going to tell you about the African crosser/worker with crosser.

"HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK!" Enough said... no, it's not. It's not enough said because right now, you assume that the "HONK" is an annoyed move move move... please but not really please thing... but it's not. It's "HONK!" Ive honked, you may or may not have heard me, but keep moving and you just might die and I dont care. It is scary at first... as the crosser and as the passenger of the worker with the crosser but after a while of not seeing anyone die it becomes funny. Truly, Juma, our taxi driver picked us up this morning for school and on the way into town, I heard the expected "HONK" here and "HONK" there and "HONK" everywhere... and I laughed... out loud. As an American, these are rude sounds so blatently and basically and nonchalantely sounded from each and every moving vehicle towards (like an dart shot at a bullseye) each and every moving skin body- be it animal, vegetable, or mineral. "HONK HONK HONK HONK..... HONK......................HONK..... HOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!" and everyone is okay with this. Those aboding here, abide by this law. It's our well known, but differently defined "move it or lose it."
Fabulous!

loving everyone... really

loving everyone.... really
The Lord, Jesus Christ in all His amazing Loving of me is opening my eyes wide to His beauty in allllllllllll peoples. Physical, yes... What a perfect, most creative, visionary, molder, smoother outer, "a little more here", "a little less there", tweaker, bender, blender, detail oriented, beauty maker, creator, artist our God is. He has made such wonders in us all. We are so fabulously beautiful having been made in His image. There arent words and though you know I want to try some out... I choose to not. God made us... "enough said."
Also, our inner things... we are each whole beings... as in full of goo and bones and blood, a soul, a spirit, emotions, feeeeeeeeeeelings, drama on occassion, hopes, dreams, love love love, loves (right ones and wrong ones), art, ideas, brains (full of what we fill them with), hearts and hearts desires. Though the same ingredients are contained within, we each are made from a different recipe-- i may be a bit saltier than some (ive eaten it by the handfulls since childhood) where others may be full of sugar. Im losing you, I think. What I mean is, that God used His dirt, His clay, His hands, and His breath to create us all, but He made each of us as different from each other as the snowflakes and raindrops and stars are from one another. I am completely unique. You will never ever ever ever ever ever ever find another me. I will never ever ever ever ever ever ever find another you. Fabulous... it's perfect... perfectly God.
Class was over and everyone was outdoors running and sunning in the sun and Son. Six of the boys had begun a game of football, but soccer to us. It was hot hooooooot and I had planned to walk to town with some of my friends (which meant more hot hoooooot and sweating and feeling sweaty) so the appropriate now action was to sit and stay cool, but I so itched to run the field with the boys and the ball. I decided to resist. I resisted. stillll resisting. stilllllllllll reeeessssssiiiiiisssssssttttiiiiiiing... "I dont have the power"... I gotta play. I played forward for a bit but longed to be keeper and quickly recieved this desire of my heart (it's was more a desire of my ego and sweat glands)... I can do keeper- I pretty much rock at body blocking- it's my place in the game. For me to play keeper, Micah had to take the field. Oh wait, back up... the now remember truth is that I could see that Micah wanted to play the field (the other boys usually stick him in goal) and so I stepped in to relieve him. RIght, that sounds better.
So Im in goal- keeping it- and from there I have a really good view of the game- the jumps and jives, the side steps, the swirly feet thing that Michael does, the headers, Toma's big-footed kicks, the body blocks, every smooth move, every blunder (few and far between), and every .... somersault, butterfly chase, and flying of invisible kites (imagine the eyes to the sky whirling as though following site of a huge rainbow colored kite). These latter scenarios describe my Micah and my gift today was being able to watch and really see this beautiful boy, as he performed perfectly the role God has given him... as him. He is Tanzanian. He is "black" but brown with reds, oranges, yellows, and hot pinks blended to perfect beauty. He is round and full... of so so so much heart, love, desire to please, willingness to learn, want for growth, potential, smarts, and hope- He is a boy and he plays the part well. He is full of surprises. Truly, watch him in football (soccer). One minute he is somersaulting, chasing butterflies, and flying invisible kites... which is fabulous and fun and childlike. These are things he should be doing in that they are carefree, mindless, adventurous, imaginative discovery of life... the pretend things and the real things. He is here and there and everywhere in his mind and yet, the moment that his team needs him and the ball is in his box (where ever the butterfly has led him for that moment), he is the man with the plan and the moves- full on body block, face-stomach-arms-legs- full body involvement, fully functioning, fully skilled, fully successful. I cant seem to find the words to satisfy what my eyes behold as I watch this kid wonder... but let me just say he can "bend it like beckham." Does that even mean anything? The point is that he is wonderful. He is fully child and fully himself, full of potential and gifting and talent and purpose and life. He is beautiful and leaves me gaping and, better yet, smiling and laughing while silently speaking "what!?!" and "really!?!" and "wow!"
I am here for three months, which, now that only five weeks remain, feels like very little. God has introduced me to this Micah, this boy, this specially-designed-by-Him part of His great plan, this heart so in need of love and yet so capable of giving it away in heafty portions... with ease. "Missee Cait-a-lin" "Missee Cait-a-lin". I couldnt ever leave that except that I trust God to forever provide for him hearts to love and be loved by. I am blessed and honored, brought to tears over the heart-to-heart realness between this superstar, this Micah and me. Watching him today in all his... him, touched my heart and deeper still, somehow better connected my heart to God's own Heart. Wow!
The Lord is giving me insight into His creation of us- wholly individual, wholly perfect, wholly Him and therefore Holy. He is beautiful and so we, created in His image are also... beautiful.
You all, you all, you all, you, you, you are so beautiful. I began to think on each of you as He spoke to me of the many different ingredients He placed in us, differently in each... and it broke me. Thoughts of you broke me. Your beauty- beauties even, in Him- 'physical' and 'inner things'- are so beyond what you even think them to be or hope them to be. I laughed... and laughed and laughed and laughed full rejuvenating, life giving laughter. I smiled... a huge, cheek to cheek, red-faced (because my heart exploded and the blood flooded up to fill it), life healing, hope giving smile. I am not deserving of the hearts that I have been given... as friends and just-one-moment-knowings and life long loves... but I readily accept the gift of you all, you all, you all, you, you, you in all your beauty. Please pray for God to open your eyes to you in Him and others in Him. My words could never do it justice, but seeing it for the mili-second I did, changed my heart, and thus, my life forever.

4-03-07

piki piki

Piki piki
"motor cycle"

Sights
-Trees trees trees trees
-Green green green green green
and their other-than-green growth- foods and florals
-coffee plants in browns and assorted greens sprouting in abundance- in rows, extending as far as the eye can see
-gardens, the livelihood of the lovely lived-long-looking, looking-on locals
--many-colored laundry hanging on lines or laid, drying on large river rocks
-Rainbow colors, as seen in-on-over-under
the beautiful locals adorned in khongas and tees and top wraps, carrying
fruits and vegetables in baskets, balanced on heads
living in and meeting at metal and wooden shacks painted in turquoises, reds, browns, oranges, and lime greens.

Sounds
-vrooooooooom
only piki piki
and I love it!
-in the quick- lived silence of the piki piki,
one hears
many waters- brooks, streams, short falls- birds, songs of Swahili shouted and spoken,
and that sweet silence that only nature can accomplish so silently and perfectly…
the whisper of the Holy One

Smells
-the freshest of air, lived-alone and then mixed with
burning taca taca as it wafts through the forests of banana trees, then
coffee bushes touched delicately by the sun and it’s rays, then (but really at the same time)
the red-brown Africa dirt
and mud and,
lastly, completely complimentary, is the scent of
something new,
newness,
unknown and not to be labelled or described to any degree of accuracy
and so
enjoyed to the uttermost,
grabbed at-
tightly fisted-
and pushed hard into my heart-
never to be forgotten.

It’s how I most prefer Africa. The wind all over me, touching any part of my face I allow it to (having put on a helmet and goggles, a shield against it)… blowing up and around everything on me that is not securely tucked, threatening my flip flops with being thrown over the edge and lost forever in some bubbling brook laid under bridges the piki piki flies me over, and providing me with forever renewed moments of the freshest of air- swallowed then circulated throughout my entire being (heart, mind, body, soul) conquering all bad and negative and transforming it immediately to new and clean and pure and good- God good!

As I relax into the ride, handing all power and control over to the piki piki (which Im only able to do out of great trust in God and His protection of me), my body becomes one with this land, Africa- this Tanzania, this Moshi, this Kilimanjaro and the red brown dirt/mud that covers it all. There is a beautiful, wild, funky texture to this land. It is raw and undone and not to be conquered or dominated. As I ride, submitted to ‘come what may’, I am blended into and become one with this texture. It’s as if running a hand across and over a large, wildly ridged oil painting- except it’s your whole body being run over this painting- except the painting becomes real life and it’s now red brown Africa dirt laid across mountain trails climbing up Mount Kilimanjaro.

is there anything more perfect!!?!!

As I am run across this textured painting, as I ride with this land, beautiful brown (but really reds and oranges and hot pinks all blended to perfection) locals pass us (rather are passed by us)- walking their bodies uphill towards home after a long day of farming their crops, sitting on tables at small shack-side ‘bars’, carrying laundry or fruit or chickens in baskets atop their heads, riding bikes- sometimes with two or three bodies at once, herding and hitting goats with long sticks, crossing rivers from forest to dirt road with collections of proof-of-pickings.

Some wave, some smile, some stare blank-faced, some yell, some follow us with their eyes until we fully round the bend. I wave at as many as I can and am most often received with such great joy- widened smiiiiiiiiiile, enthusiastic response-wave… other times, I am looked at with …. Ummm, not joy. These hearts we fly past are purposeful creations exhibiting such raw perfect beauty, each gifting me with a just-this-one-moment connection of eyes and heart. Yum! I am thankful!

Uhuru: Freedom- freedom- freedom- freedom- freedom- freedom- freedom

For me, it is freedom-
heart escape-
heart re-fill-

crazy-beautiful joy! Again and again, I tuck my click click away and, holding my arm outstretched and my palm wide open, I grab all the smells and sights-
quickly fist them all into a ball of perfect moment memories and then press them into my heart!

"Lord, Holy Spirit, dont ever let me forget this-

embed it deep within and bubble it up to the surface every now and then,

for a smile and a 'my God is an awe-some God' heart flutter!"

Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow

I feel differently now than before

more African

more awed

something changed in me

something was added to me

phillip and me
peter (phillip's twin) and mary, his fiance (and so much more!)- beautiful beautiful beautiful

piki piki 2

piki piki: part 2

different day.

different see-ns, scenes

same yum...

fabulous old church built by German missionaries ages ago...

and the cemetary where those missionaries buried their bones.

each stone used to construct the church

was pulled from the river bed below the mountain,

carved into smaller peices and then hauled up the hill by hand(s).

wow

B: london to moshi

air
British Air
men stuards- with fabulous accents and very attentive behaviors towards me and my every need.
it was odd...
for men to serve me
food
and comforts.
what does that say about me and America?
comfortable flight... comfortable enough
London...
hmmmm
Elizabeth
warm, recognized heart
and hugs
Four Seasons
walking w/
italian dinner
"take away" confusion
underground
sleep
wet goodbye
sleep
wet wakeup
rush
walking
free bird... flying solo
Trafalgar Square lions - photo
Decaf coffee at the gallery
city streets
alleys
shooting
fitzroy st vs. fitzroy sqare... oops and wow
hetty and heichee (sp)
pub
walking

leaving London for Africa, I was as shagala bagala (discheveled) as I was when leaving Boston and walking the streets of London. Where was I going and why was going by myself? Because Jesus said so. That was enough, but still my flesh, weaker than ever, was not quite as cooperative as I would have expected of me and my independence. I spent my morning emailing at a very old, very sweet library down the way and then walking through small London streets accomplishing small tasks, such as mailing letters home- mail from far away places is pretty rad to send and recieve! Shooting photographs all along this mini mission, I met friendly faces- my favorite belonging to a man walking his cat. He walked and the cat followed rubbing himself up against brick walls and gate-posts
mowing...
mooooooooooowwwwwwwing.

I pre-arranged a cab ride to the airport. It was the cheapest and easiest route (taking into consideration my huge (beautiful) suitcase, which was not underground-proof.) My driver, Benjamin arrived to Primrose Hill at exactly the scheduled time (which had I any understanding of the next three months and "Africa time," I would have treasured and tried to photograph.) He helped me with my goods, loaded up his very cool London taxi with all of me that was present, and sped off down London streets- around London corners- past London peoples- towards the London, Heathrow airport.
All along this path, we conversed. My man, Benjamin loves Jesus! making the ride more enjoyable. oh, and by advice I mean life and love advice. Benjamin dug a bit, asking questions about me and mine, and my answers led to more questions and then many suggestions. I smiled and laughed and defended myself, as a girl who thinks like a girl (vs. thinking like a boy) and recieved what wisdom he offered-
all the while shooting his every angle and facial expression.
Truly, "click... click... click.... click click click click click."
nonstop.
He was very accomidating, even turning and smiling or doing "serious face" when I requested it of him.
I was in love with the concept of his eyes in the rear view mirror beside his live profile.
Our conversation was alive and fun and full of "Jesus" and "Jesus" and "Jesus!"
When we arrived at the airport, I was even more filled and encouraged with the reality that Jesus truly had set up divine appointments all along my adventure. As we arrived at our destination, Heathrow Airport, and our "goodbye", I was actually sad to say this "goodbye" to this new friend. I took one last photograph, hugged him, told Him "God Bless you, Benjamin", gathered my goods and wheeled off into the distance
(well, that would be his perspective- me growing more distant- as to me, the newly covered ground would be where I was and therefore not distant from me- yet still distant from where I was when I first began wheeling.
hmmmm.
Selah- pause and think on that.)

The distance led into the airport and, though, at this point in the journey, Im a bit less drama you can just re-read my "My taking flight" and apply it here. (Please do remove some of the drama because at this point, Im shagala bagala inside but more submitted to Jesus' will.)
Fast- forward to the "beep beep" of the security beepers. Of course, I set it off again. Having grown a bit smarter, however, I did wear fewer layers this round. With little effort, I was cleared but my stuff did it's own "beep"ing, requiring a thorough inspection. I awaited my trial- with much patience. I was quite early and had the time.
The woman inspecting the bags of the people representing "possible in-security" was courteous, careful, and beautiful. From my totally untrained, and usually incorrect eye, she was indian. She gently placed my red backpack on her examination table, wiped all edges with her danger- detecting white cloth, and then opened it. It was filled- to- overflowing with me: books, IPOD, photos, food, a sketch book, and markers galour. One book of interest to this Beauty was the big black one, specially wrapped in a rainbow print, elasticized belt with two metal snaps. She eyed it, handled it, eyed it more, and then handed it to me, asking me to unlatch it and... "what is this... a Bible?!" I said "Yes!" (I love talking about Jesus- questions are a total open door! and here was Jesus again, with more of Him through hearts met along the way.) She asked that I flip through it- fan the pages for her so that she could be sure I hadnt hidden blades or bomb ingredients inside (she didnt say all that, but Ive seen the movies- I knew what she was looking for.) I gladly obliged and to both of our delight, nothing challenging security was found. There were, however, many papers stashed in the back. She inquired as to what they were and I said "Oh, those... they're mostly Jesus writing."
She kept moving, as is her practice while at work. To watch her, one observes that she is in constant motion, bag to table, white danger- detecting cloth, open, look, hand to items- out of bag, search, hand to items- into bag, bag to owner, smile, repeat. In this moment, however, she stopped all motion and standing still, looked at me- cheek to cheek smile. Did you say "Jesus writing?!" I laughed at the simplicity of my statement and smiling a similar, yet all my own, cheek to cheek smile, said "Yes!" She said, "Are you studying?" and I said "Im headed to Africa as a missionary... and I love Jesus so He (and His Word- refering to the big black book wrapped in a rainbow print, elasticized belt with two metal snaps, which began this whole heart connect) comes everywhere with me." She smiled at me, one of those Jesus smiles, and said "He is everywhere with you, isn't He!!"
She knows Him!
SHE KNOWS HIM!
My sister in Christ!
I said "Yes, He is!"

I had passed the security test, was marked as "perfectly secure" and needed to move on.
She had work to do and so did I.

hello hearts

for those of you who read it, the "love actually" blog was not supposed to be posted. that was an oops... a not ready for posting, not ever to be posted "oops." i woke up the next morning and found it posted and was mortified. i know some of yáll read it because ive gotten comments.
the part of that poem that was intended for all eyes was posted at the bottom of "My taking flight."
truly, im in a beautiful place... inside and outside...
no heart break here, except for the type of heart break that comes through falling in love with Jesus and His people and His heart cry.
i believe that everything happens for a reason and i cant, for the life of me, figure out the purpose of this "oops" but all will be revealed in time.
i guess im feeling sort of out there now that you've read me (as i was then- in January, at a very vulnerable point). it's all good because He turns it all to good... and here am i, a little more humbled.
i love love love you
me

A: my taking flight

My departure, my take off, my leaving, my exit (for the time being), my"goodnight" not "goodbye", my taking flight.... yes, my taking flight- up, more upward towards Him, into His arms of Love, His growth for me, His wisdom, HIs understanding, His Judgement, His truth, His Light, His LIfe, His will for me. Yummmmm to all of it-

Okay so my taking flight... involved much motion and commotion. Beginning with the drama of me... oh, the drama of me. I was in heavy warfare over doing what He was calling me to... my spirit willing, my heart weak. then there's all the normal moves involved with international travel... money, tickets, visas, flights, cabs, hotels, free spots to slumber (?), walking alot alot alot, more flying, more walking, lots of inner commotion- emotional commotion, and destination (then more and more and more).
As my trip was beginning, my wings practice flapping, I remained in a place of "God, I know this is You. I need your great Grace... now!" I was in Boston at Logan Airport. Mama had just dumped me on the curb and driven quickly away... Im kidding, Im just trying to deeply pound into you my then feelings of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO." Mama was actually perfect- driving me, hugs, kisses for Kissees (that's me), and words of Love finishing with "Ill see you right here in three months!"

I dragged my huge- beautiful (but what does that matter in the grand scheme of things) suitcase into the HUGE, sterile, rather blank, bustling (with people who i didnt know and most certainly didnt know me) (drama drama drama) transportation station- paid to ship me to some far off lands! Not cool (but soooooooooo cool!) I found my British Airways ticket station, waited, was paid attention to, gladly handed over that huge (beautiful) suitcase, and walked off- just me and my backpack and me and just me and just me. Through the security pass points... beep beep beep, of course. I always beep! always! maybe it's the metal plates in my head (for real, there are some) but that's rediculous and so not the reason. I just always manage to forget to remove my belt from around my waist or nail clippers from my pocket (which are, of course, taken from me for security sake. I lost a treasured set of nail clippers this way in British Colombia-- pink with a rainbow and unicorn- I think Im not quite over it yet!) So beep beep beep... I had already stripped off all layers- waaaay too many layers... jacket off, dress off, belt off, shoes off, pockets emptied, remove necklaces and earings and rings... left with only a thin layer of fitted white turtle neck and my fitted jeans- I passed the beep test and was admitted through. Now a part of the "safe" ones entrusted to travel our skies- deemed "not a threat" to country, all I had left to do was wait. Mama wanted to make sure I was on time... early early early. This is a mama thing and she's pretty much the best mama ever ever ever. So, here I am, on the "safe one's only" side of the HUGE, sterile, rather blank, bustling transportation station- though it is less bustling on this end bc those present are seated, drinking coffee, eating their new-bought treats, chatting (face to face or via cell phone), or reading something... in other words, kept busy- lazily busy.

With my spare time I decide to take the advise of my brilliant step mom, Elizabeth, which was to trade my USD for pounds in the states, before arriving in London. I set off to find a currency exchange. It took only moments to find, but I remained there for well over an hour. The young man opperating the station was indian and very friendly. He carried himself with confidence, had much to say and many questions. Our conversation began with dollars and pounds but quickly shifted to weighter subjects (did you pick up on that clever wording, "pounds" to "weight"... yeah, it's all for flow!) He asked where I was going and why and I told him that I was to be in London for five nights but that the marrow of this mission was my treading on Tanzanian soil- as a missionary. "Oh, so you're going to convert people?!" I smiled... huuuuuuuuuge, and even chuckled, I think... "ummmm, yeah, well... I've never had someone say it so blatently. Yes, that is why Im going. My job will be to teach young boys, but Im in Love with Jesus and I plan to share that with others and if they are open to Loving Him too then that's amazing... and the point. So, Yes." From there he told me about his best friend who was also a strong believer who shared his Love for Jesus with him often. He asked questions and I let Jesus answer him through me. It was pretty rad! Jesus came and I got to experience one of those light-as-air, Light-on-my-face, joy-to-overflowing moments. He heard the Lord, I beleive. He grew up Hindu but is not practicing currently. He sort of flows with everyone flowing in which way they feel is right for them. He commented that "everyone thinks their god is God. How can one know? How can just one group be right? Id rather not associate with any one religion."

I told him that "I, also, believe that my God is God. Im too smart to waste my time living my life for a God I dont really believe is real. I believe what I believe not because mom and dad and pastor say i should but bc I have lived this believe. I know this God, my Jesus. He has shown Himself to me." I then went on to say that "when the end comes... and it will come, this world will pass away, and only one of us will will survive, remain,be right, will continue on and not go to hell." I suggested that this young, lost heart, "check Jesus out. Give Him a chance to show Himself to you. If He's not real (which I promise you He is) then nothing will change, but when you experience that He is real, your entire life will change. You will know true Life."
He was open.
Seeds.
Do not despise small beginnings.
Seeds.
No plant, no beautiful flower, no magnifiscent tree becomes what it was intended to be, without first starting as a seed.
Seeds.
This divine appointment was a seed for me, too.
In all my willing but weak, God was ever present, revealing to me His greater purpose for this mission.
Seeds.
I left this heart contact all elated and bolder...
Amen...
Bolder...
Amen!
But it's so rad, bc it's all Him... my mouth opens and stuff comes out but it's only all good when it's all God!
I am saved by Grace through Faith- Him Him Him... so good when it's all God!
It was an hour before my take off...
but, in Jesus, I was already in flight.
flap flap flap floooooooooooat
flap flap flap floooooooooooooat
action action action Jesus
action action action Jesus
...
I sat down, bolder but still feeling left, dumped on a corner to await being swept away.
I brought out my Sharpie markers and began to draw my feelings... with words.
Okay so they were sad, sappy, drab, dribbles- sort of formed like love poems to Jesus-
inspired by and through my lonely, willing but weak heart.

... sample below...
(remember the state of mass trama and drama i was in. oh, and also that im a girl)
...
Love, Actually
I am God's.
I choose Him over and over... Forever.
I see life as moments given to me to give back to Him in service, love, touch, words, sacrifice...
to the point of even pain, even joy, even tears of pain and joy--
I am a missionary, in this season, for such a time as this.
I love this.
I am so honored by this title- this marking of me as the King's servant- His.
I can imagine my whole life going to the nations, doing His will.
I am willing.
I am in love with Love.
I am also in love with love.
I want so desperately to be in love and in loved.
I ache for it. I cry for it. I hurt over it not being right now.
Purhaps this is my sacrifice.
For now, for sure.
... January 24, 2007

recap:
all is true,
but my heart has been adjusted.
I still love LOVE just all the more
and
I still love love but now submitted all the more under His will.
... April 13, 2007

lions, elephants, monkeys... oh my

Slow riiiide...take it easy...

k, but this is freeeeee ride... take it easy.

When we dont have rides, we call Juma or Lewis, our taxis...

but that life style is a little rich for our blood...

so our new move is "free ride"... or hitch-hiking.

totally safe... for the most part-

dont worry, Jesus is always with us...

This is today's "free ride" adventure...

most likely, more fun for us than for you... but welcome to our zoo

my sitting backwards and the wind's up-do of my do, enlivened our imaginations and began us on our animal imitations...

the lion is brought to life by Caitlin Joy Pritchard's hair... roaaaaaaaaaar

the elephant is played by Imkia Postma... she is famous for this

beautiful Isabella Bertoni is the monkey more shots from the day... no words, just photographs