free falling

I went snorkeling for the last time this morning. Audrey and Jeffrey were busy catching waves; Dad and Gretchen were soaking up precious time on the beach, so Lance and I put on our gear and ventured out in the ocean.

The powerful waves naturally take swimmers near Black Rock—where all the beautiful coral and swarms of marine life are located—so I just let the water do its thing. Next thing I know, I was alone, brushing up against the high tide. For once, my mask wasn't filling with water and I was free to explore. If it is high tide it usually isn't the best time to snorkel, but I just had a feeling that I might see some cool fishies.

I managed to maneuver myself past the murky water, full of the unknown, and made my way closer to shore. In the process of doing so, I ran right into hundreds of fishes. Hundreds! Swimming all around me, I laughed, forgetting that sea water would fill my mouth and nose. I come up quickly for fresh air, fixed my mask, and went back under. I was captivated. Orange, brown, green, yellow. What were all these fish doing? Where were they going?

Later, as I was reflecting upon my adventures in the water, I thought of Tom Petty's "Free Falling." He sings the he is going to leave this world for awhile, and I think I finally get what that means. It's finding relaxation, peace, and a sense of release from everything that brings us down. That's what snorkeling felt like this morning. Freeing.

At the beginning of this trip, I didn't know if I would find this sense of release. I really just wasn't sure. Tension was abounding every which way. News of Lance due to be a father was weighing us all down. And, just on one of the first nights we had in Maui, Lance and I talked intimately about his depression and it scared me. I saw glimpses of a brother I did not know. Even Gretchen and Dad were expressing issues in their marriage that I didn't know existed.

One night, I went on the beach alone and just cried. I said aloud things like, "Why is this happening?" or "I just can't do this." I think I was talking to God, but I really don't know. I couldn't understand how a place like Maui—a place of astounding beauty—could be bringing so many issues to front—wasn't this supposed to be vacation? I was so sick of dealing with everything. I had hoped vacation would be a BREAK from the emotional stress of the past few months, and yet, here I was thinking I would need a vacation from this vacation.

Mom called early on in the trip and I had to pretend everything was fine. I'm a terrible liar, and somehow she believed me.

However, as quickly as the emotional turmoil came, it seemed to leave just as quickly.

The rest of the trip—the past 4 or 5 days—have been just about perfect.

I realized things were going to be okay as I rode a bike down a mountain (a volcano, really) a couple days after we arrived. I was riding behind our leader and careful to follow his movements; we glided through the road at speeds topping 20 or 25 mph. At one point, I looked around and could not believe where I was. I was about 8,000 ft above sea level and yet I could see the turquoise and navy blue waters perfectly. I could see the neighboring islands, I could see green lush everywhere I looked, and the sun was peaking at just the right point. I was happy and confident things would (and will) work themselves out.

Upon return from our bike ride, Audrey and I played in the ocean for hours. We body boarded, letting the sand penetrate every inch of our bodies, and just had fun. Yes, things would be just fine.

Our last full night in Maui, our family, including the Deckers (Gretchen's sisters family)—sunkissed and content—had dinner as we watched traditional Hawaiian dancing. We took some pictures, laughed, and enjoyed an overly expensive subpar meal.

Dad and Gretchen have begun to work through their issues.

Lance seems happier than he has been in some time. Despite my own questions, I will continue to believe that he is turning his life around. We recently found out that he will in fact, no be a father. It's a complicated situation, but I won't deny that we have discovered new heights of relief.

Audrey is maturing and expressing her feelings more openly to me than before and it's such a nice change. I like having a little sister and though we have never been extremely close, I see things changing for the better in our relationship.

So, after a week of beaching it in Hawaii, soaking up the sun in December, and wearing a bathing suit at all times, where do I stand?

Well, I'm tanner. Should add a little spice to Christmas photos!

But really, I think I'm more fully aware now more than ever that I can only control myself. I cannot fix my family problems. I never have been able to, and I never will. It's been a hard lesson, something I have struggled with for a long time, but it's a much needed one. I am letting it be, or at least I will try to. It's far too draining to make everything better myself, I don't need to. I don't have to.

My dad gave me my birthday present early. After dinner one night, he took me to the Pearl Factory. He let me pick an oyster to open and find a pearl. As the woman cracked it open, the oyster revealed a beautiful pink tinted pearl. I picked a Maile leaf design for the ring. As I put my pearl ring on my finger, the woman told us the ring design is symbolic and based on a leaf that only grows in Hawaii. The leaf represents love, honor, and respect, and is given to someone who has achieved something special. I was humbled, appreciative, and so happy that this was my gift from my dad. I figure as long as I long as I live my life with those three virtues in mind, then great and beautiful things will continue to happen.

I am sad to bid farewell to the ocean and the stunning island of Maui, but I'm fulfilled from the experience and ready for the next adventure.

I'm ready to return to the world for awhile.

Just the Way You Are

And so here we are.

Somehow, August turned into September, September became October and brought us fall, the leaves fell away in November, and finals brought us through December.

I honestly forgot how fast it goes, how it is finally Friday and then Sunday just a second later, and just when the papers and tests seem endless, it's finished.

It's been a difficult semester. It was so different than any other semester I have had so far. All of my friends came back with new stories to tell (whether from abroad or right here at Hendrix) and we all seemed to grow up a little bit. We brought our new perspectives, our new selves, really, and lived the Hendrix life again, once more. It was a new experience to grasp this whole "senior" thing, as for awhile, it felt unreal. I was ecstatic upon returning to something so comfortable, something so familiar, and it's just funny how the very thing that you think won't change, well, it changes too. Of course, the feeling of eating in the cafeteria was the same, the beautiful trees were all the same, and still, being back at Hendrix wasn't all what I expected.

There was a time this semester that I was really sad. I couldn't stand to be in a room by myself, I couldn't stand to be in a room with other people. I was afraid to cry. I was afraid of what that might feel like. It was kind of scary, I really wasn't sure if I was going to be able to put on a happy face anymore. I was sick and tired of worrying about my brother, I wasn't enjoying what I was doing, I was dreading field hockey practice, something I have always loved, and I just felt like my heart wasn't into anything. Luckily for me, this didn't last long. I can't say a light switched on one day and things were better again, rather, it took some time to really try and slow down, appreciate where I have been, and to just be okay with that. I started journaling a lot more again, I went on long walks around campus, and I let myself cry.

The sadness left and I felt free again. Ever since then, for the most part, this semester has become much more of what I imagined it could be like. I have taken more time for myself, I am trying to do things that make me happy more often, and I guess in a lot of ways, I am just acknowledging that however I might feel, it's perfectly okay.

There was a time this semester that I was really happy. I danced like a madwoman on a variety of occasions, I layed out in the sun at the lake over Labor Day weekend, I got to wear a colorful 70s pantsuit at SoCo54, I played in some intense field hockey games, I enjoyed tea with my best friends in the wee hours of the morning at the labyrinth, I camped, and I went to Tulsa for Thanksgiving. In the past week, I have gone ice-skating, drank wine with my friends, eaten delicious food, read the first three books of Harry Potter, ran around Conway on a blistering cold afternoon, and watched a couple pretty good movies. This, all at the same time of writing 3 papers, taking 3 finals, and finishing up with my academic responsibilities. Apparently, balance is actually possible, and every time that I have found it, I have felt most myself, and most content with where I am.

It's not to say that doing a few fun things you enjoy makes everything better, it's so much more than that. Enjoying college life, especially in an academically rigorous place like Hendrix, requires an understanding of who you are and where you are going. Moreover, I've learnt the importance of simplicity. The greatest moments of my life have been on wild adventures, on spontaneous journeys to places around the country, around the world. However, other great moments in my life have been just sitting around drinking coffee and talking to people I really care about, it's been about sleeping in late, taking walks for a breath of fresh air, and eating a yummy home cooked meal. Great adventures and stories don't just have to come from doing the daring and unexpected, it can also be about embracing the simple and just taking it easy. Life moves fast, just slow down. I haven't perfected this. I'm not even close. But, I'm learning.

I have one semester down, and one more to go.

I've missed my family. I am ready to recount my semester with them, tell stories of that one time (say, when the pantsuit ripped down the middle of my butt at SoCo…), and to be around the house again. And, I'm ready for them to help me get ready for the next part of the year, 2011, which will indeed, be a year full of great things to come.

 

 

 

Sundays in Conway

Sundays are one of my favorite days during the week. I get a taste of everything. Of friends, of God, of outdoors, of school, of relaxation, of coffee, and even a little bit of laundry.
Sometimes it really is about the simple things in life.
I really love my life here.

Long Live

The first time I stepped onto the field hockey field as a Hendrix Warrior, I was nervous, unsure, and maybe a little scared. Surely, I could never love a team the way I loved my high school time, and what's more, what exactly was I doing playing college field hockey? Oh yes, I was excited and ready to play, but I was quite certain that this was one of the more risky decisions I had made in my life.

The heat stuck to my face unyieldingly, the running workouts during pre-season were pretty miserable, and I was tired, exhausted, and living and breathing field hockey.

I wasn't sure if my new teammates would like me—I even let Katie call me Hannah for a week—and I didn't know if I was good enough.

And yet, I loved it. We lost 16 games that first season, and God love us, we only scored one goal the entire time.

The last time I stepped onto the field hockey field as a Hendrix Warrior, was today. In between that disgustingly hot August pre-season back in 2007, to the cold and icy morning of November 2010 of post-season hockey, something happened.

We came together, we fell apart, we cheered, we cried, we celebrated, we lost, we won, we wanted to quit, we wanted to win the SCAC championship, and finally, we wanted to play for each other. We made a team. It's the love we have for each other and for our team that made this happen. It has been a ride full of questions, challenges, and difficulties. When I take a minute to reflect, I wonder how in the world we got to this point. So many times we struggled. I suppose this is the nature of any team, but especially a team that is new, a team that had no foundation.

Still, with the struggles, we are here. We beat Sewanee yesterday in overtime. Down 3-1 with 20 minutes to play, the game could have been easily over. We could have called it quits, given up, packed our bags, and geared up for the long trip home to Arkansas. We dug deep, however, and clawed our way back. Next thing we knew, we were headed into overtime. When Kelly knocked in that final goal to give us a victory, I was so happy. We gathered together on the field, embracing each other, screaming. We were so happy. We loudly yelled our cheer, "It's not about you, it's not about me, it's about the team," with the parents and fans present with us in Indiana, and it was a beautiful moment. We will all carry that with us that forever.

That's what this season has been all about. We have been having moments where we just take a step back and realize that this is why we play. This is why I run the extra sprint, this is why I train all summer, this is why I fall down and get back up, this is why we stick around even when all we want to do is leave.

The win at Bellarmine, the comeback against DePauw, the 1-0 win over Sewanee at home, and finally the overtime win against Sewanee this weekend. There's a lot more too; the great moments in between. The practices, the bus rides, the travel. Everything. It's a part of the experience, and I know at this time, I would trade nothing in the world for it.

So now, we are riding home, and my time as a Hendrix Warrior is over, along with 7 other seniors whom I have come to know and love dearly.

Endings are new beginnings. I wrote that beside the leaves I gave each of the girls before this weekend, and it's true. I believe in it. As hard as this is going to be, I know that the team is going in a good direction. It's extraordinarily humbling and satisfying to know that we helped start and bring this program to the level it is now, and I'm grateful for the experience. I will cherish these times forever, I will miss it, but I will always love it. And, we will always be Hendrix Warriors, I think.

Here's to 4 incredible years of Hendrix Field Hockey. Long live.

 

Long live the walls we crashed through

Long live all the magic we made

Long live all the mountains we moved

I had the time of my life

Fighting dragons with you

I was screaming long live

That look on your face

Bring on all the pretenders.

I'm not afraid

One day

We will be remembered.

--Taylor Swift, "Long Live"

The Original 8

For 8 years of my life I've played a game that a lot of people might just see as this strange compilation of candy-cane looking sticks and an orange plastic ball.

It's all coming to an end now.

I remember thinking 4 years ago, "what will it feel like when it all comes to an end?"

And yet, I could shove all of those thoughts to the back of my mind—it seemed as though field hockey would go on forever.

This weekend was our final pair of home games at Warrior field. Ever. The 8 seniors who started this program are slowly ending their time with the Hendrix field hockey program, and like change has always been in my life, it's been a sudden rush of realization, a surprise that you know is coming but you can never quite prepare for, and it rocks me harder than I could have ever imagined.

I walked into the locker room and was overwhelmed by the black streamers everywhere, the pictures of the 8 seniors on the door, and the beautiful bracelets we received in these cute boxes. I could barely get out an inspirational speech before we headed out on the field. I tried my hardest to hold it together when my family escorted me on the field. I prayed hard during the national anthem, asking for some kind of grace and appreciation that would make this game a game to remember. Oh, and was it ever. We played our hearts out. The best part? We walked off the field giving everything we had. That's all we have ever needed to do. We came back from behind 2 goals. Any other season you know what would have probably happened? We would have probably let the game go, just trying to make it to the very end. Not yesterday, and not anymore. That's how much this team has grown.

The feeling of scoring the first goal, with everyone screaming, shouting, wow. I will never forget it. Every athlete dreams of a feeling like that. It hurt to lose to DePauw in double overtime. Of course we were upset. But as I hugged my family and friends, laughing at the wonderful shirts my friends made, I realized that this is what it is all about. This is what we have been searching for the past 4 years, and for the last couple of weeks as a senior field hockey player, our team has found it.

I told our team before we left the field that this was the best group of girls I have ever played with. I meant every word, and even though I had to hold back my sobs, I am glad I said it.

This crazy ride is coming to an end. But, we still have conference championships left. I know all of us want to go out the right way, so I can only wish the other teams luck. If we play the top game we can play, we can beat anybody. That's just so cool.

 

let it fill the space between.

I've been home as long as I was there.

4 months ago, I came home from 4 months full of the adventure of a lifetime.
Except, the more I'm home and away from Ghana, the more I realize that while our time there was an adventure, it was more of a journey than anything else.
I've been continuing the journey here; I've been learning how to live my life away from Ghana. As everyday ticks by and each moment passes, I try to soak all of it up, but in the same moment, I try and remember what the past year has meant for me.

My biggest fear?
I will forget.
I will forget what that hot, dusty sun felt like fresh on my skin.
I will forget the cramped and yet comforting tro ride into town.
I will forget the comfort in a long lasting sip of citrus tampico, knowing that nothing else could quite quench my thirst (except for maybe some chilled Coke!)
I will forget my friends, our jokes, and what it felt like to be an American abroad.
My worst fear is I will forget what the lives were like for the kids I taught, for the Kissemahn kids. No, I won't ever forget the smell of sewage, of the laughter of their small voices, or even some of the topics we talked about together. But, will I forget what this means for the rest of my life? Will I forget what it felt like to actually BE THERE?

What happens if time takes that all away?

4 months later and I am not the same--nor will I ever be. Maybe it's this that will help me remember.
I've gained a little perspective, have my priorities better in line, and I appreciate the life I have had so so much more.
The last month of my life, especially, has confirmed that right now, I am exactly where I need to be. I love my family, I really do, but I don't know. Life just makes sense here now. So much of me is here. Coming back to Hendrix was coming home too, and it's been critical in helping me get back to living my life in this beautiful country again.
Maybe this is what happens when you find a home in more than one place--around the world even.

Maybe that is just the point. Home is beyond the house; home is your heart feeling perfectly in place.

For the first time in 4 months, it does.

Better to have loved & lost than to never have loved at all.

And love will hold us together

Make us a shelter to weather the storm

And I'll be my brother's keeper

So the whole world will know that we're not alone.

This is the first day of the rest of your life.

--Matt Maher, "Hold Us Together"

I think I first heard this song driving the long stretch of highway into Denver one morning this summer. Which, is funny, as I was headed to The Gathering Place, and I once I heard, felt, and learnt (well, kind of…I have issues learning lyrics…) this song, I immediately thought of one place that this song reminded me of:

The Gathering Place.

It just had TGP written all over it. It's a shelter—but not just in the physical sense, but in an emotional and spiritual sense, too.

Love comes first. In every relationship.

Clients to staff.

Clients to clients.

Staff to staff.

Women to women.

The way people care for each other—it's unmistakably a family; we are all each other's keepers. And, most importantly, the women and children can fully realize they are not alone. They have a community. And this, along with resources for self-sufficiency, can help women allow this to be the first day of the rest of their lives. Hope is possible.

Fast forward to NOW.

It's August 12, 2010—the end of summer and the last day of my summer service fellowship.

I came home with a beautiful flower painted on my face (with lots of glitter of course) from our rooftop carnival.

I came home with tear-stained makeup from the bittersweet goodbyes.

I came home with enchilada leftovers (from my favorite family at TGP), a sheet cake that says, "Thank you Heather, we will miss you," and sweet letters to bid me well on my next journey.

I certainly came home full, especially from the surprise breakfast my friends brought in for me today. Yes, a full heart, and a full stomach too.

And, I came home, heard this song, and realized that again, it carries the spirit of The Gathering Place—only this time, I feel
these words. It's me, I'm the one who resonates with these words. I need them.

Love will hold us together

It's the only thing that ever has; it's the only thing that ever will. I heard "I love you" at least 20 times today. Denise told me, "We love you. We care about you. You give us faith in humanity, you give us reason to hope." All of my co-workers made an effort to share and give me love, and to show me love, not just today, but over the past two months. Just when you think you've seen someone give all the love they have—they give more. Sarah told me this goodbye would be one of the hardest. I feel the same way entirely. I've grown attached to this place; I've grown up in this place. And, as hard as it was to walk out onto the streets of Colfax from the building today, there is a special bond that was built that washed an overwhelming sense of reassurance in my heart. This is hardly goodbye—this love, it will bring us together again. The Gathering Place and me? Our paths, I know, will meet again.

Make us a shelter to weather the storm

These walls, these people, this community is for women and children in great need. It's a shelter, in its truest sense, and admittedly it's been one for me. Coming home from a life-changing, intense, and incredible semester in Ghana, I struggled adjusting. I still am. Somehow, in some crazy way, TGP was exactly what I needed—well before I even knew it. I needed to be immersed with kids. I needed to give love—and receive it right back. I needed a challenge, but I still needed a home. Sometimes, what you are looking for is right where you left it.

And I'll be my brother's keeper

I can't tell you how many times a beautiful child would embrace me, hug me, telling me of their life: their very own struggles, dreams, and realities. Yes, 4, 5, 6, and 10 year old children. For the kids that I developed a truly strong relationship with: Nika, Abrianna, Jesus, Janet, and Lizzy, I made it quite clear. I will love you. Here, you are safe. I will listen, dance, sing, laugh—whatever you need. I'm here for you. And as days, months, and the summer passed, they did that for me too. I shared myself, I bared my soul, and that is forever a true mark of love; a true mark of trust.

So the whole world will know that we're not alone

You get a taste of perspective when you see bruises from abuse. When you see women who have all of their belongings on their back. When you see women with no place to go. When you see children who are hungry. And, so I may have had a heavy heart upon returning from Ghana, but I realized I am—nor have I ever been alone. God makes it like that, I believe. We have our struggles, our battles, and if we can come together, we can know we are not alone. Everyone is fighting something.

This is the first day of the rest of your life

I'm so sad this experience has ended. Sad, because my summer at The Gathering Place really did mean the world to me. It came into my life just when I needed it. I gave what I could, and I learnt with every step I took, and it was just right. But now, it's time to step forward, take these stories, take these lessons, and cherish the memories made. The old adage is true:

"Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

God, thank you, thank you.

I am so grateful for everything I lived and breathed this summer—reading stories, playing outside, the sandcastles, the beautiful drawings, the laughs, the sports, the moms, the kids, the friends I made, and the challenges that arose among difficult situations.

I said as I started this journey that I was at The Gathering Place to love, and to believe in love.

Without a doubt in my mind, I do.

Love always wins.

becoming that person

I get lost in the beauty of everything I see

The world ain't as half as bad as they paint it to be.

If all the sons and all the daughters stop to take it in

Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin.

Pain, poverty, thirst, hunger, longing, loneliness, homelessness, hurt, shattered dreams, and violence

fill the same streets, neighborhoods, homes, cities, states, villages, and countries as

hope, love, community, unity, dreams, goals, motivation, service, help, friendship, and family

in the same place that you will see hopelessness

you will find that one person who keeps smiling when their backs are against the wall

when God seems to be gone

when there is no reason to believe

they will.

It's hard to be that person.

It's hard to believe in this world anymore.

with all of this

war

unequal distribution of wealth

natural disasters

distrust

and every man for themselves attitude.

I have struggled to believe. I have felt hope leave. I have tested the edge of ambivalence. That's a risky road to walk, a scary place to go. It's easier. It's a lot easier, but the road of hopelessness goes

Nowhere.

So, with tragic news each night on TV, with every child that goes hungry, with every woman who is in a painful relationship, with each corrupt government official, with all of these destroyed families, and with my very own struggles, wrongdoings, and sins,

I will pray. Things will get better.

The world ain't half as bad as they paint it to be.

I can try and be that person that smiles and believes. I may try, and I may fail. But with God, I can have hope. And with hope, you have everything.

“I Like Fried Rice.”

It's funny how no matter where I've been in my life, it seems like I'm always missing somebody.

It's like life is a perpetual state of missing.

I don't think this is a bad thing. No, not at all. Who wouldn't want all of the people they love in the world with them, right when they need them, at the perfect moment?

What's important though is to understand what these relationships and people mean.

It's hard to face. Very very hard. Especially right now.

In Perks of Being a Wallflower, there is this quote,

"Maybe it's sad that these are now memories. And maybe it's not sad. And maybe it's just the fact that we loved, and this was the time we could spend."

I've been meditating about this, thinking about it, trying to capture the essence of what this actually means.

I miss Rukia.

It's been so hard. For whatever reason, the past couple of days, I haven't been able to get her off her mind. I close my eyes and I am back in Kissemahn.

We are holding hands. We are dancing. She is whispering in my ear, "Auntie Heather, I will go to Legon." We are practicing numbers. We are drawing our families. We are singing "Sunshine in Africa." We are taking a tro-tro to Legon. We are drinking Coke and Cocktail de Fruits, all at once, because that's the only way Rukia likes to do it. We are in the taxi with Rachel and Mother T and Kwame, and Ruky and Kwame are yelling outside the window to street vendors. We are walking to Rukia's house. I am sitting with her family, they are smiling at me, thanking me, loving me.

And there is one moment that I keep playing in my head over and over again.

Esther, Rukia's mother, told me one day after returning from Legon that Rukia could be my my sister. I told Esther that Rukia would always be my sister. I told her that I loved Rukia. Esther just looked at me, pursing her lips, and then broke into a big smile. She said, in the middle of a sweet, sincere chuckle, "Yes. You are sisters. Always."

I open my eyes. I'm in my queen sized bed. I'm in an air-conditioned house. Here I am, thousands of miles away, with all of the comforts in the world, right. in. my. room. I have more clothes than I know what to do with, a room larger than Rukia's home, and an excess of food downstairs in the fridge.

I miss this girl. I miss her. It breaks my heart not knowing when we will meet again. Do I move forward, recognizing that seeing her again is highly unlikely? Or, can I hope, and believe that our lives will cross paths again?

Or maybe, that's not even the right question. Maybe, instead, I must ask, how did Rukia change my life? What did she give to me? What was I able to give her? How do I carry her within me, knowing that what we shared was a bond that overcame language, age, and cultural differences, and that maybe that's where the story ends? Maybe that's enough.

This is different from adjusting back to life in America. This is missing a 5 year old from Ghana that changed my life. this. is my heart breaking.

I told my mom that Rukia is crazy. She's sharp as a whip though; she's got this zest for life, unlike anything I've seen for someone her age, she's just got it. She's so special, anyone will tell you, and though she certainly is wild at times, she's a good soul. And, I think what hurts more than anything—more than me missing her—is that I don't know for certain that she will have a chance to really succeed in her life. She is now enrolled in a school in Kissemahn (!!!!) but as it so goes in Ghana, this is only for now. If the money runs out, if the family needs her to do chores, she will be out of school in a second.

She lives in the small town of Kissemahn, Ghana. She lives in a home the size of my room with about 5 other people. Her mom has very little money. To the government, she is probably nothing but a number.

But, to anyone who meets her, there is no doubt, she is something special. She has the potential to do great things.

So, I will keep praying. Praying for her, for her family, and that she can get an education. I will also remember that as I got to know her, we loved. We had great times together. What it means for me now, I'm not quite sure, but that was the time we could spend, and my God, I am forever grateful.

You Say I’m Lucky to Love Something that Loves Me

I watched an old best friend get married this weekend. MARRIED. Her horse carriage that brought her to the aisle was stunning, and watching the groom's face—not just the bride's—brought tears to my eyes. I don't know Dusty, the groom. We've met a couple of times in passing. But, as I watched Kristen and Dusty exchange vows on a secluded ranch upon a hill, surrounded by trees, green, her loved ones, and the fresh Colorado air, I knew she was just following her heart.

I think it's a good reminder about what in the world we are all doing here.

God—the way I see, feel, and know Him—is a God that moves, lives, and goes.

He moves, lives, and goes with us.

And, I know it's important to take life slow. To hold it, to touch it. But, when I feel God, I just want to move. Faster. And, I just want to go.

I know people say slowing down is good. It really is, and I learnt and lived that in Ghana.

Still, there's something about vigorously savoring each day, unafraid of change, fearlessly finding new people, things, and places. It's how I've tried to live my whole life. Even as a young girl, I was never idle. I wanted to play at the park any chance I could, I wanted to explore, I wanted to find. I didn't really know what I was looking for, but I never was interested in daintily brushing my dolls' hair. It just wasn't me.

Even with struggles, challenges, and obstacles, there's no reason to stop.

Maybe I'm not going down the aisle anytime soon.

But, I'm glad Kristen did. Because she's happy, and she followed her heart. What an honor, for myself and our friends, and her family, to watch someone commit themselves wholeheartedly to somebody else. Especially, for this person to be someone we all care about.

I hope one day I will.

And, I hope it will be beautiful whenever marriage for me comes along.

But, no reason to wait around.

There are experiences—each day—to be had, people to love, and life to be shared.

When Kristen and Dusty came back down the aisle, as Mr. and Mrs. Warner, everyone was beaming. It was good moment.

It was love.

Whether it's at a wedding, at a lone gas station, at the small corners on a college campus, on the streets leading into downtown, in vast and faraway places, or right in your own home, it's everywhere.

Go, and find it.

Ubuntu

One of the sayings in our country is Ubuntu - the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity.

We think of ourselves

far too frequently as just

individuals,

separated from

one another,

whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity. (Desmond Tutu)

I first stumbled across Ubuntu when reading some of the words and inspirations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Big surprise there.

It was on the back of this book, a saying that could have been easily overlooked, but somehow, I managed to see it.

I am what I am because of who we all are.

This is the essence of Ubuntu, a concept a part of African spirituality, particularly stemming from southern parts in Africa.

I've been thinking a lot about humanity, and the world, yes, of course, but I have also been thinking about a special place in my heart where a special group of girls reside.

I have tasted a sense of interconnectedness around the globe, and that's beautiful. I also can feel a very different, but even more tangible interconnectedness with my best friends at Hendrix, which I think counts for something really special.

Dear Ali, Lauren, Jordana, Michelle, and Rachel,

I am what I am because of who we all are.

I've changed a lot over these past three years. And, it's no question that y'all have too. And your change has been a part of my change. What have we have done has affected each other, and somehow, after Habitat, adventures on the field hockey bus, Bible Study, classes, SoCo54, all the good times, and all the hard times too, I find myself ready for this last year, more ready than ever to do it with my best friends.

We are all so different—crazy different, even. But as I get my stuff slowly back together to come back to our home in Conway, well, I think back on all of our adventures, journeys, experiences, and times together, and somehow I feel so much reassurance, love, and comfort, just knowing we are all on this same ride together. It's nice. It's senior year, y'all.

And when we finally reunite, it will be the first time some of us have seen each other in almost 9 MONTHS. Hello, like Rachel has said, someone could have had a BABY in that time.

I will see you, Michelle, and we can finally read our bibles together and journal, and contemplate things such as time while somehow also having a photo shoot and still getting our homework done.

I will see you, Ali, and we can play field hockey together again (!!!!) and continue our creeper game, and of course discuss the state of the world in the same conversation we talk about hot men.

I will see you, Rachel, and we will finally be back together after our EPIC adventure in Ghana. We can talk Ghanaian, continue our heart to hearts, and of course, be ridiculous as always.

I will see you, Lauren, and we will get to play hockey together again (!!!!) and meet for breakfast, and talk about anything and everything, being rebellious here and there.

I will see you Jordana, and we will laugh together, try accents together, and of course complete the mission together. I will cook you Ghanaian food, and you will bring me baked goods.

Ubuntu might have been intended in African spirituality as a way to see the world, and oh, I see it. I am living it. Y'all are a part of this journey I am having.

You can't exist as a human in isolation. I believe this.

You can't thrive at Hendrix without some beautiful people around you. I believe this too.

I know things have changed, and will keep changing too. This is life. Josh Radin so beautifully says, "so let the wine blow us, to wherever it says we are supposed to go."

But, I think change makes us stronger. It brings us closer. So, when we go back in a few weeks, I look forward to lots of hugs, tears, stories, wine, and picking up right where we left off.

Love y'all,

Heather

 

 

 

 

2 albums; one heart

I finally have my Ghana pictures all put together in an album. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

I love it.

And as I looked through the album that now holds snapshots of our crazy, wild, incredible journey: the Kissemahn kids, Coca-Cola, Togo & Benin, the beautiful coastline of Ghana, and our random photo shoots around Accra, I managed to find the photo album that I had with me while I was in Ghana.

This album was a source of comfort for me while I was abroad. It was nice to have a piece of home when I came across difficulties, when I was sad, when I was homesick, and when I was needing a little reminder of everything I had waiting for me at home.

In this album are pictures of my family, of various trips, and of course, my friends.

It has pictures from my mission trip to Vietnam, of the hockey team, of my incredible grandma, of my best friends and I jaunting around Hendrix, of hikes in my favorite parts of the mountains, and even of Buddy.

There are empty spots for pictures where Rukia, Salem, and Gloria took a few to keep in their homes back in Kissemahn. I think I'm going to leave it like that—a nice reminder of where I have left a big piece of my heart.

Though it's impossible to describe what my journey in Ghana has meant for me, with these pictures, and some story-telling, I can make a little headway.

As I look through the photos of familiarity—my parents, siblings, and friends—I like where I am going. I like where I have been. I like it, just right here. Right now.

That's the trick with photographs, you know. How to embrace them for exactly what they mean; to let them take you back, but also use them to propel you forward. I don't know when I'm going back to Ghana. I don't think that door has completely closed just yet. So, when I look back on these pictures, I will laugh, cry, and remember. I will cherish. And I will appreciate and know that is from these experiences that I am who I am. And, I have that forever. I am taking that with me. I am moving forward with this inside of me.

That is the value of a photograph.

 

The beautiful pianist

A perfect moment.

We celebrated birthdays for the month of July today in the dining room at The Gathering Place.

Ice cream. Cake. Singing.

One woman slowly made her way over to the big brown piano, took a seat, and just played. Her eyes were far from being fixated on the music; it was clear, this woman knew this song by heart.

She was playing an old church hymn. Everyone stopped and listened.

Her eyes shut, and still I could see them. She was in another world. She was gone.

I wanted more and more and more.

The music came slowly, and then quickly, and all at once everyone was mesmerized. This was by a woman, who maybe by society and the rest of the world has counted her out.

She isn't rich enough. She isn't skinny enough. She needs help. She can't do it alone.

It makes me wonder: who really can?

And so here she is. Playing the grand piano with vigor I haven't seen in so long.

I feel refreshed. Invigorated. Renewed. Just from watching, and feeling her heart that she is so generously pouring out for everyone to feel.

As quick as it comes, it is over. She gets a standing ovation, and the women are on their feet clapping, screaming, taken aback by the beauty this woman so unexpectedly displayed.

What are we all carrying around that we can offer the world?

So let the wind blows us

So, I've been thinking.

Yes, please run. When that happens, it can be quite scary.

And, I don't really know what everything means. Because I'm young, oh so young, and I don't know exactly what I want out of this crazy life.

But, maybe, at the exact same time, I do.

I wrote in my journal.

I want to be happy.

I want to love.

I want to be a woman of hope. I want hope to guide me, pull me, push me. Just when I think I can't go any further.

I want to play. I never want to stop, I never want to stop exploring, learning, and appreciating.

I want to get dirty. Dirt on my face, hands, under my nails. As long as that means I've lived, and maybe enjoyed this beautiful earth that much more.

I want to laugh. And, make people laugh too. Even at the risk of sounding like a complete crazy loon. It's just so much more fun that way.

I want to know God. I want that to come and go right through my soul, so that I always feel like He is filling me right back up.

I want to be a best friend. I want to have best friends.

I want to fall in love. With a man, with beautiful children, with places all over this world.

I want to be strong. Strong enough to be independent, still relying on God and others, and strong enough to be me. Not afraid to be exactly who I am.

And, more than anything, I just want to believe. I want to believe that anything is possible. That love can move mountains. That everything happens for a reason. And that every day, every moment. It's a gift.

So, yes, I've been thinking. Life is confusing, challenging, hard, ugly, dirty, and just plain ridiculous sometimes. But you know what?

Those perfect moments—watching a pure and steady sunset, laughing with tears rolling down your face, coming home with grass stains from a game well played, and just LIVING—it kind of makes everything worthwhile.

Open the door.

Streetlight by Joshua Radin.

 

I'll wait for something under a streetlight
It won't be long because

 

It's dark, it's cold it's one of those nights where

Something out there keeps me alive


But I don't know where to go

So I think I'll sit and stay here a while

Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go.

 

When you want something but can't name it
It's under a streetlight

It's something you've never seen before
Open the door

It's something you've always been afraid of

It's under a streetlight
And now all you want is more

But I don't know where to go
So I think I'll sit and stay here a while
Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go

I don't mind the wait it's fine

As long as you know

It's the wait that could be the something.


But I don't know where to go
So I think I'll sit and stay here a while
Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go

 

 

 

oh beautiful for spacious skies.

My Journey of Reconciliation

I should know much of what there is to know about America. I should have a grasp of this bizarre and fascinating culture—and I should be comfortable with it—yes? After all, I am an American Studies major. And, an American too.

Confession. I'm clueless.

I couldn't help but let the tears fall today as I drove home from the Gathering Place in Denver on I-25.

When did all of this stop making sense?

In Ghana, I journaled so much about finally knowing America now that I was on the outside looking in. I preached it. I felt like I could grasp this thing we call America now that I saw things from a new perspective.

So, imagine coming home—to the U.S.A.—and feeling a little bit like a stranger at times.

The idea of my home—my room and PRIVATE space where I can be isolated at any time—I don't get it.

Wal-mart is another monster. I sure as hell can't figure it out. Why are there like, 940925435 kinds of butter to choose from?

The food. The relationships. The culture of poverty.

Quite simply, I'm confused. Sad. Detached. Uncertain. To name a few.

I try and express this and people just look at me blankly. Don't get me wrong, and I am going to stress this: I DO love America. So very much. I am grateful to be an American. This country is beautiful. That cannot be overstated.

It's just reconciling two different worlds is nearly impossible.

To be fair, even after living in Ghana, I of course didn't figure out the ins and outs of Ghana perfectly either. Who am I, an American, coming into a new place and feeling like I can walk away with my own assumptions and knowledge about a place that I only knew for over 4 months? Sometimes, it seems so long. Sometimes, not at all. Still, I did learn. I learnt a lot about another way of life. I experienced another way of life. I LIVED another way of life, at times.

Once again, I find myself unable to fit.

I suppose maybe it's not all about fitting? Maybe, that is just another lesson in this vast, indescribable, incredible experience? Maybe fitting isn't the point.

Still, that is another topic altogether, and somehow I am going to have to find a way to live, not merely exist in this great country because this is my life now.

How do I carry everything I experienced in Ghana and live my life in America? How do you find reconciliation?

The answer, I imagine, is hidden far and wide in a deep place in this life. Somewhere between my heart, my experiences, my future, my relationships, and my spirituality. The answer just might be the rest of my life. I am forever changed. The adjusting might be the hardest part. Especially NOW. Over a month at home, and yes, it's really starting to sink in.

I'm happy, and believe me, coming from my life, this cannot be feigned. But with the happiness that comes with being in my home, playing with my dogs, hiking mountains, reading books, and relishing all that I love about Denver, comes the challenge of adjusting, rather, RE adjusting.

It's okay to cry, my family told me tonight, as I tried to verbalize what was going through my heart and mind. It's okay to cry. It's okay to feel this way. It's okay. I am normal, they say. And, I believe them. I also believe everything will be okay, and that this part of the journey is just as important as any other moment. Now is the time that I am carrying along the stories, the people, the experiences and processing. I am not alone, and for that I am grateful.

It might be hard, it might be uncomfortable, but it's important that I stay strong and push forward. Lord, please help me. I cannot do this alone.

Cheers, Michelle

Dear Michelle,

You once told me

may you pick up your heart and place it in their hands

leave it

leave your heart in Ghana

may it be beautiful

may it be right

 

may you look forward in expectation of home

may every step towards it be marked by peace

that peace that passes all understanding

I promise it is there

 

These words—and this promise—are written in my journal, etched slowly into my paper so that I could really take all of it in. You told Rachel and me these beautiful things right as we prepared to leave Africa. You wished us well darling, and I know your words and sentiments touched us both very deeply.

Your words somehow held onto what my heart was feeling inside.

Your words made coming home a little more reassuring.

Which is funny, because you wrote to us miles and miles away, tucked away in the heart of England, seemingly a world away from Ghana. And yet, you captured the moment. You captured the sentiment.

Yes, our last semesters apart have been starkly different.

You have danced in daffodils, I have danced in dirt. You have picked up the British way of saying things, I learnt a little of Twi. You embraced being cold, I embraced being hot. You gallivanted all over Europe, I gallivanted all over Ghana.

But, I suppose that is the beauty and mystery of some things, because even in our differences, we also experienced similar things, too.

We grew as women.

We saw a new place in the world.

We discovered God in a new way.

We met amazing, incredible people.

We adapted. We adjusted. We thrived.

We loved. This much I know is true.

You, Michelle, I think, carry with you a little British in your soul. Even before England, you have always been such a lovely, kind, and graceful woman, and it seems like all of these are evident from your time in Chester. You were meant to be there. Quite simply, England was for you, and you were for England.

Now, darling, it is your turn.

There is a time for everything. A time to plant and a time to uproot (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)

May your beautiful seeds that you planted in England become pretty flowers. May they bloom, as you have, and grow and soak up the sun that is so precious and dear. May the relationships and friends you have come to cherish stay with you forever. May your stories radiate in your mind, so that you can tell your family and friends about your journey in England. May your prayers be answered, so that you can find peace and comfort in your last week in England. May you find happiness. I know you already have, but may this happiness fill you from your hands to your toes, leaving no part of your soul untouched. May you laugh hard and long, giving you the undeniably wonderful feeling of a headache from laughing too hard. May you say goodbye, and know that really, this is just the beginning.

It's true, you know.

This is just the beginning of a long journey, just one chapter of a great story. Your months and time in Chester will forever stay with you. I hope you remember the small things, the little wonders that make living so worthwhile. The cool air on your face, the feeling of watching the English countryside pass by you, and everything in between.

So, I may lack the way you have with words, but know I, as many of us are, are praying for your safe return to America. There will be bluebonnets to be loved, a family anxiously awaiting you with a big hug, and lots of really good Southern food. It will be hard to come back. But, you, Michelle, know better than anyone that there is a time for everything.

Enjoy, no, embrace these last few days you have.

You are a changed woman, and I can't wait to trade stories, give hugs, and drink wine with this new Michelle Stiles. Stay beautiful my lovely English girl.

Cheers and love.

 

 

American Honey

Amurrrrrrica.

I've been back for a month.

I've been feeling, experiencing, seeing, and questioning a lot.

These are figments and pieces of my thoughts, emotions, and feelings as I have adjusted to America again.
They all come from my cute, gold, flowery journal.

Peace and love.

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It just took over 72 hours for it all to really start sinking in. I can’t really pinpoint what triggered it, but I was at the gym doing crunches, and then BAM! Someday by Rob Thomas came on my IPOD and I glanced around and saw white, and I thought of Rukia. Closing my eyes, it was like I was in Ghana again, back in another world. The tears came fast; I headed to the bathroom to be alone. I was supposed to stay for Pilates, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to explore; I didn’t want to be trapped. Maybe I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts. Whatever it was, I left. I got in my car and headed home. Soon, I was on my bike. I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, but I found myself at the soccer complex near my house, just off of Arapahoe Road. The fields are green and lush, reminiscent of the soccer fields I played on just a few hundred feet away, just a few years ago. Now, where I once adorned shin guards and blue and white for Colorado Storm Soccer club, stands Target, Best Buy, Dick’s, and Sunflower Market. Hello, infrastructure. As I bike over a creaky wooden path and park my bike against the old brown bark of a tree, I just stare. Immaculate and well groomed fields are everywhere, as kids of all ages are learning the game of soccer. Coaches, players, parents, everywhere. Will everything always go back to Ghana? Because my mind reminded me of how almost one week ago, I too was playing football, in Ghana, mind you. I played in Kissemahn park, on rock filled dirt, with stones marking the goals. I played with Godwin, with Daniel, with Forgive. My friends. My children. Football rules. Period. Grass or not, they will play. One game, two different experiences, two worlds.

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Relatively speaking, I’ve suffered little in my 21 years of life. I’ve grown up comfortably, I successfully graduated high school, and I’ve found great opportunities at Hendrix College. I’ve always had a roof, a family, a support system. I’ve fallen in love with God. And, I have friends that are unquestionably my soul mates. They get me. I’ve had struggles in my life, no question. Life is hard. But SUFFERING. What does that mean to me? I have been a witness to suffering: The Gathering Place, Pascagoula, New Orleans, Vietnam, Birmingham, Conway, Kissemahn. Suffering is everywhere. I have seen pain and true brokenness. And, I have also seen some that have nothing and possess everything. I pray I have the heart to feel, eyes to see, and to find solidarity from the suffering in this world.

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Summer always has a certain smell, feel, and vibe to it. I think a lot of that is a true sense of FREEDOM. Less responsibility, more time in the sun, and lazy afternoons. Or was that what summer WAS? Summer was always about the pool, friends, family, and relaxation. I’m struggling to find any of the above. Other things are looming, and adjusting into the fanciful expectations of summer after months and months in Ghana is challenging. I’m not alone, I know that, but sometimes even with all the love and my family around me, it’s been hard not to feel that way.

-----------------------------------------------------

Walmart.

Why?

Out. Of. Control.

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Back in Colorado for the summer. Only this time, this transitioning period is new. Unmarked territory—full of tension. Tension, not in the wow, I feel uptight and uncomfortable sense, but rather in the I’m a crossroad, becoming sense. I’m coming off a whirlwind experience in Ghana. In a couple months I will head off to my senior year in college. I’m a woman. Don’t be fooled, I am not afraid to jump in and make sand castles with the kids, or even take part in an occasional puppet show. It’s just, I’ve grown up too. So, fitting here has been hard.

-----------------------------------------------------

Amidst the excitement and joy of our family as we took pictures outside the Ritchie Center in Denver, I glanced over and saw a woman in beautiful African garb. Complete with the headdress. I got so excited, I tugged at my grandma, wanting her to see the beauty of Ghanaian fashion. She smiled and seemed excited too. More and more, I am wishing I made my diva dress into a Ghanaian women’s outfit. I just don’t think I could ever be that fabulous. I mean REALLY. It was nice to see the vibrant colors, styles, and designs again. So beautiful.

-----------------------------------------------------

I’ve been sad, anxious, and confused. Unsure of where God is leading me next. Yet, fully aware of the passion inside of me. There is so much ahead. It’s insane, really. There’s also so much here.

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As I was asking God for peace in my heart, I realized that even if I don’t fit, it doesn’t mean I don’t belong. This is home. It always will be. So, as I deal with this tension I can find grace in knowing I am here for a reason. I am home. And it might just be as sweet as American honey. Like the wise and poetic Lady Antebellum says.

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I talked with a Liberian woman, Ida, who has been a favorite at the Gathering Place for years today. Her accent, her dress, she was a give away. I knew she had that West African woman spirit, seriously. The minute she mentioned plantains, I had to approach her. We had an instant connection, and for me, an instant admiration. A Liberian refugee, bringing her children her to America and making a life for her family here, I was truly humbled. I asked her how in the world she adjusted to this crazy American life. She scoffed, laughed, and simply said, “I didn’t really have a choice. You do what you have to do, and you just keep on loving God.” Two days later, she brought me and the rest of the family area staff fried plantains and a Liberian stew. West African women might just be some of the strongest, most intense, passionate, and kind people you will ever meet.

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God never ceases to amaze me. On the same day that I got to talk on the phone with the children of Kissemahn, I got to spend all day with 4 children at the Gathering Place who I developed close relationships with two years ago. I finally got to see them again—Betty, Jesus, Janet, and Lizzy. Needless to say, the blessings and beauty of this world come unexpectedly sometimes. That’s the best part, isn’t it? I forgot how much I loved being called Auntie Heather, and I forgot how great it was to hear prayers in Spanish. Life is beautiful.

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Maybe if all of America knew about Ghana time, life would be felt a little more. Are people that rush around, barely looking away from their closed tunnel vision, numb to what is going on around them? Why don’t people say hi to each other more? Why don’t we just STOP and just enjoy? Hospitality goes a long way. I know this. I know this, because the other day, as I got into my car, absorbing all of the thoughts racing through my mind, a man in a wheelchair waved. I felt loved. I felt the way it felt when people spewed out “Akwaaba!” and “How are youuuu?” in the markets of Accra, or even walking towards Blessed Bless to get an egg sandwhich. Yes, hospitality is a gift, and something I hope offer more to the people around me. My family, my friends, and complete strangers. It might just slowly help the world become a better place.

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I feel like I am trying to vicariously live my Ghanaian life through the Black Stars during the World Cup. When the camera crew shows the flag, and Ghanaian football enthusiasts I get teary eyed. Do I need counseling? No, not really, but it's funny that I feel much more strongly about rooting for a team that I lived in that nation for over 4 months, versus my OWN nation, in which I have lived for well over 20 years. Ghana makes you do funny things.

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It’s Father’s Day. I feel even more grateful and blessed with a wonderful father than ever before. My dad is a silly man, most people would tell you that, but they would also say that he seeks to understand me than a lot of other people. We are close, not because he knows the intricate details of my life, but because he has a deeper understanding of what makes me happy. My dad came to Ghana for me. It was the most wonderful act of love he could have done, and now, he understands, more than anyone, how weird, strange, and hard it is to live back in America. That makes things easier. Even in just that week and half in the land of the Black Stars, he caught a glimpse of Ghana, and what it’s like to live in a completely different part of the world. He gets it. Sometimes I just need a hug when things feel overwhelming here. And he knows that. So, I’m extra thankful today. I also have a wonderfully supportive stepdad in Randy, and a wonderful Grandpa too. How did I get so lucky? The men in my life are strong, compassionate, and loyal. They have the things that I hope to find one day in a man, and I think that’s a pretty cool thing.

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