14,000 Days

Sometimes a day seems soooo looooong and sometimes it seems shorter than my mother. But in reality time doesn't move faster or slower depending on my mood. It stays the same. Tick-tock, tick-tock, 60 seconds makes the big hand move, 60 minutes makes the little hand move and before I know it time has run away from me and the day has slipped into a memory. Over 14,000 days so far and only God knows how many more are to come.

When I was younger my faith was kind of like my ticket to immortality, a way to be assured of an endless supply of days. Of course, it was also the best way I could think of to avoid all of that fire and brimstone the preacher was always talking about, but I digress. There's a popular CCM band that sings "Take me to the other side, cuz I wanna live forever" and I'll admit that living forever in heaven sounds pretty great. No pain, no suffering, mansions and streets of gold. Who would turn that down? It's just that focusing on the "living forever" part kind of misses the point of living NOW. And no matter how long or short the days, I'm still in the "now and the not yet" part of living. I haven't graduated to heaven yet, and BTW I'm perfectly fine with that!

There is still so much to learn before I am finally complete, and while I'm growing toward the woman God intended when he first imagined me, I'm still SO. FAR. AWAY. Salvation is much more than my personal "get out of hell free card." For me it has become more about reconciliation to my Creator; more about a vibrant, passionate and intimate relationship that quenches my dry and thirsty soul and awakens my numb heart to the experience of living. In him I live and move and have my being - what joy I get from a living, breathing relationship with Christ! It's amazingly beautiful to contemplate the mystery of reconciliation. But, part of reconciling involves looking back, which is something I normally eschew.

Popular culture tells us to never look back, to never stop thinking about tomorrow. But I've learned that the process of looking back, although painful, is helpful in determining why I do things the way I do, good or bad. I'm not talking about simply remembering, I'm talking about a serious in-depth examination of life. Many people never do this. They live convinced of their "rightness" about every issue or opinion, and try to convince everyone else of their "rightness" too. They live to control or fix others instead of themselves. Hm, I wonder how I know that? Ha! Now that I've decided to move beyond that kind of thinking I'm experiencing serious growing pains. Yet, time and time again the pain of examination leads to complete freedom and reconciliation with my Creator.

I've come too far to stop now, and I'm determined to complete this process and see where it takes me, no matter if I have 1 or 14,000 days remaining.

Inmate #107

So here's the deal. Apparently I'm off my rocker. And no one bothered to tell me until Saturday. You see, after a 3-year hiatus I will soon be strapping on my backpack and leaving on a jet plane for another European adventure. That sounds pleasant enough, right? Counting a few sheep in a sleeping berth while being rocketed to a former Eastern block country. Exploring the caves of the Karst Region of Slovenia despite claustrophobia. Taking in the studs ;-) at the Lipizzaner farm. Getting lost a million times in a foreign city. No news there, been there and done that and I've lived to tell about it each time.

But this time I was contemplating something totally different. And I have no idea why except that I've been a little bored of late. You know how it is, the same routine, the same city, the same ole' life without any excitement or adventure. So I've been reading my guidebook and looking up websites and generally trying to stick to a tight budget while paying for hotel, transportation, food, etc., with a devalued dollar.

And then I found out about Hostel Celica. It's a restored "detention" facility, a.k.a. former prison, which is apparently THE place to stay for backpackers trekking through former Eastern block countries. And we all know that I like to be different so my curiosity was piqued. How unique to stay in a "cell" that has been decorated by a cool, hip designer. The place has an art gallery. Laundry facilities. Cafe. Internet. TV room. AND, it's cheap - really cheap.

Of course, I overlooked the fact that it is state run. Anything state run in a former Eastern block country should invite suspicion. And I wasn't thrilled that I would have to share a bathroom, but I figured I could survive that for 3 nights. And being required to leave my cell open for the daily tours was disconcerting to say the least.... But the kicker was discovering that it was next to the city's hippest teen club frequented by those looking for drugs, sex and rock-n-roll - and um, well I'm NOT. Then there is the lack of sleep from the ongoing party next door, and nothing I could do about it except get grumpy and sick from sleep deprivation. Uh-oh.

Thankfully someone whose initials are LA ;-) pointed out my obviously flawed thinking by asking a few questions such as:

1. Do they allow cell phones? (please tell me you get the pun because that is funny!)
2. If so, are you allowed only one call?
3. If valuables are required to be kept in the safe deposit box does that mean it's only a minimum security prison?

Great, now I'm questioning my sanity. Can you say PROZAC? Ultimately I reconsidered and booked a nice B&B. MOSTLY out of concern for my safety but also because I'D NEVER live it down if I actually stayed in a former Eastern block prison! So now, instead of being Inmate #107, I will be plain, ole' boring Robin from Texas. I'll try to enjoy the real bed, breakfast, tea, Internet, telephone, room service, en suite toilet and shower..... Prison? Yeah, WHAT was I thinking?

Deep In The Heart Of Texas

It has been a long time since I retreated. Almost two years since I took the time to drive away from the distractions of city life and into the wide open spaces and gentle rolling hills of the Texas Hill Country. This weekend found me unwinding with each passing mile as I made my way to Laity Lodge, an amazingly sacred retreat center nestled deep in the heart of Texas.

In a way I was driving into my past. Transportedto my teenage years when I spent many hours on an old blue and white church bus, looking at the same scenery as we lumbered up the hill to the run down Baptist youth camp. It was old and dusty with the Frio River slicing through the winding, wooded paths. Alto Frio was its name, and a rather strange one if you think about it. For the uninitiated, frio means cold, or very cold in Spanish, but alto is most commonly associated with halt, although a quick google search reveals that it also means tall or high. I spent many weeks of my youth at that Tall, Cold River Camp.

So many cherished memories. Long nights in the bunkhouse with giggling girls; choking down terrible food in the mess hall and making sure I NEVER put my elbows on the table; kicking rocks and holding hands with a cute new guy because PDAs were strictly forbidden, and the reason we snuck down to the river (!); pulling pranks at the boys' dorm; silly "Olympics"; small groups; worship in the open meeting hall; and of course, rededicating my life to God at the nightly invitation offered at any Baptist camp worth its salt! Good times, good times all around.

But now I'm older, and those carefree days are long gone, as well as my nights spent in the rundown bunkhouses of Alto Frio (thank God!) I've graduated to a retreat center for grown-ups. A real treasure that serves nourishment for the body and soul in a serene lodge set in a canyon carved in two by the same river I swam in as a kid. As I contrasted the old and new memories this weekend I was stunned at how they intermingled. Hiking to the top of Circle Bluff I remembered how I used to stare at the canyons wondering if any Native Americans remained hidden in the bluffs. I found myself looking for arrowheads on my hike yesterday, something I have done my entire life whenever I'm outside of the confines of asphalt and highways. I also kept an eye out for jumping cactus and rattlesnakes, I find that I'm still allergic to both...

Dipping my toes in the frigid Frio River took me back 25 years to the laughter and splashing and freedom of playing at Alto Frio or Garner State Park. And the stars. Oh my, the stars! I forgot how much I missed them until I stared up into the inky blackness and looked at the twinkling lights as they blinked on and off. I used to imagine that they were diamonds and I'd wonder how they stayed suspended in the universe. If it were possible I would have stared all night just to burn the vision of those heavenly jewels in my eyes forever so that I would never forget the peace I feel when I gaze upon them.

Yet, as much time as I spent remembering, I found that I was also fully alive in the present. As I listened to a wise, impassioned professor teach old truths of the gospel in a new way I was captivated as I considered them from the context of my personal history. It was powerful and exciting and deeply satisfying to my soul when nuggets of truth finally burst through the soil of my heart, soil that has been tilled for 26 years. And later in the night as I lounged by a warm and cozy fire, snuggled up in a borrowed coat, listening to a beautiful poem, I was astounded as I contemplated the words of "Alive Together" and realized that God created me to be in that very place, at that very moment. I nearly wept as that truth took root in my heart, and I finally just rested in the experience of living. I'm pretty sure a few stars even winked at me as I walked into the quiet stillness of the night and gazed upon them while peace flooded my soul.

Today as I took communion the mystery of my faith was profound as I looked out the picture window to the canyon and river below, and marveled that the Creator of such beauty died so that I might know him. How grateful I am to have once again spent a precious few hours, deep in the heart of Texas, retreating from the works of man. I will spend my upcoming nights in the city remembering the handiwork of God, and waiting with bated breath for my next retreat into a diamond-studded, Texas night.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Cell phone etiquette is a funny thing, every one I know has different boundaries when it comes to their portable tracking device. And it should be noted that the things that bother me obviously don't bother several of my friends. For instance, I cannot stand it when I am at dinner with a friend and the ringing cell phone takes precedence over me. ~Commence rant~ Um, excuse me? Am I invisible once the phone begins ringing? Do I no longer matter? Is my company so boring or meaningless that you MUST interrupt our conversation and ignore me while talking to someone you can call later??? After all, people DID survive before they could be tracked down at all hours of the night and day. ~End rant~

Yet despite my obvious annoyance at the heretofore mentioned scenario, there is something that makes me even crazier, and that, my friends, is when people talk on a cell phone in a public bathroom. That is just incomprehensible to me. Do you really want your friend or loved one to be an auditory witness to your potty break....or mine? Really? Well, I certainly don't! But it happens all the time. I've tried to ignore the elevator talkers and the grocery store arguments I've witnessed via the cell phone. I've even tried to overlook the movie goers and airplane passengers who refuse to turn off their idols, er....phones. But I draw the line at cell phone bathroom talkers. It's. Just. Plain. Wrong.

Yesterday as I was taking a potty break a lady walked in mid-conversation and proceeded to keep talking while both of us were trying to pee. Was I wrong to wish for some privacy? As she was droning on and on at a decibel level sure to inflict hearing loss on anyone within a 10-foot radius, she proceeded to dissect a divorcing couple's marriage. Friends of hers apparently, although I use the term "friend" loosely since I would be livid if one of my friends did that to me.

So now I am privy to the information that Jack and Jill (not their real names) are in the midst of a nasty separation and that divorce is imminent. It's all Jill's fault too, at least according to the anonymous cell phone talker. Jack says Jill is a *!@#* and apparently this lady agreed. Of course, her own marriage is S O L I D as a rock because she and Carlos (his real name) do not suffer the same communication issues. That may change if he ever discovers that his wife is discussing their marriage while taking a pee in a public bathroom!

But even worse was the fact that in the middle of this conversation, she did the one thing I was dreading the most, yes ladies and gentlemen.....she flushed.....and then continued talking without skipping a beat. I was blushing and determined not to exit the stall until I knew for certain she was long gone. I was worried that my face would betray my horror at what she had done. Or that I would tell her off for making someone else an auditory witness to my potty break. There are still some things that should remain private. So, for all of you bathroom cell phone talkers out there, please for the love of all things human, let me pee in peace!

Do You See What I See?

Hopefully the answer is a resounding NO if you're observing me because I already see every one of my flaws in glaring detail. They are disproportionately HUGE, as if I'm looking through a magnifying glass with 900x magnification. I will spare you the gory details, mostly because I don't want you to start noticing them if you haven't already! :-) But I am puzzled as to why beating myself up seems to be one of my favorite pastimes.

For instance, I used to have this terribly abusive habit of standing in front of the mirror after taking a shower and making the most horrible comments out loud about my body. I would say awful things that I would never even THINK about someone else, let alone verbalize. It was terribly defeating to believe that I was the most horrific looking naked woman God had ever created. Perhaps it was even insulting to him, since I was made in his image and all. Yet even today, though I no longer abuse myself in that way, my pea-sized brain has difficulty grasping the thought that MY body is an image-bearer of God and therefore has any beauty to offer the world. It's especially hard to grasp when looking at myself naked, which I don't recommend BTW, although it does make one extremely grateful for fig leaves! BUT, I have been unkind to my body and the evidence is etched in every part of my flesh. And now that I'm no longer young and cute, nor sporting a trim figure it's especially hard to see any redeeming value in how my body looks.

So I think, okay I'm not beautiful, but I'm smart and have solid character, strong faith and a winning personality......except I don't. Sigh. Not really. I usually fake it, although a few lucky (they may say unlucky) ones have crossed over to the dark side and now see me in all, okay some, of my messiness, at least part of the time. But because I know how far short I fall I fear that my neediness or messiness will be too much trouble for them and they will walk away, or worse they will simply tolerate me, but not really love and know me. So I try to keep them from seeing what I see when I really examine my life. And in doing so I fail to be God's image-bearer, because it's hard to reflect truth when I'm lying...

I hesitated to even post this blog because it exposes parts of me I'd rather keep hidden, but I know I'm not alone in this. I have beautiful friends with gorgeous bodies, pure hearts, luxurious hair, merciful spirits, stunning features, strong faith and unmeasured talents. Yet I've heard all of them point out their shortcomings in varying degrees of self-abuse. But because I see them through eyes of love I honestly have no idea what they're talking about, I don't see what they see. Yet the women I know can list on demand every single flaw they have, whether real or perceived.

Do men do the same thing to themselves? I'm not sure, but as I was sharing dinner with friends last week I was joking about a pimple I had nicknamed "Mount Kilimanjaro". My male friend looked at me with a tad bit of impatience and said, "Girls, man! I didn't even notice it until you pointed it out!" I was shocked. How could he NOT see it? After all, I could see NOTHING but this GIANT pimple, which I was certain made me resemble Valerie, the horribly ugly witch in "The Princess Bride" when I would clearly rather resemble Princess Buttercup! But he was looking at me through the eyes of grace I am unable to afford myself.

Where do I go from here? Where does any woman go from here? How do we learn to me more gentle and kind to ourselves without ignoring the areas that need improvement? In my case there are multiple physical and emotional traits that could use some fixin', and while I'm sure you have some ideas, I'll ask you to keep them to yourself thank you very much! I'm well aware of my shortcomings, but I'm also aware that I have value because God says I do, not because I look or act a certain way. So how do I begin to live like I believe that? It seems to me that learning to love myself, or at least not abuse myself will make me better at loving others because then I will be free to offer all of myself instead of just bits and pieces. Until then, I REALLY hope you don't see the same things I see when you look at me!

Random Thoughts About.....Not Much

So I'm sitting here in my office, taking a short lunch break before diving into the rest of my day chock full of accounting for 3 businesses, employee evaluations, meetings with the doctors, policy reviews and trying to soothe the ruffled feathers of patients who are positive that:

a.) the office staff is "out to get them" because they had to hold for longer than 2 minutes.

b.) we are IGNORING their desperate need for medication because the pharmacy has faxed their RX request 4 times, even though the fax clearly states "This is the first request".

c.) we are evil for following HIPAA guidelines that require patient authorization before we can talk to family members, even the mommies.

All in a day's work. Sigh. Next stop ESL, even though it is going to be FREEZING tonight and I don't think the students will come. I'd rather snuggle in my soft throw, watch "24", my latest addiction (I'm in the middle of season 1) and sip hot cocoa. That would make me feel better because between allergies and my monthly (or should I say semi-monthly?) visitor I feel like crap looks - pretty gnarly.

To top it off, this morning when I dragged myself out of bed I noted that yesterday's small pimple is now GINORMOUS. I'm talking the size of Mount Kilimanjaro....ON....MY....FACE! Makeup doesn't do it justice. Then I plucked at least 15 gray hairs and wondered again if I should start dying it. At least I don't have to pluck my eyebrows as often anymore, they're going gray and aren't as noticeable, although I DID pluck a few stray chin hairs which were as black as my hair used to be.....

Then there was the matter of getting dressed. Ugh. How can I say this delicately??? Oh I can't so I'll just say it. My steeples have long since pointed in the wrong direction and require a herculean effort to hoist them up to acceptable levels AND keep them there throughout the day so that it looks like I only have 2 stomachs instead of 4. I have no desire to resemble my grandmother just yet, God rest her soul. So the hoisting continues, day in and day out, as does the poking from the underwires, which are clearly a form of torture.

I'm also considering modified Anorexia. Perhaps that is the only diet that will work for me. Oh sure, I've kept 15 pounds off, but I need to lose 50 more so 15 seems like small potatoes, which I'm not allowed to eat by the way. I'm allowed to eat skinless chicken, turkey and fish, non-starchy veggies, eggs, very little cheese, and some fruit. Like I said, modified Anorexia. I also gave up soda, even diet soda, although I do allow myself to drink tea but usually it's unsweet, which is an acquired taste that I haven't quite adjusted to.

Oh, and my apartment is a mess. Truly. I haven't vacuumed since before Christmas. Nor have I dusted. My gifts are still littering my dining table and the ornaments I started making a few days AFTER Christmas are still sitting on my kitchen counter, half finished. And yes, I know that it is strange to start making ornaments AFTER the holiday, but I was bored one day and felt the need to be creative. Hence the ornaments on my counter.

I'm also addicted to scouring the internet for reviews about digital cameras and iPods. I really would like both but I'm leaning toward getting the iPod first because I already have a decent camera, even if it's not digital. I looked at cameras on Saturday at Best Buy and Circuit City but couldn't decide. FYI - Circuit City still has higher prices than Best Buy or Amazon even though they are going out of business. Curious.

Just after I stressed about buying a digital T.V. converter they have issued an extension. I guess that gives me a reprieve from trying to figure out how to hook it up! My brother has agreed to walk me through the process by phone if I get stuck, which is highly likely.

And I just read that Paul McCartney has a new girlfriend, and I REALLY don't care. Seriously, I'm so bored with celebrity gossip, or gossip in general. Yawn. I'd rather sleep.

BTW, today I feel like being real, not perfect so I didn't really proofread this post. Please ignore typos and spelling errors. Or point them out if you feel inclined. I'll hate you for it later. At least I have a cool new CD to keep me company in my car. And one of the songs seriously rocks. I almost feel like a 30-year-old again! ;-)

Otherwise life is.....good. At least I keep telling myself that. I'm sure it will be better when my hormones return to normal and the mountain on my face turns back in to a molehill. :-0

Deconstructing Robin

Ever been struck by a wrecking ball??? Okay, not literally but figuratively? Well, just for the record, it hurts, I know from personal experience! The destruction of everything I have been into all I was meant to be is a painful process. I suppose the rejection of being the person your circumstances would have you believe you are, to becoming the person God intended you to be when he first breathed life into your soul happens to every seeker eventually. But it's not fun. Ever.

Admittedly I'm a bit befuddled. How do I really embrace becoming more (according to God's design) while becoming less (according to my own design)? I'm wary of the doctrine that tells me to just "be myself". Because the reality is that if left to my own devices I am self-absorbed, arrogant, overly independent and withdrawn. My natural inclination is to serve myself, not God or anyone else. And sadly, in my efforts to "serve and protect" (myself) I hurt others by conveniently forgetting the greatest commandments spoken of by Jesus. Something about loving him with all my heart, mind and soul and loving others as much as I love myself. Ouch. I have definitely failed at those two things!

Since becoming MORE of a narcissistic idiot is not really on the agenda, I've GOT to figure it out pretty quickly. If only I didn't have an overabundance of rough edges, which I have intentionally overlooked for most of my life. If only I were already there. If only. But instead I find myself in the middle of a long (I hope) marathon and feeling a bit overwhelmed at how much work God still has to do in me. How much more wrecking needs to be done before I can begin sifting through the rubble? When can I clean up the mess?

Well I don't know and God is not really forthcoming with his timetable. At least he's patient with me. And thankfully I have patient friends who remind me that they love me even when I can't understand why. So the wrecking will continue. My only word of caution if you're in the vicinity is to look out for falling debris! Good luck, you're gonna need it. ;-)

Nervous In The Light Of Dawn

This is my favorite song of late. Other than the hauntingly beautiful music and angelic voice of Leigh Nash, it perfectly captures my mood. It's on repeat in my CD player. Amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDtmKBCOaso (ignore the cheesy video, just listen to the song.)

"Nervous In The Light Of Dawn"

Dreamed I was in a desert, without any luck
Storm gray clouds, hovering above
Silence all around me, I was wandering alone
And I realized, there is nothing, anyone can really own

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

It's hard to change, and it's hard to move
It takes years for rough, to be made smooth
You can use up all of your precious energy
To be tossed like a shell, from the hungry sea

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

Hold me, in your arms, until I fall asleep
I'm so tired....
Hold me...

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

Most Embarrassing Moment #2

Ah, the teenage years, full of angst and awkwardness and more excruciatingly embarrassing moments than any one human should have to endure. Things that seem so insignificant to others shape us for a lifetime and leave jagged scars that change how we relate to the world.......oh I kid, oh not really. Okay, perhaps I'm being slightly melodramatic (are you surprised???) but seriously, there are some things that make me cringe even 20+ years later. Especially where horrifically ugly, green, dump trucks are concerned!

You see, my dad had (has?) a knack for picking really ugly vehicles. He could see the "beauty" in them that NO ONE else could see.... Take for instance the aforementioned monstrosity. It was truly hideous. Oh how I wish I could find a photo of it for posterity (the image below is the best I could find on the web), but surely the camera would have broken had we attempted to capture it on film so it lives on only in my family's memory. Of course in my mind it has morphed into THE UGLIEST VEHICLE EVER DRIVEN BY A HUMAN BEING, and yes I know I'm "yelling" in cyberland, I'm still severely traumatized!

Aside from its color this thing had a decaying, wooden bed. And remember those really long stick shifts? Yep, it had one that was at least the length of a yard stick. It also had a VERY short driver (my petite mother) who could barely reach the clutch, which meant the gears would grind - loudly - when she was shifting. Oh and it had a lovely (cough, cough) vinyl (?) bench seat where my brother and I would sit side by side, he in the middle by the freakishly long stick shift, me by the door hoping desperately that I would not slide into him when we turned a corner. And worse still the drivers' side door would pop open at the most inopportune times. It had a mind of its own, staying stubbornly shut when you wanted to open it only to swing open in the middle of a drive down the street when you wanted it closed.....

One day my mom decided that it was high time my brother's cat was "fixed" since we had way too many and did not need anymore. So off we drove, my mom grinding the gears as my brother and I dodged one VERY angry cat who was intermittently sliding around on the vinyl seats, clawing at the door, hissing and hysterically looking for an escape hatch. As if on cue the possessed door unlatched itself and swung open, just as we pulled up to the stoplight......on the main drag......in Conroe, TX.....with the cat hanging onto the door for dear life! My mom was laughing and my brother was trying to coax his cat down from the door and onto his lap. But I on the other hand, HIT THE FLOOR completely mortified that someone might see me, thus ruining my stellar reputation (ha!) but hey I was 15! Things like that matter when you're a kid, and when you're a shy, angst-ridden teenager it's hard to find the humor in that kind of situation. It's funny now, sort of, but you probably won't catch me riding around in a green dump truck unless my life depends on it. I'd rather walk, take the bus, bike or pay for a taxi, heck I'd even consider thumbing it!

And that is why I now suffer from "Dump Truck PTSD". Thanks mom and dad.

It's Not (All) About Me

It's not all about me - um, yeah I keep being reminded of that annoying little fact over and over again. Apparently I have a very short memory when it comes to remembering how to live selflessly in this big, bad world. Of course, being single AND childless lends itself to a higher level of narcissism because there are fewer people making demands of my time and energy; if I'm not careful I become so focused on MY interests and MY needs that I fail to even try and meet the needs of those around me.

In really taking stock of my life I know that even if I never get to be the kind of "life-giver" I've always wanted to be, read: WIFE & MOMMY; I should still give life in other ways, and I NEED to, otherwise my existence feels meaningless. Most of the ways I try to give life are subtle, like staying connected to family.....being present for and spending time with my nieces and nephews.....nurturing friendships by striving to be vulnerable, loyal and gracious. Those things are important and take a great deal of time and emotional energy (especially the vulnerable and gracious parts, I often fail miserably in those departments!) Yet, I long to do more, and the reality is that I CAN do more without sacrificing the time and space I need to recharge and stay connected to Christ so I can truly live my faith.

So, I've begun volunteering again thanks to my friend Lizzo. Tuesday nights are now devoted to assisting her teach English as a Second Language (ESL) to refugees from Somalia. It's a humbling experience and one that makes my heart beat a little faster and adds a spring to my step. We've been on a break for the holidays and I've really missed those ladies. Seeing them arrive in their traditional, colorful outfits; babies slung across their backs. Learning the ABC's of our language while simultaneously adapting to a culture that is vastly different from their own. And the men, so proud of their achievements, making each lesson a competition, smiling like little boys when they say the right word. Oh, and the kids, so curious and wide-eyed and snuggly, with huge, welcoming smiles.....I could spend every second just adoring them.

As I watch them, these amazingly beautiful people from a tribe forced into slave labor during their country's ongoing civil war, I wonder. How did they survive to find joy and happiness again? Do they struggle against the sting of bitterness at all they have lost? How do they manage to live here, in the land of excess and keep their priorities focused on their families? Do they awaken to nightmares as memories of the past invade their sleep? Do they struggle with fear and anger? Or do they just rest in loving each other because they have suffered much and know that their families and communities are what matter most? It's funny, because even though I am one of their "teachers" (I use that term VERY loosely!) I can see that in answering my questions they will teach me more than I will ever teach them. Life really is ironic.