Farewell

There were so many things I wanted to say. There were so many stories to tell. I was going to have a roommate periodical - 'jardine tales;' I had so many stories from trips abroad. I went to Prague. But these things always come to mind at the end, don't they? I lost my spring somewhere; the words and the stories stopped flowing out of me. So those stories exist but not to be told, not yet. I think it's time now to write an ending to this chapter -- this beautiful, exciting, challenging chapter.

Three years and a few days ago today, late at night, I found myself, disoriented, in a tiny room in Aberdeen, Scotland. I spent that first night with my winter coat as my duvet and some shirts as a pillow. I wondered in that moment how in the world I had ended up in Scotland. I still have no real idea what led me to Scotland besides whim, but I like to think it was divine intervention.

Over time I came to cherish that country and that people more than I ever imagined. Life in Scotland was not without its struggle; the rugged landscape and temperamental skies do well to reflect the challenges that exist amongst the beauty of life in that country. It was hard and harsh at times, but I see now how good it was -- how good God was. I had the honor to meet (and in most cases to know) this wonderful community, ranging from the grumpy Aberdeen doorman to some of my dearest friends, and I love them all so much -- even that grumpy doorman I could never get to smile.

I will always cherish my memories from that country. I wasn't always sure I would, but, thankfully, I'm finding memories to be like bits of gold -- they are first covered in mud and dirt and sand but with some water (or time, as the metaphor has it) the mud washes away and the Gold stays to be seen and enjoyed. I thank God for such beautiful memories. Memories I know have many parts to play yet.

My final word (besides the quote above) would have to be one of thanks. I have so much gratitude toward all those individuals who made Scotland a second home. And I'm so grateful for the time I got with them, and with Scotland.

 

BiscOtti

Italy.

One of the girls in our travel party had a friend in Rome who agreed to show us around. He did a wonderful job. We saw so many things we would never have found without him, including an orange tree garden, and this amazing view of St. Peter's Basilica

At the end of the night, we ended up at a little bar in a young part of town. He recommended we try a traditional Italian digestif, which consists of a very concentrated dessert wine served with 'cookies,' resembling biscotti. The exact cookie with which our wine was served had a certain name. I asked our guide, 'So what's the difference between this and biscotti?' He looked at me blankly. He said (with an Italian accent, as he said everything -- of course), 'What?' I repeated, 'Biscotti. What's the difference between this and biscotti.' He still looked dumbfounded. I then, in the traditional American fashion, continued to repeat the word, but in a questioning voice.

'Biscotti. Biscotti... Bisco..tti.. Biscotti?'

He continued to stare at me. My British and American friends looked desperate to help but had nothing to say.

Finally, our guide, Marco said, 'OOoooooh. BiscOOOtti.'

I believe I then threw my hands in the air.

He said, 'Sorry. I don't know what BiscAtti (in a Boston-like accent) is.'

Pros and cons to being shown around by a local. Pro: Amazing sights. Con: judgement.

The Fawltys

I'm still under a month! Just barely.

I recently (well, less recently now) visited Italy and Greece. In Greece I stayed in a very nice B&B of sorts. My friends and I were checked in by an older man. As we approached the property, he was leaning against a cobblestone wall. He had curly gray hair going everywhere and his stomach hanging over his belt a bit.

He showed my friends and myself to our room and then said we should join him as soon as we were settled in. About an hour and a half later (mainly filled sitting on the couch talking), we walked toward reception. He asked us if we would like anything to drink, at which we each requested something. He pulled out a map and showed us the best places in town to see. Some forty-five minutes later, he said, 'Let me see about those drinks.'

He walked off around a corner, one heard fast talking and then he came back, sat down, and smiled at us.

'Where were we?' He said.

Just a matter of minutes later, the drinks were brought to us. We said thank you, but the help was quickly dismissed.

The next morning my friends and I went to breakfast early. We were the first ones in the garden. A small, frail-looking woman wished us, 'Kali Mera' (Something like that. 'Good morning' in Greek all the same). A few minutes after we had sat down a tan woman, large in figure and personality, loudly wished the entire garden (Now consisting of ourselves and another couple) 'kalimera.' She then made bold strides towards our table and stopped abruptly. A surprising smile came across her face, it was a reception smile, teeth showing, mouth curved, but eyes locked so they betray nothing, including warmth or welcome. We all gave smiles in response.

'You must be my new guests.' the woman said. We all nodded, still smiling slightly nervously.

She continued, 'I saw you in reception yesterday, but my husband did not tell me you were my guests,' she then said, through what seemed like Greek gritted teeth, 'Of course.'

We continued with our plastered smiles.

She asked where we were from and all the niceties and then walked away.

We took our time at breakfast and some time later in breakfast you could hear a faint shouted scorning. A few minutes later, the man we had seen the night before (the husband) walked out looking disgruntled.

We made a quick exit to explore town and tried to leave unobtrusively.

It was only a brief encounter, but I couldn't help but think of one of Fawlty Towers as I heard distant scorns as a husband and wife tried to run a B&B and maintain a good face.

For anyone who is not aware, Fawlty Towers is a wonderful show portraying a couple trying to run a B&B in the English countryside. It is filled with characters and absolutely cringing events.

I highly recommend it.

Coming Attractions

I went to Greece and Italy last week. Oh, what a pool of inspiration.

Coming attractions:

A night with the Fawltys
BiscOtti
Jump
The Vatican
Hurricane Kos

Just to name a few...

Hopefully these won't take me a month to write.

Who needs a magnet when you could get toilet paper?

I walked into the National Museum of Scotland the other day. I was going to the gift shop to ask  about quaiches. Quaiches are a small bowl with two handles; I believe they were traditionally used for drinking at festivals, ceremonies, banquets, etc.

I have been requested to pick these up by a member of my family. And, as all things that cross the ocean from this country to my homeland, upon crossing, these will be renamed and used for a completely different purpose than their original. In America, these will be called 'porringers' and be given as baby gifts. Really, quite more sensible than a medeival goblet of sorts. (No, really, that is a much more sensible use.)

I may write the National Museum when I return and suggest this marketing strategy of 'porringers' versus 'quaiches'. Because who knows what to do with a Quaich in their living room, while people know exactly which china cabinet in which to put a baby gift. However, as the oh-so-helpful staff at the gift shop continue to say 'Quaich' with quite some emphasis anytime I begin a conversation about porringers, it may take them some time to 'cozy' up to the idea.

Moving on, to my gift from Scotland.

At the time I went to inquire of the porringers (spread the word, it's going to become a thing), I was slightly sick. After getting the information I needed about the porringers, I went to the loo to get some toilet paper to blow my nose. All of the stalls were taken, but the cleaning gentleman was in their cleaning the sinks. I saw a role of mostly-used toilet paper next to him and I pointed and said, 'Can I take some? I just need to blow my nose.' He was a bit confused but just said, 'Oh, yeah, yeah,' Once he understood what I was asking.

I was pulling some off and he said, 'Take it.' I looked up and said, 'Excuse me?'

'Take it, just take it,' he said.

Now, I don't know how many of you have experience with industrial toilet paper role, but for those who do not, let me enlighten you. It comes on a large awkward role, not just like your regular Charmin roll. As I stood there holding a roll that I could most likely stick my hand through I said, 'Oh, no, no, thank you, I just need...'

'No, take it,' he cut me off.

'But really, just a...' I tried to continue, finally tearing of my bit of toilet paper.

'You never know when you'll need it,' he said to me.

I just couldn't fight him anymore. I resignedly stuffed the large role in my huge green school bag, which made it sit awkwardly under my arm.

'Well thanks, thanks a lot,' I said as I smiled and walked towards the door.

In proper Scottish fashion he slightly grunted and nodded, while still working on the bathroom counter.

And in my bathroom to this day (not that many days after) still sits my National Museum toilet paper.

As the title says, who needs a magnet?

Mary wasn't Scottish

I was at an Easter service at Ps and Gs today (Easter service on Easter. Crazy, I know). Before the service started there was a short animated film about Mary Magdalene telling Peter that the tomb of Jesus was empty.

As soon as this animated Mary started to speak, her words came out in a thick Scottish accent. I was taken aback. I think I actually sat straighter in my seat. I thought, "Mary Magdalene wasn't Scottish!" I was actually appalled that they could dub the tape in a Scottish accent. I think I scoffed silently (I hope it was silent). I thought, "How silly." And then I realized (mocking myself), "Cause an American accent would be so much more legitimate..." I thought about it and I actually would not have thought twice if Mary was speaking in an American accent. It would have been the Gospel ('Gospel'). I would not have batted an eye lash. Yet (as I'm sure you've realized where this is going) there is really no difference between a Scottish Mary and an American Mary (clearly). It sounds quite silly to say it like that. They are both so far from what the person is. This is like me being portrayed in later years by a small Chinese girl. I'm not Chinese. I'm not even close to Chinese. I can barely say the names of Chinese cities properly. To put me in a Chinese setting would be to make me someone completely different. Chinese would think I knew what they knew, I thought like they thought, when really, I 'know' as an American, I think like an American, I have no cultural understandings of a Chinese person.

I have no real, hard 'point' in all of this. The realization just made me wonder. What do we do to Jesus in all of this? What do we make Jesus by making him American, Scottish, English, German, Chinese, etc., etc. I like to think Jesus transcends all of these cultural understandings. But how much do we project onto our idea of Jesus? How much do we not get to know him because we see 'Cowboy Jesus' or 'Scottish Jesus' or 'Prince Jesus' and we do not see or understand Jesus as he came, lived and died - Jesus of Nazareth. I belive Jesus has a message for all people, of all cultures, but he was in a certain time and place. As a human, he was in a circumstance and his own culuture. I just wonder how much we overlook this.

Anyway. Theological thought of the day over :)

What a Wonderful World

I just had a spree of listening to inspirational music - namely, 'what a wonderful world' and 'somewhere over the rainbow.' I realized, for a brief moment, how much of this incredible life I take for granted. I do apologise to all of you who happen to catch me in those moments and have to deal with my incredibly self-centered and pessimistic self. If only I could wake up everyday and realise what an incredible experience and journey this all is. I pray I do.

Short story. I'm so blessed to be here. Iona, other travelling horizons, a master's degree I find incredibly interesting. Oh, that we didn't take life so for granted.

Hoping you all do better than me!

Love,
Sarah

A Thin Place

When I was about 12-13, maybe as old as 15, my mom rented this video called Be Still. The film had a number of Christian speakers, I believe speaking about how to be still with God. I don't remember the exact point of the film now that I think about it, but in one section of this video, a number of speakers talked about a place called Iona. It was an island off of the west coast of Scotland. One speaker who was Scottish said, "Iona is a thin place. It's one of those place with little space between heaven and earth." For a number of years after we watched this film my dad would say, "I want to go to Iona. It's a thin place" (he would attempt to say this bit in a Scottish accent).

Last week, a good friend of mine came to visit from the United States. She wanted to go to the western isles. Her original goal was to go to the Isle of Lewis -- a northwest isle, near Inverness. We looked into this, but travel alone was about double the room rate and none of this was cheap, so we decided to think again. After a bit of planning, we decided we would go to the Isle of Mull. We booked the train ticket, but, as we were looking for hotels, we found 0 reasonable accomodations. In a desperate search for a hostel anywhere in that area, my friend and I found Iona Hostel. A new (since 2007) hostel on the isle of Iona. We were quite desperate as we already had train tickets, so we quickly booked a spot at the hostel.

We traveled four hours by train to a town called Oban, 45 minutes by ferry to the Isle of Mull, took a two hour bus to the opposite side of Mull (almost missing our bus - the one and only bus), and then caught a 10 minute ferry to the Isle of Iona from Mull. We did this all on a Saturday. We had grand plans to return to Mull on Sunday and climb a mountain, drink in a local pub, etc. However, on the way to the ferry for Iona, we were informed that no buses run on Mull on Sundays. Taking this into consideration, and having had some small taster of the entertainment in the small ferry town, we decided to spend Sunday on Iona.

We saw the abbey of St Columba, the nunnery ruins, we went to the opposite side to St. Columba's beach, we both walked along the beach near our hostel (our hostel is a whole other story). The sun was shining the whole day and being as far north as Scotland is, it felt like it was right on top of us. I nearly shouted for joy as I found I was slightly sunburned Sunday night.

We experienced (well, I may only be able to speak for myself) - I experienced - no seen angels, no visions, I didn't see columba himself, but, lying on the flat grass, just feet away from the ocean with the sun beating on my face and the sound of waves in my ears -- in Scotland-- I think I can say it did feel like a thin place. Yes, I think thin is quite a fair adjective.

Taboo

I played Taboo with a group of fellow students last night. I have a new thesis that nothing will show you difference of cultural backgrounds like a guessing game. And on top of this, it was very clearly American - from all of the words.

There was an Australian, me (an American), a German girl, a Scottish guy, and then the rest were English (sort of). It was amazing as we sat there shouting clues at each other, yet what we thought of as dead give-aways would mean nothing to the others. There were some typical ones like 'boxing' - sport, two people, ring. But then there would be things like 'Howard Shore,' 'Ryan Reynolds,' Something 'coolio.' One girl started to describe the Superbowl as 'that game you play with your feet' -- she quickly decided to skip that card.

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah

If anyone knows the song to which the title refers, you would think this is going to be quite a pathetic post. But this has post has no Joe Spivies with poison ivy (as the song), rather just some brief moments to praise my situation. And as I am convinced it is probably only my mom and dad who actually read this (thanks, guys), I hope to set both your minds at ease a bit.

I skyped with a friend yesterday morning who is currently an au pair in France. She was telling me about her travel plans and we were speaking about her possibly coming to Scotland and me possibly meeting her in Switzerland.. and amidst all this it dawned on me -- for the first time in too long -- "I'm living in SCOTLAND."

What an opportunity. I'm living in Scotland. This is not an everyday occurrence. This is not even an everyday opportunity. I have been extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to sit here right now, typing on my computer in Edinburgh, Scotland, while studying for my Master's degree.

I'm a bit of a pessimist. (A bit may be understating the matter). I Always see the empty half of the glass. Even if the glass isn't half empty, I pour some water out! I'm telling you, I am an extreme pessimist. I think I always saw positive speech as bragging or arrogance. But that has left me with the unfortunate habit of always seeing the negative.

This country - despite it's wind, rain, and snow - is beautiful and a place I am most fortunate to call home this year. A thank you to everyone who helped get me here and has supported me as I've been here. I love you all and cannot wait to share home with you once again.

I'll work on the stories again on this blog. I've lost my story-telling mind for the past few weeks. Gearing it up for some more adventures though.

"Muddah, Faddah Kindly disregard my letter"




(For those who don't know the song, it goes, "hello mada, hello fada, here I am at, camp grenada. Camp is very... entertaining... and they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining." It goes on to say a number of things that have gone horribly for this letter writer. In the middle of the letter he pleads to come home. However, at the end the sun comes out, and he closes saying, "mada, fada kindly disregard this letter").

Original Hello Muddah..

Nothing brings people together like a power outage

The power went out in our building last night. Not on the block. Just in our building.

This is the second time this has happened. The first time it took about five hours to fix. This time it thankfully only took two. And you know, it was a bit of an inconvenience, especially since it had been snowing all day. But a friend of mine in the building invited me down to hers and I met two of her hall mates. We ranted about the power and other eccentricities of our living situation and had lots of laughs by the light of the emergency hall lights. I walked into our common room on the way back to my room and found people drinking beer and playing pool - it looked similar to a hurricane party. 

The power quickly came back on thanks to our diligent wardens. However, the heating didn't turn on all night. This morning, I walked into my kitchen to find one of my hallmates warming her hands by the oven. Soon, the rest of my hall mates and I gathered around the stove like mosquitoes to a lamp. We found ourselves laughing as we boiled as much water as we could and warmed our hands by the fan oven.

Things go wrong, but that doesn't mean things are bad. It's amazing how good life can be when it's simple. We get so used to our little luxuries and our routines, but life goes on without them. And in fact, sometimes not having them brings us together.

Many people make arguments that cell phones, video games, tv shows, the internet, etc., have all separated us from each other. They say this technology is robbing us of intimacy and real relationships. Now I like all of these things I listed above; and I quite enjoy having them. But it's good to remember they're best in moderation.

Last semester I felt lonely a lot. I was skyping friends almost every day of the week, but when I turned my computer off, I found it was just me and that loneliness had been diminished only very little. I am incredibly grateful for technological advances, and that I can keep up with friends and keep those relationships going. But I think we cannot lose sight of the world around us and we certainly cannot replace it.

I always wonder what this means for our relationships with God. He is always with us but sometimes it feels like he is never there. We are not with him, not now. I used to feel like my relationship with God was a long distance relationship, just waiting till the day I get to Heaven and am with Him. Biding the meantime reading his words, and saying words in response.

But then, the Bible does say God is always there.  And more and more, I think our relationship with God is not a long distance relationship at all. Yes, it is different than any relationship we know between man, but it is not long distance. God says, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you' (Hebrews 13:5). It sounds a bit new-agey, but I think God is that happiness from gathering together warming your hands by a stove; He is that relationship formed when all luxuries are gone. God's voice is described as a whisper. I think he is found, he is realized the most in those moments when we step away from all that our own hands have made and enjoy the simple things of life -- life as he created it.

Now, I'm not about to go join a convent myself. And I type this all on my beautiful computer with wireless internet. But just thinking out loud here.

To conclude, heating is back on, power is back on, my computer is back on (clearly) and I have work to do.

Home again, home again

I spent just over three weeks at home for the holidays. I spent one week of this writing, one week crying, but one wonderful week celebrating and being with my family.

Doubt overwhelmed me as I sat at home comfortable, loved, and not lonely. I wondered what in the world I was doing in Scotland. But I was not left to sit and 'wallow' in this. There were constant reminders through devotions, people, sermons, etc., that this was no mistake. Almost everything I read spoke of trusting God.

I have such a hard time doing that. I can say I trust God, but actually trusting him, not freaking out, trusting that when I feel like I'm going to hit rock bottom, I actually won't. Those aren't natural for me. But that's exactly what I'm called to.

So here I am again. Having trouble 'rallying,' for round 2 of the cold and lonely. But I trust this is not the end. God did not open this door for me to sit in fear and regret. He did not open this door to trick me or to test me. He opened this door because he knows more than I do and he knows the end of this path. I trust in that. It most likely will not be what I would have planned or expected. And from the looks and feel of it, it's not going to be easy getting there. But I trust in the end, it will be good.