Revolving Doors

I suppose going to Ecuador is kind of like using a revolving door. There is a whole new world on the other side, which I can see from where I stand. Looking through, it looks fascinating.

Once I step inside the revolving door (otherwise known as getting on the airplane), I have a choice.

I can leave the relative safety of the revolving door (my comfort zone) and step out into the unknown. I can explore the world on the other side, then step back into the door when it's time and arrive back at the same place I left from, bringing my new friendships back with me.

Or I can stay in the revolving door, doing nothing that stretches my abilities, prejudices, or viewpoint. I can say that I was "in" Ecuador, like I can say that being on the inside of the revolving door means I was "in" a building, but I won't have really seen it or experienced it.

I'm going to go with the first, if at all possible. I fully intend to experience Ecuadorian life to the fullest, as much as I can without going against my conscience.

After all, Jesus did the first. It would have been so much easier for Him to just come for a week or so, redeem us, and go back to heaven, leaving us behind - redeemed, but without a relationship. He didn't do that. He stayed among us for thirty-three years, teaching us, loving us, building relationships. He became one of us, even though He was the epitome of a foreigner (think of something like being God and then being a human and God at once).

With that in mind, it won't be so hard to "be" an Ecuadorian.

Two Weeks

It's 7:09 in the morning on a beautifully cold Saturday in Chicago. I will be leaving for O'Hare airport around this time in two weeks to go to Ecuador. (A mere two weeks! Imagine the pressure! AAAAAAHHHHHH!)

I still don't know what family I'm staying with in Cuenca. This is coming from a girl who, though random on paper and computer screen, likes to have her life semi-together. She likes to know what's going on. If she doesn't know what's going on, she at least wants to really know the people who are currently in the same boat of uncertainty that she is.

I've lived with a level of uncertainty all my life. Everyone has, I think. I just have had rather high levels over the past few years, and I have grown to love knowing what I'm doing in life--at least, in the next semester. And now I have to retrain my mind, my focus, my mindset, my entire mental program, in order to see things through an Ecuadorian mindset.

I've realized that my unconsciously westernized viewpoint is diametrically opposed to what I will find in Ecuador. In some parts of South America, it is a saying (or, at least, a mindset) that the past is before us, the future behind. That's so counter-intuitive to a person like me. I know that I can see the past (because I lived it), but I've always thought of the future as in front of me. They're right, though: you can't see the future. You can only see the past, and therefore, it is the past, not the future, that is before you.

And that, my friend, will take a bit of mind calisthenics to understand. 

Procrastination and the History of Cuenca

This is a procrastination post, quite simply. I should be finishing up a paper, writing a lab report, filling out a Spanish assignment, coming up with a lesson plan, writing a quiz, making a rubric, tweaking several paragraphs, and doing all sorts of funky equations for chemistry. (That's all I have left for the semester, by the way.)

But I also finished up a nerve-wracking four minutes of recitation in Spanish today, and have thus been able to listen to something in the car other than Psalm 103 in Spanish for the first time in a week without feeling guilty. (It's a nice feeling.) So I feel that I'm entitled to take a bit of time out of my overpacked and underslept week to tell you that I have a mere 36 days and 14 hours until I hie me to Ecuador. (Hie is a great word, albeit a little outdated. OK, a lot outdated. Still.)


Now, for the history enthusiasts out there who might actually be reading this admittedly unorganized post due to the title, I want to tell you a little bit about the history of the awesome place I'm going to.

According to Wikipedia (considered unreliable by everyone important in academia, but I'm going into finals week and really couldn't care less about that), Cuenca was founded in 1557 on top of a Cañari and Incan capital and named after Cuenca, Spain. Part of this was because Cuenca, Spain was the mastermind-founder's hometown (he was the Viceroy of Peru, and, even if he didn't actually found the place, he took the credit) and also because their geographic locations were so similar. "Cuenca" means a basin created by a confluence of rivers. (These guys were, obviously, super original.)

So, that's the history of the founding of Cuenca, and it has nothing to do with procrastination. These titles can really throw you off.

Of Beanstalks and Eavesdropping

Have you ever felt like you were a mere inch high, staring up at a redoubtable giant reminiscent of Jack and the beanstalk? (Fee, fie, foe, fum, etc.) Not at all like the friendly giant below.

Because that's how I feel at the moment: small, insignificant, about to be crushed by a sneering mound of bureaucratic red tape. There is so much to do. I congratulate the individuals who have completed it and not died from it yet.

On that note, I wasn't exactly dropping eaves, but I couldn't help but overhear someone else crying about having the same difficulties in the library a few days ago. Before you say that I'm a horrible person for not helping her, she had a support group with her. They were trying to figure out how she could fly home for Christmas if she sent off her birth certificate and old passport in order to get her new one. And her state ID was expired.

And I realized that I'm not so badly off. My plane ticket is paid for. I have my passport at home. I have an ID card that guarantees repatriation of remains or medical evacuation. I have my malaria pills, and all my vaccines are up to date. I have my forms turned in, including the one that says if I do illegal drugs I'll have to leave.

It doesn't matter how prepared I am. I'm still scared, and ultimately unprepared. It's the first time ever I've been out of the country, and I won't be able to connect with the people I love back home. The internet will be somewhat erratic. My posts on this blog will be sporadic at best, and random to boot (like this one). So you'll just have to understand that I'm overwhelmed, and scared, and busy.

How Caviar Relates to Plane Tickets

It's official.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Mainly excited, I suppose, but most assuredly terrified as well. Will I forget everything I ever knew about Spanish and forget how to say the simplest of things? Will my host family be able to understand me amid all the uh's and um's? Will my gaffes be ludicrously awful? (Let it be known that I hate feeling like an idiot, regardless of the fact that it happens a lot.)

Already homesick, to a point, which is a weird feeling. I mean, honestly, how can you miss your mom already when you kiss her good-bye every morning and good-night every night? How can you miss whispering about your day with your sister, while doing that very thing?

Wondering why I ever thought it would be a good idea to go to a country where kidnappings and other freaky things are spoken of casually as things to be very aware of. How dumb am I?! Will I be safe? Will I even have the street smarts to know if I'm not?

Wondering if my church will be recognizable when I return. It's not like I want it to stay the same way; I don't. But I wonder if Jonas and Katya and Adeleide (the cutest kids in the world, by the way) will have forgotten me by the time I get back. I wonder if some wonderful people will come, and I'll miss a couple months of knowing them.

These aren't horrible problems to have. They're first-world problems, just as much as a shortage of the best caviar is a first-world problem. That is to say, they're not life-threatening or dire.

But you'll notice that 1 Peter 5:7 says to cast all our cares on God. Not most. Not just the really important ones. All of them. Which includes plane tickets and bus trips and twisted tongues and homesickness and, yes, even potential embarrassment.

As silly as all that is.

The group

Let me introduce you to the group individually. This way you (I'm talking to my mom here) can envision people when I mention names.

First off: Dr. Craft. We call her Señora. She's been out of the country a lot, and will be with us our entire time in Ecuador.

In alphabetical order of first names, then:

To the left is Alexandria. She goes by Alex, and she's hilarious. She's the one that most readily admits to having breakdowns about Ecuador. I know I have them; I just don't tell anyone.

To the right is Åshild. She's an international student from Scandinavia, and she's been to a lot of different countries.




To the left is Daisy. Her family is from Ecuador, and she's been there before, so she's not nearly as stressed as I am.

To the right is Edith. I've had several classes with her this semester. She's freaking out over air fare and Machu Picchu.

 To the left is Liesel. She's staying the entire semester for an internship, so naturally she's excited. She also may get cheaper air fare than the rest of us, so naturally we are jealous.

To the right is Lizz. She's really sweet (not to say the rest of them aren't), and I'm looking forward to getting to know her better.


To the left is Natalie. She's a Junior. I'll let you know more about her when I learn it.

Lastly, to the right is Richard (on bowtie day). He alternatively goes by Ricky. He's the only guy in the group, and I pity him.





And then, of course, there's me. But you know me already, so I don't need to explain that.

That's the group. I'll put up a group picture when we take one.
 
¡Hasta la vista!

Lovely Anticipation

There's something beautiful about knowing that you're well on your way to a new adventure.  It became real (again!) two hours ago, when I registered for classes for next semester. Seeing it gave me goosebumps: Location: Ecuador, Quad A. Considering that all fifteen or so of my classes have been on the main campus (and, therefore, firmly on US soil), it's a thrilling prospect.

Do you know how far CEDEI (the school we're studying at) is from my house? 3,149 miles, as the crow flies. That's over twice the distance I've ever been from home. (I'm beginning to sound like Samwise Gamgee here.)

  I'm going to be thoroughly immersed in the culture, living with a host family and speaking only Spanish. I'll be far away from my church family, attending a small Protestant church where I hope my American-ness won't be held against me. I'll be gypped in the markets in the zocalo. I'll be identified immediately as a gringo by my weird Chicago accent. I'll be jounced and jolted on a two-day bus trip through the Andes to a point 3931 miles from home. I'll take lots of pictures and try not to be too obvious about it. 

And it will be wonderful. I'll come back with a hint of an Ecuadorian accent, with wonderful tales of seeing the Lost City of the Incas. I'll come back with a pair of simple earrings, which will quickly become my favorite pair, made there by a delightful old lady who can't see as well as she used to when her children were small. I'll say that Mamá said this or Papá said that or my brother did this or my sister did that, and none of you will understand why I forget to clarify that I mean my host family. 

I'll have a better idea of who I am when I get back. I'll know more about syncretistic religion than I ever wanted to know. I'll have a bigger burden for those people, the ones so engulfed in a mixture of Catholicism and native religions that the truth is unknown. I'll know them personally.

And I'll never be the same. It's a sobering thought.

Accepted

I've officially been accepted into the NPU Study Abroad program!  This may appear to be self-evident, but it's just that the paperwork has all been done.  Now all that remains is for me to attend three study abroad sessions to, essentially, tell me not to do anything stupid, how to not do anything stupid, why not to do anything stupid, and ways to make myself appear less stupid.  They don't say it in so many words, of course.  It's a "study abroad seminar to prepare students for..."

People at church are probably going to get tired of me telling them I'm going to Ecuador.  But I am, naturally, indomitable and unsuppressable (which, my computer is telling me, is not a word), so it's not like they have a choice. After all, it's a wonderful feeling, being told that I've been accepted, officially.  Nothing can stop me from going to Ecuador now.

Now, I understand that Paul wasn't talking about study abroad when he said that we've been accepted in the Beloved.  But that consideration aside, the first thing that came to my mind when I read that word - accepted! - was this song:

In the Beloved accepted am I,
Risen, ascended, and seated on high;
Saved from all sin thro’ His infinite grace,
With the redeemed ones accorded a place.

In the Beloved— how safe my retreat,
In the Beloved accounted complete;

Who can condemn me? In Him I am free,
Savior and Keeper forever is He.

In the Beloved I went to the tree,
There, in His Person, by faith I may see
Infinite wrath rolling over His head,
Infinite grace, for He died in my stead.

In the Beloved, God’s marvelous grace
Calls me to dwell in this wonderful place;
God sees my Savior, and then He sees me,

In the Beloved, accepted and free.

Civilla D. Martin

And, if you don't know how it goes, here's the link to the tune: http://www.hymntime.com/tch/htm/a/c/c/accepted.htm. I highly suggest memorizing it.

Faith and Yellow Fever

I've been told that it's important to have immunizations before leaving for Ecuador, and take medication while I'm there.

"But," they say, "the malaria medicine is a little tricky." "You have to be careful about the malaria medicine, because it might make you bleed internally." "One of the medicines makes you really sick, if you don't take the one that's once a week." "It's best to take it every day, or it'll cause problems." "Honestly, I don't remember which ones I took."

Talk about conflicting agreement. 

Then there are the immunizations. "Oh," say they, "you'll want the typhoid vaccine, especially if you're working around children." "Tetanus! Oh, yes. Tetanus is important. You have to have the tetanus vaccine." Don't get them started on hepatitis vaccines. A, B, and C...they're all important. 

But it's OK to skip the yellow fever vaccine, because we'll only be around droning, blood-sucking, disease-carrying, ginormous creatures known as jungle insects for a small part of the trip, and it's a really expensive vaccine. I'm a college sophomore getting ready to go out of the country for the first time in my life, and you're telling me I don't need the yellow fever vaccine ONLY BECAUSE IT'S EXPENSIVE!?

Talk about scary. 

But really, they do know best. They've been there before. They know what's important and what's not, based on my prospective (non)future in South America. They really do care about my safety and well-being, and if they honestly thought I'd catch yellow fever from being in the jungle for a couple days, they'd make the vaccine mandatory (I hope). I just have to trust that they know best.

And isn't that the way it's supposed to be with God? He's been everywhere we could possibly be: 

"Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me." (Psalm 139:8-10, KJV.)

He knows what's important and what's not, based on my future where he sends me:

 "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." (Jer. 29:11)

He cares about my safety and well-being:

"But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?" (Matt. 6:30)

And I can trust in that.

Welcome to my blog

Welcome! I began my sophomore year at North Park just a month ago, and I'll be going to Ecuador in January.  At this point, I'm only trying things with this blog, getting ready for leaving the US for the first time and venturing out into the great unknown.  I want to have a link of sorts that connects me to my family, my friends, and my church, and this is one of the ways I can do that. I don't know exactly how much I'll be able to post from Ecuador, but I'll try.

In essence, I promise you nothing.

Now I'm stretching my wings and learning to fly, 

away from the nest and into the sky.

It's scary at times, though, and I wonder, "why

did I ever think it would be lovely to fly?"

So you'll have to put up with me as I learn.