Tube Strike

Ordinarily the news that the London Tube is going to have a strike from 6:30 Wednesday night to 6:30 Thursday night would not be alarming.

However.

We're arriving in London around 10:30 on Thursday morning, and of course they're having a strike that day. We're Becketts. This stuff happens to us. We should be used to it by now, but we aren't.

Yes, we're going to England. We're even - overambitious, never-learning souls that we are - going to Scotland. It's a graduation trip/birthday trip/everything-for-the-rest-of-our-lives trip. My sister is most excited about Scotland. My mom is, as she says, "along for the ride." I'm most excited about England, seeing as how most books I've read (and movies I've seen) take place there or are simply English to their very core.

We'll wander through Westminster Abbey and see William Wilberforce's grave. We'll doff our caps to John Knox in Edinburgh, just like the real Eric Liddell probably did not. We will sleep in an old inn in Cropredy, miles - if that - from a famous battle of the English Civil War. We'll be unimpressed by the famous waters of Bath. We'll breathe history.

 I can't wait.

Of Canyons Grand and Memories Old

“It was hard work, took a long time,
but I dug it myself, with a pick and a shovel.
If you want to know what I done with the dirt,
just look south through a clearin’ in the trees
at what they call the San Francisco Peaks.”

- John Hance, early Grand Canyon guide

We never went anywhere much when we were little – first we were too busy trying to survive in a gang neighborhood, then we were too busy enjoying the safety we had outside the gang neighborhood. We would go to museums on free days, but, except a trip to the Field Museum to see the Titanic (and touch it, in my case – I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to since I couldn’t read yet), we went nowhere.

That has changed in recent years. We visited relatives when Joy got out of college, and then again in 2012. We did something unprecedented last year and gallivanted off to Carlsbad Caverns without seeing a single relative. Now we’re off to the Grand Canyon – something Joy has wanted to do since she was little.

I tell people we’re making up for lost time now that we can appreciate things. That’s not strictly true; I’ve been able to appreciate things as long as I can remember. But since I didn’t have the endurance required for a full afternoon at the zoo, I would have died at the Grand Canyon.

We’re hoping that it’s as grand as we’ve been told. (If not, I’ve just spent the last week packing – or, more accurately, yelling at my sister – unnecessarily.) We’re hoping we don’t fall over and go kaput from the heat. (That’s the scientific term – “go kaput.”) We’re hoping we can survive after waking up at 3 in order to go kayaking on the Colorado River. We’re also hoping that we have air conditioning in our hotel room.

Above all, we’re hoping that we don’t run out of gas, or get abducted by aliens, or get lost in a Native American reservation, or anything else that we almost did last year. 

(No joke, not even the aliens - we arrived in Roswell during the alien festival.)

Random Homegoing Thoughts

I leave Cuenca tomorrow.

It seems like forever and no time at all since I arrived. And now I'm going to Peru. I'll be home in less than 10 days.

It's so strange.

I've learned so much here: about myself, about the culture, about all the things I don't know. I've learned that people really do love me for who I am, and not because I've got everything together or can do anything for them. (That's a nice feeling!)

Remember how I was so scared to come to Ecuador? Well, now I'm scared to leave. Ecuador has become my comfort zone. I know when I get back that no one will be able to relate to my experience, and it just won't be as important to them as it is to me. And there will be a "choque," a disconnect.

I'll leave CEDEI behind forever. I'll leave behind my host family. I'll leave Cuenca behind, this picturesque city nestled in the heart of the mountains.

I'll bring back memories and mementos. I'll bring back a stronger knowledge of Spanish, and of the Ecuadorian culture. I'll bring back a hint of the Cuencano "singing" accent.

I guess it's just so surreal that I'm actually going home. Home. There isn't a word in Spanish for home. The closest word is hogar, but even that is exchangeable with "house." But I'm going home.

Home!

Two Days

Going to Ecuador used to be so far in the future that it seemed it would never happen.  It was always "at the end of Christmas break next year" or "at the beginning of spring semester next year" or "in less than a year" or "at the beginning of next semester" (that was when it started being scary) or "in two months."

Now it is "in two days." Less, even. For those who are wondering, two days is not a lot of time. I have so much to do, to get myself ready, to get my family ready, to make sure that things at home will run smoothly while I am away, and even to make sure that things at church will run smoothly while I am away.

My suitcases are currently holding an odd assortment of things that are not nearly everything that I want to bring. The living room looks for all the world like the house threw up in it. I've never packed so much for one person in my life. And seriously, how much do I need? How much will I even use?

My internal dialogue, for the past two weeks, has run something like this:

Will I really use my Hebrew textbook? (Yes, I will. I want to know Piel verbs when I get back [whatever that means])
Will I use my pocketknife? (I would, but I like it too much to potentially lose it. That goes back in my bedside drawer.)
Will I use my driver's license? (Probably not, but it would feel weird to leave it.)
Do I seriously need this many clothes?! (Yes, I do, because I'll be gone for two months.) 
 Could mace possibly come in handy? (It would if American Airlines would only allow it.)
Don't forget the passport. (how could I possibly forget my passport? It's the most important document I have!) Trust me, that's why I reminded you, self.

If you read that, you saw that I'm verging on schizophrenic.

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.

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.