Charlotte

I know it's been a while since I have blogged. My apologies. People have been encouraging me to and I have been really struggling with what to write about. But I guess I have been inspired by my mom, who has been writing her daily blog about the sabbatical she and my dad are taking. You can read it here: http://pwetselaar.blogspot.com/

But not yet! Read mine first.

I'm taking just a few days off work to be here. And I'm all about cities, I'd love to live in one someday. We explored downtown Charlotte (side story: my friend Mark who is from here got mad at me when I called it downtown. I guess it's Uptown). I love traffic and stoplights, and professional businessmen, and bridal parties, and joggers, and construction workers, and trains, and cafes, and loud music from people's cars. I love the busyness of cities and Charlotte did not disappoint. Oh I'm proud to say I found 18 cents on the ground the whole day. That's not important, but thanks Charlotte.

I was reminded of how my parents talk to anyone. "It's so cute how your kid is holding onto his blanket." "Ma'am, which way is North?" "We're not actually Panthers fans, can you tell us about the stadium?" "We're trying to take a picture so it looks like we're holding the window washers up!" "What kind of dog is that?" All of these were spoken to random strangers.

We enjoyed delicious burgers in Green's Lunch. I think if you're ever in Charlotte you should go there. And as was recommended to me, we relaxed with some coffee at Amelie's, a cute little cafe. Charlotte's "uptown" city streets has, four? five? more? fountains. Everywhere. I've never seen a city so crazy about fountains on every corner. Misty fountains, waterfall fountains, fountains you can stand under, fountains you can put your feet in, fountains that look like buildings. I mean, fountains are nice. There were just a lot.

After confirming with my dad that the Panthers were, in fact, a football team, we joined the crowd of people waiting to get into the stadium. For free! But first we got more free things: free beaded necklaces (blue for the Panthers) a free pink bear (for breast cancer awareness of all things) and a free temporary tattoo I put on Dad's arm later. Go Panthers!

The stadium was....big! I've always hoped to be in a football stadium some day and I finally was in one! Oh wait, have I even explained why we were there? Well we just stumbled up on it; it was something for fan appreciation and we got to watch the team practice. Woo. Hoo. I just found out that Charlotte even had an NFL football team.

Don't get me wrong, I had fun, I just hardly watched them practice. I spent my time looking at the roster and deciding who the cutest guy on the team was. The answer is #88, Greg Olsen. Oh and I was people watching. Little kids are the cutest in football jerseys or little cheerleader uniforms. Ha! But kids' sized jerseys cost about $40 in the gift shops ($70 for adult sizes!!). No thanks. And I kept my eyes glued to the big screen, waiting to be on camera so I could frantically wave. Anyone would have thought I was really a Panthers fan. Alas, it never happened.

We left before the rush of die-hard fans. Who wants to deal with stadium traffic? I took my parents to Sonic for the first time (shakes half off after 8:00!) and we enjoyed them in our cozy little hotel room while watching Say Yes to the Dress on TLC. "Dad you made us watch football all day, let us watch this." I think one time he said something about someone looking like a cotton ball in their dress.

And now I will be headed back to school and work in the morning, maybe after stopping in Asheville with my ride. My parents are heading out of Charlotte as well.

Forgive me for not writing more often. I really do enjoy it and hopefully soon I will write a blog about what a great summer I have been having. I needed that encouragement from my mom today to write about Charlotte, just as she was. And it's a great city, it deserves being written about.

So long Charlotte, it's time to go back to my mountain.

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Blessed by Refugees

I signed up to go to Clarkston to work with refugees without even really wanting to. The opportunity was given to me through my school really last-minute. I took it, simply hoping I would be able to raise the support to go.

Going into the trip I wasn't thinking about refugees. I needed to fulfill a course requirement and write a paper about my time experience. I went to Clarkston knowing God must have been leading me there for a reason, I just didn't know what it was yet. I hardly even knew what refugees were. I knew they came to our country to escape bad situations back home, but I figured that was all around a really great thing; refugees must be so happy to be here in the States!

To be perfectly honest, I went to Clarkston with a pretty negative attitude. Why did I have to go to this tiny town in Georgia to help refugees with a group of people I didn't know at all? How could God use me to work in these people's lives?

But I quickly came to see that God completely changed my thinking. I was not in Clarkston to “help” refugees; I was there to be blessed by them. I was not sent there with a group of strangers to have a great time, I was there to grow spiritually and to be blessed above and beyond what I would have ever hoped.

World Relief gave us the refugee experience by having us walk in their shoes. We weren’t there to help them; we were there to learn what it meant to be them. But what we learned, what we suffered, was merely a shadow of what refugees experience. Each year millions of refugees, human beings with families and cultures and values, are displaced, forced to leave their home and their possessions, everything they know and are familiar with. They are fleeing for their very lives. A concept we in the States cannot even begin to fathom.

And the fact of it is that most refugees are never even granted entrance into another country to start their lives over. The refugees that are in our country now are a tiny fraction of the number of people fleeing their home countries for their lives. Given the numbers, the refugees around the world can hardly even hope to come to either the United States or another country that grants entrance for refugees. Less than 100,000 refugees ever start over in a new country. Less than 100,000 of millions total.

  I remember that those facts hit me really hard. I had been so ignorant of how many refugees there were worldwide. I had no idea the struggles they faced even in getting to our country. I had never before thought about what it meant to leave behind everything. I cannot imagine what these people experience as they hurriedly leave, abandoning all they own, oftentimes getting separated from their families, not knowing if they will ever be reunited again.

I learned of these horrors early in the week. I was no longer oblivious—I was overwhelmed. Who was I to help these people? With a need so great to care for these refugees, what could I do in a few days? What was happening to all the other refugees all around the world? My heart ached for these people.

Instead of going through the week feeling more and more overwhelmed, I felt more and more blessings pour out upon me. I met several refugees in many different contexts throughout the week. And without trying, these people showed me the love of Christ more than I had known it before. I met refugees from around the world; from countries I knew hardly anything about. But rather than complaining and grumbling (which, given their circumstances, I would have not blamed them for such attitudes), I heard them praising and glorifying God. They were happy—their joy was so based in Christ and they wholeheartedly knew that nothing they had been through had separated them from God.

I felt so convicted. I daily think I struggle. I complain to God, not praising Him like I should in any situation. I even complained about having to go on this trip to Clarkston with a group of students I did not know at all. But what do I have to complain about? Why is my joy not found in Christ as it should be?

One refugee had left his whole family and job behind in his home country. Not to mention the fact that he had spent several months in prison before coming to the States. I thought he of anyone had every right to be angry and to hate being in Clarkston trying to start his life over. I asked him how he handled everything. He told me that when he worries he cannot be happy. So he simply gave God his worries, trusted Him, and found his joy in Christ. I was so thankful to have met this servant of God who really knows what it means to trust God during horrible and rough times. Christ is his rock and foundation and no amount of suffering ever diminished his praise to God.

Another time I was walking through Clarkston when a woman stopped me and two others in my group to tell us her whole life story. We never prompted her to do so and honestly we were a bit shocked by her forwardness. But her testimony was amazing, of course she felt compelled to share it with anyone she came across. She told us she should have died years ago from sickle cell anemia. In fact, her whole life seemed to have been one struggle after another. But she was constantly glorifying and praising God; praying to Him in the worst and the best times. Everything she did was in service of Him. I was as blessed as I was convicted.

Time and time again I heard horrible stories, mere glimpses of the tragic reality that their lives have been. I could see their discomfort in the States, desiring more than anything to be back home to what they were familiar with. Their desire is understandable, but how can they go back to their home where they will likely die?

At the end of the week I was so blessed to hear stories of God’s provision to His people even in the worst of times. These refugees are part of the body of Christ, just as we are. I went into the week not knowing that as I should have, but now I do know. I did not go on this trip to help refugees or to solve their problems. I went, as their sister in Christ, to learn more about them and how I can bless and be blessed by those people that are as much of the body of Christ as I am. I learned how to love as Christ loves. I learned from refugees what it means to love those that are different than us and how we all have different and specific needs we can reach out to each other in. We all have different crosses to bear but are still called to praise Christ. I was really convicted of not having done this as I should, instead I let my sin and judgments get in the way of knowing how to love. But these refugees have suffered so much and were so eager to show Christ’s love. There is so much to learn from them. Someone in my group reminded me that I will have all of eternity in heaven to get to know everyone perfectly. I cannot wait until the day that God calls us to our eternal home, whether we even have an earthly home or not, and we will never have to flee.

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Mystery

I was in the mail room, my hands were full with a hot cup of coffee and my wallet and I was trying to find my keys. It was quite the hassle because a bunch of girls had overtaken the whole mailroom selling someone's entire wardrobe and so I had no table space to set anything down. Not to mention my backpack weighed like 40 pounds all day so it was quite the struggle for me to one-handedly get my keys from my wallet and bend down and find my mailbox way on the bottom row that's impossible to see in.

But it was well worth it! Not only had I gotten a 5/5 on my latest Doctrine assignment he'd mailed back to us, but the bright pink package slip was there--my package had finally come! It was my birthday package from Hannah Brammer, mailed all the way from Germany!

I gave the mail room work study my package slip eager to see what was coming and oh....It's a huge yellow box that looks completely fallen apart. I didn't think about it too much. I figured that traveling from a different continent gives a package every right to be pretty beat up. So I somehow juggled my 40 pound backpack, wallet, hot coffee, huge falling apart package and 5/5 Doctrine homework and struggled through the awkward-looking clothing sale taking over the whole mail room and made it to the elevator (and managed to push the button with my hands full--what skill!).

I really enjoyed opening the package with my zebra print scissors. Like any little kid, I wanted to rip open the package and look at all the stuff I'd gotten but I let my patient side of me take over and I read her letter first. It was great, it's always so good to hear about her life even if we are so far apart. And thankfully this letter wasn't 18 pages front and back (yes that's happened before) so a few minutes later I was ready to look at my presents!!

First I pulled out a towel with candy wrapped inside. Cool. Good German candy eggs with a toy in the middle. I like that. The towel thing was weird, but what great cushioning right? There were two more of those. And then there was a little bunny figurine. You know....the one thing in the whole package that was breakable and it was the one thing not wrapped up tightly in a towel. And so naturally it was broken. I wasn't surprised but I also didn't want to hurt Hannah's feelings so I was bummed that something had broken. And then there was just a ton of candy!! German chocolate is the best and Hannah remembered my favorite: choclait chips! Two whole packages of them! I highly recommend them. There was a lot more candy, so much I had never seen or tried before! Oh and then there was just a tiny little koala bear key chain intermixed with the candy. His navy T-shirt said "I ♥ Australia." Cool. Thanks Hannah. I mean, Germans probably think Australia is just as cool as I think it is, so why shouldn't that be in the package.

So naturally I texted Hannah telling her how excited I was her package finally came. And of course I dug into the candy right away. It went great with my coffee! I did want to ask her about the towel thing though....I never knew Germans liked towels so much. Especially blue ones with toy cars on them in a row honking at each other. I mean hey, it was cool. But I had to ask. So I texted her something along the lines of, "What's up with the towel set? It's cool, it's just so random, where'd you get it?"

Hannah: "Haha. What towel set?"
Me: "The towel! Weren't there two?" By now I was in the library. Not near the towel set.
Hannah: "What towel? Did I send one?".... "Maybe it's not my package."

This went on for a while, probably with some really humorous frustration on both sides. I thought there was some language barrier thing going on. Maybe Germans use the word 'towel' only for huge towels and this is more of a washcloth or hand towel. So I tried to clarify its size and how it was still a towel.

But that still didn't work. I finally came back to the room and read what it said on the tag. "What does 'handtuch' mean, Hannah? That's what it says on the tag."
Hannah: "It means towel!"
Me: "Well that's what was in the package!!"

Frustrated, we moved on. She asked me if I liked the earrings she'd sent. "What earrings?" She told me where in the box they were. Well, they weren't. Nowhere to be found. There are things in this package you don't know about, and the things you tell me are here aren't! Did the earrings morph into towels and a bunny figurine and a koala key chain??

So by this point we were probably both equally irritated and equally thinking that the other was a dirty liar. Or just mental. So then I decided it was time to break the news to her. "The little bunny figurine broke on the bottom. Its feet came off." (Isn't always awkward when gifts come broken?)

"What bunny figurine??"

Hmm. Maybe something's wrong. Hannah asked me if I was sure if it was her package. I asked her if she was sure she mailed it. Obviously we both had great proof as to why it was in fact, from her (return address was hers and in her handwriting!) and why she had mailed it (she'd brought it to the post office herself and taped it shut there without any little brothers sneaking something in last minute). Ok so maybe the other person wasn't going completely insane.

I sent her pictures of everything. Sure thing, that was the box she'd sent. Only pretty beat up. But aside from the candy and the letter, she had never seen anything in that box before.

Pretty freaky huh? I kinda got super creepy sketched out feelings thinking about someone going through my package stealing (!!!) my new red earrings and in exchange, giving me some useless towel set, a bunny figurine, and a koala key chain. And I imagine it freaked Hannah out too. She had mailed that thing shut with her own hands and had filled out a customs form, saying exactly what was in the box. Saying what would (should) get delivered. But it didn't.

I'm guessing someone did a really careless job in some office somewhere, checking a whole bunch of boxes at once. Just a normal routine check that they do with international mail. Our little package of candy and earrings was probably the most harmless one out there but apparently was still worth looking into. And then they did a really reckless, careless job of putting things back in boxes and mixed everything up. Some poor kid somewhere is probably missing his car towels and wondering why the heck his aunt in Germany gave him earrings instead. I don't know.

And maybe that's not what happened. Maybe I really did get robbed. I guess we'll never really know. At least I got that candy. It's the bomb. And the letter. That's always the best part. I'll miss those earrings but at least I have a set of towels, a broken bunny, and an I ♥ Australia koala bear key chain to make up for it.

What a mysterious package to start off my 21st. Nah, overall it was pretty great. Definitely won't forget that one for a while.

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Through Christ's Eyes

From my journal.


2-17-14
    Yesterday at my team meeting for Clarkston, we heard Sam R.'s testimony. I've never known him or really even thought twice about him. Honestly, I've been pretty judgmental and always thought he was pretty weird. 
    He talked about how he used to move around a lot....like ten times....and he was homeschooled so he never really had friends and never kept in touch with any he did have.  So he's been really introverted and become really good with computers and wants to design video games. As to his testimony, though, he didn't have much to say. So he said it'd be better if we just asked him questions. Dr. C. spoke up: "How many siblings do you have?" "An older brother and a younger brother. And, well, my little sister just died in a car accident over Christmas Break.
    Oh.
    I felt awful. This poor guy. Last semester, 3 siblings; this semester, 2. That's why he skipped the meeting last week; just to be with his family.
    Everyone kind of looked away from him pretty awkwardly. I stared at him. I wanted to memorize his face. He's had years of people leaving his life, or him leaving theirs, and he's hardly a memory to anyone. And he just lost his sister. I wanted to memorize his face. I don't ever want to forget him. His story. His hurt. Hurt beyond what I can imagine.
    And so, today I wrote a note to him--Box 308. Really simple. On a notecard. I didn't sign my name.
"I just wanted to let you know I'm praying for you and your family."

And I don't want to forget. 


I want to see people how Jesus sees them. Because how do I see others? I'm really judgmental. I base everything about them off my first impression. I categorize them; stereotype them. I compare my flaws to their perfections or worse--blow their slight, quirky differences and imperfections out of proportion and therefore ignore them. I see them merely as minor characters in my main story (they don't even have their own main story). They don't know what hurt is, or what missing people is; not like I do. But how is that acting like Christ? He hung out with the lowest of people. People that had the most hurt and pain. And he didn't diminish those hurts or assume things about those people. And He certainly didn't elevate Himself above others. It was quite the opposite. He humbled Himself. Became a servant.

I am not like Christ. I judge people. I don't want to hang out with people that are completely different than me because that would be weird. And then one of those weird people suddenly tells us about his sister dying (just 2 months ago!) and I feel awful. Who am I as a believer serving Christ if I don't share others' burdens, or if I forget that others have problems? It shouldn't take things this drastic to make us realize how much others are hurting and how badly they need our love.

I think it's time to stop seeing people through my own sinful, proud, judgmental, vain eyes.  And to start seeing others as Christ sees them. Broken and struggling. Falling apart from the weight of the burdens of this world.

And yet. Made perfect in Him.

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A Grieving Campus

I wrote a blog six or seven months ago about David Taaffe. He was my classmate, a star soccer player, a Mac Scholar, an RA. But a very tragic and unexpected fall caused his death that shocked us all. My campus is still grieving. And I'm sad to say that oftentimes, I forget. I forget about David, I forget that he's gone. I hardly knew him. And I hardly have the words to write. I hardly can comprehend the grief I know some are still going through. But I wanted to share this article, written by my Resident Director.

In the Midst of Grief on a College Campus

"His absence is as present as our presence."

And it will be for some time.

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Super Bowl

With the Super Bowl coming up, I just wanted to share this article really fast:

You'll Never See This Side of the Super Bowl on TV



And as a side note, sorry about constantly re-designing my blog. I've discovered I really like change and get bored with the backgrounds really fast. Oh well. Enjoy the article.

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The South Meets the Snow

Today my mom asked me if I was a Yankee Snob. Well, no. Not usually.

Don't get me wrong. I love the South. I love living here. It's warmer, people are more polite, it's beautiful, there's mountains, etc. But seriously, people. We got about one inch of snow and that resulted in one and a half days of cancelled classes. Everywhere I went people were making snow angels and taking pictures of the beautiful snow. I could see the grass poking up everywhere. People sledding. On frozen solid rock-hard ground with just a light dusting of snow. That doesn't sound safe to me. People shoveling, not thinking to put any salt on the ground. Thanks for making ice patches for us everywhere.

I've been a nervous wreck watching these Southerners try to handle the snow. I realize that Ice + Mountain = Dangerous and the North doesn't have mountains so I should factor that in and be a bit more understanding. But they're going about it all wrong.

Oh well. I guess that's part of being in the South. Snow v. South and the snow won. Not so in the North. Enjoy that foot and a half, North. Remember how well you are handling it and how happy you all can be playing in real snow. I myself was there just a few weeks ago making snow angels and running, I mean trudging, through the 18 inches. But as for now, I will watch my friends bundle up while I put on a light jacket. I've actually been enjoying that it's a little warmer out.

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