What I can I give him; give my heart.

Second lesson learned from the Ghanaians:

The joy of offering.

I went to church today.

YAAAY!

I did not go to church on the 15th because I was on a plane. And I did not go to church last week because I was still in orientation and we had things we were doing that morning. I hate missing church. I will do all I can to avoid missing church. I specifically asked my parents if we could leave Montreat AFTER church in the morning on the 8th. I've also already inquired about going to church the DAY I get back to the States, which is a Sunday. (I arrive in DC at 6am, US time, so we might be able to go to the church I was born and baptized in in Maryland.) This school year, I missed church three times--twice when the shows I directed loaded in, and once when I was sick. Going to church weekly helps to balance me. The more I can go to church, the better. (Holy Week this year I went to church 6 times.) When I miss church I get disjointed and grumpy. The best time to see me, ever, is Sunday afternoon, right after church. I'm just the happiest. Not going to church for two weeks might be bad for my health. I had such an aching in my chest today as I was waiting to go. ("Tonight, the image of that Beautiful One came swiftly, looked for my heart's place. When He found it, He drew His knife and plunged it into my heart. Bless that Most Beautiful One.")

Four of us went to church with David, a student at Ashesi University, to Christ the King Church, a nearby Catholic church. I am not and have never been Catholic, but I'm familiar (read as: obsessed) enough to know a lot of the liturgy and such. (one of our number who went today actually thought I was Catholic, despite the fact that this was the first Catholic service I'd attended. Though Episcopalian services are similar.) It was a good "very Ghanaian church experience", because it was both familiar and strange. Some of the hymns I knew ("Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Let the Earth hear his voice!"), I understood the liturgy, I knew the scriptures. But the African twist on everything - that was very unfamiliar to me.

I'm used to places incorporating "world music". My parents both strive to incorporate world music in their work as music ministers, and most of the music leaders at Montreat try to bring world music to services. Bon Air has a set of congas and various other percussion instruments that have been used, particularly for days like World Communion Sunday. Today, when the bible was being processed out for the reading of the Gospel, drums and other instruments struck up in celebration as we all sang "Hallelujah"'s, and I realized, "Wait. I'm in Africa. People aren't trying to incorporate world music. This IS the music."

But what really struck me was the offering.

Offering in Western churches is usually a quieter, slightly awkward time where people who don't have anything to give avoid the eyes of the ushers and a light organ piece or choir anthem is playing. It is possibly the easiest part of the service to "check out of", and start thinking about something else instead of about God.

However, offering was the most hoppin' part of today's church service.

When Christian missionaries came to Ghana, they did a lot to stomp on Traditional African Religion, which they considered to be paganism. They told people they needed to sit still and pray. Change started to happen, though, when the Bible started to be translated into local languages, because then the Ghanaians could look at the Bible and say, "Wait. This keeps talking about Jesus casting out demons, but when we talked about demons you told us we were wrong," and slowly, churches started to open up to integrate African traditions. Nowadays, if you don't let people dance in church, if you don't let people worship through their bodies (because the whole "the body is evil!" theology is particularly European Christianity), you won't have people at your church.

Offering was that time in the service for people to get up and dance. The church erupted with voices, bodies, instruments, all offering themselves to God with joy.

Back when I was in middle or high school, Bon Air had a time when it focused heavily on spiritual gifts--helping each person discern the spiritual gifts they'd been given and figure out how to use them. There was a survey where you could agree and disagree with statements to help you calculate what those gifts were. I remember scoring very, very low on generosity. The survey is on the website, and I just took it again, and indeed, of the 16 spiritual gifts listed, my second-to-lowest score was "generosity", second only to "healing". Somehow, even "prophecy" got more points than generosity. (My top three were Knowledge, Wisdom, and Teaching.) For as much as people have quipped "God loves a cheerful giver," often I simply have not had that much to give. I'll have less and less to give, monetarily, as I leave college and start to deal with the staggering amount of debt I'm in. I remember being slightly disturbed that I scored so low on something like "generosity", so I've worked to find ways to be generous with things like my time, my gifts, if not my money.

Yesterday I did something very smart: I stayed in.

I'm not the kind of person that feels the need to go out all the time. There some days where I just need to stay in and deal with my life. I remember when I first moved to New York, the first day I barely left my apartment was when I actually felt like I was living there. I'd spent a lot of time in New York before I lived there, but those days I was always up and out and about because my time was so limited. The day I relaxed enough to not do millions of things was the day I fully understood I wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Adjustment has been weird. Fine, but weird. In addition to the cultural adjustment, there's also a huge adjustment to not being in theater school. (A different kind of cultural adjustment, I suppose.) The amount of time I have is absurd. Truly. In this past week, in particular, I got an idea of what life is like here. I agree that it's important to have an idea of what you want to get out of an experience like this before you come in, so you don't flounder (and I had at least two teachers who were totally on me for that), but I also think that you have to look at those ideas again once you settle in a bit, so that you let your environment impact you instead of tunnelvisioning ahead.

So yesterday, I stayed in, and dealt with myself. The inevitably-unbalanced-because-I-hadn't-gone-to-church-in-two-weeks-and-just-moved-to-another-continent self. Stayed in one place, started to establish a routine, did laundry and homework. Most of all, wrote, because when I start writing out my confusions they tend to resolve.

I knew at the beginning of this summer that the next half of a year would be surprisingly different from the life I'm used to leading, because with Montreat in the summer and Ghana in the fall, I'd have a change in physical location, a change in the people I was around, and a change in the amount of time I had at my disposal. I also knew that this time would be, spiritually, largely about intimacy and discipline. As it turns out, this summer was the intimacy and this semester is the discipline. (And next semester is inevitably about integrating all of these lessons into a busy life.) I am far more isolated here than anywhere else I've been. I'm in a different time zone, with unreliable internet, in a very quiet area of the city without much around, there's the whole "out of sight, out of mind" thing that tends to happen when everyone else returns to New York and someone's abroad, phone calls are expensive. And I know I keep going on about how much time I have, but it's really a huge deal because I'll wake up at 7am and don't have class until noon, which means I have a lot of time with just... myself.

So, okay. Time to work on myself.

Discipline.

I set some goals, both concrete artistic goals and abstract life goals. I actually set more artistic goals than I originally came in with because of the time factor. The abstract life goals all have to do with offering. How can I (healthily) offer more of myself? How can I increase in generosity? How can I require less so I can give more? These questions come not from a sense of morals, that it's the "right thing" to do. It is because it is a joy to offer up oneself.

Maybe not for everyone. But that's why the offering was the primary, rolicking part of the service today--because what this congregation understood was that it is a gift to be able to offer yourself freely. There's a joy that comes with it. It is part of that mystery that in slavery is found freedom, in suffering is found joy, in solitude is found companionship, and in death is found life.

Ah.

I give you unlimited time!

Most of my friends are heading back to school. I've just had my first week of classes (supremely early, as far as NYU is concerned), so here's the report:

Twi

Due to the number of credits I want to take combined with scheduling, I'm in the two credit Twi class instead of the four credit Twi class. So this is a more basic conversational approach to Twi. It's wonderful to be in a language class again, especially now that I've taken linguistics. PHTS students who read this blog will appreciate that some common sounds in Twi are [e], [ε], [o], and [Ɔ], and that all of those symbols are used in Twi's written alphabet. Many people in the class are having trouble distinguishing between [o] and [Ɔ], and [e] and [ε]. I, however, am in pronounciation heaven. I'll spare you on this blog my musings about nasality in Twi.

The Life of Muhammad

...INTENSE. This is my University of Ghana, Legon class, which is thrilling, and also terrifying. I am one of two international students in the class, the rest are Ghanaian. The class intimidates me because 1) I have to concentrate so much harder to figure out what the teacher is saying because I'm still not accustomed to the accent, and 2) I don't have nearly as much background in Islam as everyone else in the class. Considering switching into Qur'anic Studies which is at the same time as this class. We'll see. No matter what, I'm taking a class here and it's most likely about Islam.

Community Psychology

I wasn't sure about this class when I signed up for it, but now having had once class, I think it's going to be awesome. Community Psychology came up in the 60's when a bunch of psychologists wanted to get away from the focus on the individual and be able to help larger communities. It actually reminds me a lot of Future Problem Solving, a program I was very involved with in middle school that probably did more to help my critical thinking than any other class I took. Community psychology is about looking for potential problems and treating them before they arise, and the class has a very practical, applicable approach.

African Popular Music

This class is officially my jam. Our Professor (who's British) has been working on the Ghanaian music scene since the 60's, runs a Highlife museum out of his house, has become one of the primary historians of West African popular music (particularly Highlife, also afro-beat and afro-rock) and has worked with many big names in West African music, including Fela Kuti. Through this class we're also being made aware of cultural events throughout the city, as advertising of these events is not the strongest. The class is starting with traditional African music and moving all the way though to today. There's also a bit of a practical componant with drumming and polyrhythmic lessons.

Postcolonial Practices in Studio Art

A semester cannot go by for me without a "make something!" class. This class is looking at the fine arts in Ghana, with a particular focus on traditional arts and crafts. We have workshops in weaving and sign painting, probably basketweaving and adinkra printing (I have become OBSESSED with adinkra symbols). We'll be meeting and working with artists from across the country, we have a field trip to visit a bead market. Yesterday for class we went to the Dei Center, one of the centers of a huge collection of West African (primarily Ghanaian) art. Thrilling. Next class is getting supplies and setting up our studios. (Apparently we have access to looms all semester?!) We're assimilating all of this information into three different art projects throughout the semester. Many of my classmates are art majors, and I felt confident enough to stand in front of a piece of work at the gallery and talk about why I was drawn to it (aka: what I saw and how it made me feel). Thanks, PHTS!

Recitation

Since most University of Ghana classes are 3 credits where NYU classes are 4 credits, those of us taking classes at Legon have an occasional additional class to get that extra credit, which is primarily looking at Ghana's current political and social situation through newspapers, and learning the history that makes it what it is today--most of this knowledge would be assumed for University of Ghana students, so we're catching up. I also learned a TON of history in African Popular music, as the Professor has lived in Ghana since before Ghana's independence, and much of Ghana's music history is connected with its political history (because, as we all learned in 2nd year Seminar for Designers, all of this is connected).

This is the lightest school schedule I've had in 16 years. I honestly don't know what to do with myself. I'm in gathering phases of the theatrical things I want to work on. I'm going through an anthology of Christian mysticism as light reading. I'm generally in class around 3 hours a day, with maybe an hour of homework per night. This is incomprehensible. My schedule will get a bit busier once I start my community service, but still. I might go to the artist's market and find a small, cheap musical instrument to learn while I'm here. (We are required to buy an aslatua for African Popular Music class, so I might see what I can find when I get that. Because, you know, playing the electric violin, the mini-accordion, and the musical saw isn't enough as far as strange instruments go. I'll learn aslatua too.) November is National Novel Writing Month, but I think I'm going to do another novel writing month in September, too (which means that by the time I leave I'll have rough drafts of all three novels in my trilogy), just because I have the time and the inspiration. And it's not like I have time because I'm not getting out and seeing things. I'm definitely getting out and seeing things. But during the day, in particular, when other people are in class, there's a ton of time. (We are not used to the place enough to venture out alone, really, and walking in groups drastically cuts down the number of marriage proposals you get.)

Other issues that have come up:

Fall break?! Most people travel. Mali's looking like a popular option. I have one teacher who might throttle me if I don't get over to Ethiopia, but as it takes about 12 hours to get to Tamale, in Nothern Ghana, it's not likely I can get ACROSS THE ENTIRE CONTINENT cheaply in a week. Considered flying to Egypt but I don't think this is the time for the Mount Sinai trip, so I should wait on that one until I actually go to the Middle East (which I'm saying will happen in my life). In a couple weekends we're going on a group trip to Cape Coast. Some other weekend I'll probably go to Togo. One of my roommates is in Togo right now. I'm highly amused at being able to pop over to different countries.

Today:

We have a discussion on cultural differences using the play "Dilemma of a Ghost". This is a thing NYU has every study abroad site do; read a book written by a prominent author in the culture and then have a discussion on it. While I am lucky that our book is a play, I am unsure of my ability to talk about a play in the "English class" sense as opposed to a "design meeting" sense, especially a play with such a strong sense of chorus with poetic language. We'll see how this goes. (However, I have found myself completely not intimidated by the fact that my classes often include oral presentations. Thanks, PHTS!)

Tonight:

We are on a search for palm wine.

Singing, "Welcome! Welcome to this place!"

First lesson learned from Ghanaians:

Hospitality.

To tell you the truth, I never gave much thought to hospitality. Most hospitality, I thought, fell into the category of "being polite": welcoming people into your home, offering a something to drink, giving guests the nicer seats, etc. I vaguely have noticed hospitality mentioned particularly in the Letters of the New Testament, and know that there are "hospitality committees" at churches that do nice things like make coffee, but I'd never had any reason to really look at the value of hospitality.

I really like to seem like I belong. Whether I actually belong or not is irrelevant. Wherever I go in America, I undergo at least a bit of assimilation. Partially even vocal. This summer I'd occasionally drop the second element of the diphthong heard in "I". I have a certain kind of pride that's normally associated with men, the "of course I know where I am no I'm not going to ask for directions or help I'm totally fine!" pride. I remember being in middle school, trying to hide the fact that I was using the map so as to not broadcast, "STUPID NEW KID!" Now, there is value to this. There is a safety that comes with looking confident and blending in. However, getting too anxious to ask for help is just stupid.

I'm also notoriously terrified of people, which is funny because I've always gotten comments about my "strong leadership skills". It's true that I need more alone time than a lot of people I know, but it's also true that I sometimes use that as an excuse to avoid interacting with others. It has taken me a very long time to acquire the meager "small talk" skills that I now have, and I've gotten much better at faking comfort throughout the year. A few people call me out on it. The whole, "WHY ARE YOU SO AFRAID?! IT'S NOT HELPING! YOU COULD DO SO MUCH MORE!" argument, which I have with myself all the time. That was a major reason I came to Ghana.

I will never, EVER blend in here. It just won't happen. I will never look like I belong. Hopefully by the end of the semester I'll be able to surprise people (my tactic is learning Twi), but I will never look or sound like I am a native Ghanaian.

Everyone says that Ghanaians are friendly. Everything you read about Ghana talks about how friendly the people are. When I went to the bank to inform them that I would be abroad, the man who helped me was originally from Sudan, and had gone to high school with a lot of Ghanaians and he said, "They're really friendly."

Well, it's true. It is completely normal to walk down the street, and suddenly find yourself stopping for a ten minute conversation. Boundaries and personal space are much different here than in the US, which is sometimes tricky to navigate, but sometimes just means that you're going to have to get used to the fact that vendors will come up to your car while you're stopped in traffic.

Instead of being treated like an outsider, I have been so warmly welcomed into this country. The word "Akwaaba", which means "welcome", actually means much more than that. It actually means, "you have gone, you have come," and is means, joyously, "You have arrived!" And the hospitality that Ghana shows to guests is unparalleled. Let's take today for example.

Today, I had my first class at the University of Ghana, Legon. The Life of Muhammad. (SO INTENSE.) I got there super early because Legon's campus is huge and I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to figure out what I was doing. It's a good thing I arrived so early, because the time of my class had gotten moved. Thanks to the kind people in the Religious Studies department, I found the building in plenty of time. (I used the map in my International Students Planner/Handbook obviously because I stick out so much I might as well.) When I arrived at the classroom (which was very open-air, several doorways that remained open so the room would cool), I asked a student if this was Life of Muhammad, just to be sure. He smiled, said yes, invited me to sit by him, and introduced himself. His name is Richie, which is my middle name (add a "t"), so now he calls me Ritchie.

Beyond just the warm welcome, he guided me through everything I needed to do. After class he walked me to the department office so we could pick up our reading packets for the next week, and then to the building where I would wait to catch the van back to Labone. He didn't stay and wait, that would've been too much, but he made sure I knew everything I needed to do and everywhere I needed to go. I didn't even need to ask the questions because he thought of them first.

And I started to get it, then. What hopsitality truly is and what it can do. Hospitality is the greatest gift you can give to a stranger. It's taking on the stranger's fears and needs as your own to provide for. There's a responsibility to hospitality, and it is such a relief to have that stress lifted from your shoulders. Hospitality, also, comes primarily through the little things. We passed around a sheet of paper where we all wrote down our names. I was at the end of a row, and to pass it to the next row I'd have to get up and walk--but I didn't know the unspoken manners of a Ghanaian classroom, whether that'd be fine or distracting. (Sounds like a little thing that doesn't matter, but here it's rude to wave with your left hand, so there could conceivably be a problem.) But as soon as I finished writing my name, Richie took it back and got up to hand it off. That's such a tiny thing, but the details are often the most worrying part of being a stranger. The details of what to do, where to go, what to have. And when someone's paying attention to the details, you know they're truly paying attention.

I received another kind of hospitality on my way back from the Academic Center today. After saying hello to the woman who grills plantains, corn, and coconut on the corner, she asked me, "εte sεn?" I responded, of course, with "εyε, na wo nso ε?" (note to Lindsay: yes, those IPA symbols ARE part of their orthography!) This conversation is the equivalent to "How are you?" "I'm fine, and you?" This woman then asked me something else that I didn't know, and so she proceeded to give me a short Twi lesson, even quizzing me on things she'd asked earlier. She told me that when she saw me again she'd test me. It was also a form of hospitality, a way of opening up what I can experience and welcoming me.

Come turn the page

Some people asked about what I read this summer, so here's the mostly complete reading list.

The "Colleen Has a Strange Idea of What a Vacation Is" Summer Reading List:

The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell

The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Ten Things They Never Told Me About Jesus by John L. Bell

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

Light in the Dark Ages: the Friendship of Francis and Clare of Assisi by Jon M. Sweeney

The Gift, poems by Hafiz as interpreted by Daniel Ladinsky

Love Poems from God, Twelve Sacred Voices From The East and the West as interpreted by Daniel Ladinsky

The Way of Perfection by St. Theresa of Avila

The Prayer of Jabez by Bruce Wilkinson

Eve's Choice by Walter Graham

On the Move by Bono

Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen and David Oliver Relin

Love! Valor! Compassion! by Terrence McNally

Come Rain or Come Shine by Jeni Mahoney

Gitlanji by Tagore

The Post Man by Tagore

Blood Wedding by Lorca

Tagore's translations of poems by Kabir

Selections from:

The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism, edited by Bernard McGinn

Africa Bible Commentary, edited by Tokunboh Adeyemo

The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius

The Bhagavadgita

The Name of My Beloved: Verses of the Sikh Gurus

Reread:

Selections from the Upanishads

4.48 Psychosis by Sarah Kane

Lots of Rumi

Hey! Do you feel the rhythm?

(This entry wins for dorkiest subject line ever. Show Choir 05-06!)

The first time I was ever really exposed to African dance was at Lake Junaluska in 2007. I was in a dance class where we were taught a combination to do first in unison, and then to imbue with the spirit of different cultures. I was shy and hoping to be able to choose something I considered more modest, like Japan, but I had a feeling that I'd have very little choice in the matter. Our instructor, Kapp, had met me once before, ten years earlier, and later in that week would rechristen me "Kapp Jr.", which to this day remains one of the highest honors I've ever received. As I suspected, Kapp looked at me and said, "Africa," without any hesitation. I of course had no idea what to do, and so Kapp taught me a little bit, gave me an idea so that the spirit could do the rest. (As it does.)

A couple months later at 8:30 on a Thursday morning, I found myself in my first African dance class. African Dance was a required class at PHTS my freshman year of college. I'm not sure I ever heard an official reason "why", though I'm not sure I ever asked. I thought it was great because it got us moving in a way we'd never moved before, broadened our horizons more than ballet or tap or the other dances most studios taught, and created a great sense of camraderie throughout the school because of this strange skill we all put under "Special Skills" on our resumes. It also caused me to LOSE weight my first year of college. At the end of every school year everyone in the school would gather for our Final Friday (All-School), and the first years would do African dance around the graduating seniors and we'd all join in this grand celebration.

Now, I'm in Africa.

Today and yesterday were filled with African dance. At the Durbar for International Students at the University of Ghana, there was a dance troupe, and then today another dance troupe performed for us NYU students. My theatrical brain took a ton of mental notes (which I wrote down later) about structure and physicality and costume and vocalization (this was the first time in Africa I've heard the ululation I so strongly associate with Kapp). Even beyond the dance, the DRUMMING alone. When they brought out the big bass drums I seriously asked myself why I have not been using drums in every single theater piece I've ever done. And the interaction between the drummers and the dancers--the drummers were involved physically and even humoursly as they spoke through the drum.

At the end, we all stood in a circle, and everyone was expected to go into the center and solo. Well, many people went in pairs, or groups of three. Those who were particularly shy were led in by the African dancers who taught them some Ghanaian moves (some of the ones they taught I remembered from last night).

If you haven't noticed, I'm white. Beyond white--I'm translucent. There will never be any way for me to get around the fact that I am white. (Though I turned pink today.) I am also generally on the quieter side when people first meet me (especially in large group settings). I do, however, know how to move my ribs, which people generally don't expect from the quiet white girl. I did a few djole steps for my turn. Afterwards, when we were telling one of the NYU in Ghana staff members what she'd missed since she was inside during the circle, two of the Ghanaian staff members pointed at me and said, "THIS ONE!" (My CRA said, "We saw her inner African!") The staff member who missed it did a double take and said, "Well now I'm gonna look at you differently!"

So.

Dear PHTS,

I have thanked you for many things during these past going-on-four years, because you deserve a lot of thanks. At this moment, though, I'd like to thank you for requiring that I take African Dance my first year, because we all know there's no way I would have taken African Dance had it not been required. And I'm thanking you very specifically, because this skill I thought I'd rarely use just helped me hold my own even as the most obvious obroni in Ghana.

Love,

Colleen

The rhythm of this place is incredible. There's music everywhere. We went to the beach today, and there were speakers pounding out music, and all of it you can dance to because it's all driven by the rhythm. It's the heartbeat of this city. After swimming for a while (STRONG CURRENTS in the Gulf of Guinea), I sat reading Rumi. Everyone should read Rumi on the beach, just like everyone should listen to "Everglades" by Antony and the Johnsons while lying in a hammock. (I also read parts of Origen's Commentary on the Song of Songs and Gregory of Nyssa's The Life of Moses, but I acknowledge that my idea of "beach reading" is rather skewed.) And all the while, it was music, rhythm, dancing. Everywhere. And I couldn't help but start jamming a little in my seat. It's infectuous.

...though I didn't notice anyone else in my group dancing in their seats.

Perhaps it's just that Kapp Jr. came home.

Here's to the night

Today, I:

• Went to the Makola Market. HUGE HUGE HUGE market.
• Bought a total of 7 yards of fabric. Three different designs. One will definitely become a dress, the others probably shirts or skirts.
• Went to an artist market.
• HAGGLED for the first time in my life. Rather successfully, too. Two masks for ten cedi.
• Spoke in Twi on the streets. (The moment I said "Meka Twi kakra," I immediately made friends for life. There's something to be said for an obroni speaking Twi.)
• Was taught the Ghanaian snap handshake.
• Met a very cute baby named "Prince".
• Was given two phone numbers.
• Went to a Durbar for International Students at the University of Ghana, where there was an African Dance performance and a rendition of "His Eye Is On The Sparrow".
• Freaked out with Candis when we could hear the drum breaks.
• Felt a little Spring All-School-ish.
• Learned some Ghanaian African Dance.
• DANCED DANCED DANCED DANCED DANCED.
• Walked back to the bus and heard God's laugh; not the quiet chuckle I'm used to, but the big, booming, celebratory laughter that echoes in the trees.

If they could see me now!

Hello, friends.

Our orientation week has been jam packed, so how am I finding the time to write?

Well, I'm sick.

Whomp-whooomp.

I think about 4 or 5 of us are sick so far today. We've been dropping like flies, starting with someone on the first morning here. We were all warned about it, and it's perfectly normal. We all have bateria that live in our stomach, based on the food we eat, and different regions have different bacteria. The bacteria in Africa and the bacteria in America are quite different, so if you're here for a while, you WILL get sick as your stomach starts to adjust to the new bacteria. The nurse was running around like crazy between dorms this morning, says it's always like this for the first few weeks.

So, instead of going to an art gallery and a masoleum, I'm sitting here with dry toast, tea, and Pepto-Bismol. Apparently, when you're on anti-malarial meds, you shouldn't drink water before you eat in the morning. Oops. But, I'm glad this inevitable first case of diarrhea is happening during orientation, not during the first week of school. Knock on wood.

Other than that, life in Africa has been great. I had a moment of "Oh God, Colleen, what did you get yourself into?" on Monday, but the NYU in Ghana staff have done an excellent job of helping us get adjusted. It's a small program, only 43 students, so we're all getting to know every other person. The people on this trip are extremely interesting, are super aware and many are very well-traveled. (I, of course, am not.) It is nice to meet people who share my odd interests and are also not theater people. Someone's really interested in sound, someone's really interested in accents and languages, someone's really Christian, someone's really spiritual, someone's really an internet geek. I had a debate over the current location of the Ark of the Covenant with someone while standing in the Modern Languages department at the University of Ghana yesterday. There are a couple people with North Carolina connections, and so I've talked with people about Montreat, Cheerwine, and Cookout. There's one other PHTS student, and one person who lived with two PHTS students last year and therefore knows a ton about what goes on there.

Something that's also inspiring is how much people in this program care about what's going on here and in the rest of the world. We had a community service fair, where organizations came to talk with us about volunteering for them this semester... everything from orphanages to AIDS organizations to schools, and we were all so conflicted because we wanted to volunteer everywhere. In the past, NYU in Ghana has had a 95% participation rate in community service. That's incredible.

We've been running all over Accra, eating good food (oh my god Ghanaian food! Fufu with groundnut stew!), having lectures on history, religion (yay), language, cultural do's and don'ts... it's been rather busy, especially since it takes forever for a group of 43 to do anything on Africa time. Pratically, I think Africa time is going to be the hardest thing for me to get used to. Everything takes FOREVER, and we've been constantly running late. I HATE being late. I'll be at PHTS 30 minutes before class. (Let's hope Africa doesn't change that habit.)

I also know my schedule. At least, I'm 95% sure this is my schedule. The Twi class might change days, which would mean my Religious Studies course might change, but this is the general idea. Most of my classes are being taken at the NYU academic center, with one at the University of Ghana.

Monday:

Elementary Twi (local language)

Tuesday:

The Life of Muhammed (this class taken at the University of Ghana)

Wednesday:

Community Psychology

Thursday:

African Popular Music

Post-Colonial Practices in Studio Art

Friday:

Every two weeks I'll have a recitation to supplement my University of Ghana class, catching me up on African history and culture.

This is the lightest class schedule I have ever had. Ever. I'm sure Lindsay and Amy and other PHTS students reading this are saying, "WHAT?!" To compare, let's look at my 2nd year spring schedule, which is the one I can find most easily in my email.

Monday:

Acting II

Stage Management/Dramaturgy

Directing

Tuesday:

Modern Art

Language

Wednesday:

Script Anaylsis

Design II

Voice and Speech II

Collab

Thursday:

Modern Art

Language

Friday:

Actor/Director Collaboration

Form and Content

Voice and Speech II

Acting II

As such, the fact that there's only one day where I have more than one class is shocking. ALSO, while these classes have homework, there aren't outside shows or rehearsals or that kind of thing. During the days I'll probably be out volunteering. I wanted to audit Arabic at the University of Ghana, but it clashed with a lot of my NYU in Ghana classes.

It is extraordinarily clear that I am supposed to be here right now, and I feel like a lot of my time is being spent figuring out why I'm here. It's really beautiful. A lot made sense to me when we had our chat on Religion in Ghana. In talking about African Traditional Religion (ATR), the professor spoke about how ATR is focused around the belief that the material world is imbued by a spirit force, and that we human beings are to interact with that force.

...which also happens to be my personal theology.

I'll go into more detail about school, volunteering, life, etc., when I start actually diving into them more than just these interactions.

But know that life is lovely, diarrhea and all.

Send me updates, thoughts. There's no place on earth I'd rather be right now, but that doesn't mean I don't love and miss all of you.

And I would walk fly five hundred thousand miles...

I have arrived safely in Accra. The flight was around 10 hours in the air, during which we gained four hours and I did not sleep. (I had some luck pulling the tray table out, putting the pillow on it, and dozing until turbulence shook the tray.) As such I was grateful for the time gain, because instead of it being 3am, we were catching up to dawn at 7am. If you looked out the window, you'd see a rainbow. Forget a double rainbow, the entire SKY was one giant rainbow.

I was less stressed about flying out of Dulles, as I've done that before (but last time I flew out of Dulles I didn't appreciate the architecture nearly as much... my GOD that building just SWEEPS!), and much more stressed about getting through immigration and customs in Ghana. I had every single form I might need, photocopied four times. Immigration was a 3 minute painless check of my visa and the form we filled out on the airplane, and "customs" was walking through a room. There were several fellow NYU Ghana students on the flight (how many flights to Ghana are there daily, after all?), the first of whom recognized me from when we were briefly introduced on Lafayette St in May by a mutual friend of our who went to PHTS. (She roomed with a PHTS 2nd year this past year and thus we have a lot of mutual friends and she knows a ton about PHTS.) Others of us just found each other in baggage claim. One person was asked by customs how long she was staying in Ghana because she had a lot of stuff with her, but that exchange took less than 2 minutes, and all was well. We found the staff very easily, went o go exchange money, and headed to our dorms to settle in. Those of us who had already arrived went to dinner together, and more people are pouring in tonight. Part of the reason I'm already updating this blog is that I'm trying to stay awake until my second roommate arrives.

Throughout the trip, I've thought to myself, "This is absurd." When I was flying over, I wished I could see a zoomed out image of Africa and see myself flying towards it, because then it would seem more real. Stepping out of the plane onto AFRICA was surreal and made me laugh. It truly is so absurd. Sometimes I think, "What have I gotten myself into?" but all of that makes it even more right that I'm here.

Impressions so far: patchwork collage of colors and art, in every aspect of visual life. My eyes are just drinking things in as if they've been thirsty for a very long time. I'm often stared at, which is fair enough as I am doing a lot of staring myself. People here are INDEED very good at carrying things on their heads. New York has pigeons and dogs... Accra has chickens and goats. I saw a bird that I have never before encountered my life that looked vaguely like it could be related to the toucan. I am completely and totally out of my element, except that the buses NYU carts us around in sound like the AV van.

We're all being shepherded around by our CRAs who are native Ghanaians and lovely people. I've now completely moved in to my room, which has AC. It's not great AC, but I went all this last summer completely without AC. Our bathroom is HUGE and nice and includes a water bucket that we should keep full in case the water goes out. We have tons of porches which I will go all Southern on. I have my five books I allowed myself to bring (The Bible, the Koran, Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, and The Art Spirit), as well as a pocket-sized book of Rumi poems I snuck past myself.

And I have jet lag so bad I may NOT meet my second roommate before tomorrow.

Hurry, boy, it's waiting there for you!

Well.

When I mentioned my need to go abroad at the end of this entry in June of 2009, I did not expect that over a year later, I'd be getting ready to leave for Ghana.

And yet, here we are.

I have never been out of the country before and at 10:10pm I will take off on a non-stop flight to Accra, Ghana, where I will be living for four months.

There are many reasons I decided to go to Ghana, and many reasons that have popped up since my decision. I'll expand on these reasons in future blogs, but for now I will confess:

Africa was never in my life plan. Italy, London, India, all were. Africa, not at all. No one saw it coming. And yet, somehow, it seems to make perfect sense. A friend of mine said, "I remember when you got accepted and it was like, 'What?! Africa?!! You're going to GHANA?!' but now it's like, 'Of course. Of course you're going to Ghana.'" And I don't know why it makes sense, but it does.

"The wind blows where it wants to. You hear its sound, but you don't know where it comes from or where it is going. That's the way it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." John 3:8

I picked this as a title for this blog back in 2009, and now, that verse holds more true than ever.

The fact is, spiritual and religious practices guide my entire life. If I have ever had a conversation with you, I have talked about God. If we have talked about art, theater, Sweeney Todd, microphones, philosophy, education, voice, subways, Waffle House, the weather, how our days have been, or voiceless stop-plosives, then I have talked to you about God. This is simply how I operate. There is an essence that runs underneath all things that we cannot understand--religion is a language we give to talk about that essence, to talk about something we don't have language for. My defalt language for that is Christian. I may talk about God or Christ, you may talk about Allah, we could talk about Buddha, we could talk about Shiva, we could, even, talk about beauty, light, the Universe, the power of human choice, science, or (and most especially) love, and we would be talking about the same thing. God is existence, the miracle of being.

I believe this essence guides us. I might call it the voice of God (because I love God and I love voice). Many, many theater people call it "impulse". "I don't know why this image feels like the play but I know there's something about circles." We don't know what it means, but we trust it and figure it out. When I have listened to the voice of impulse, things just make sense in a way that I usually eventually see. Like, "Oh, THAT'S why that happened."

And right now, it's saying, "Africa."

And I, of course, like many, said, "What?!?!" ("Pharaoh? Egypt?!" "Ninevah?!" "SAUL?!!")

And it said, "Africa."

And I said, "...okay."

And truly... that is why I'm going to Ghana. It makes sense and it doesn't.

So here we are.

For those of you who wandered over from Facebook and are just tuning in:

This blog has been in existence for a while now. For the past two summers, I have been working at a Presbyterian conference center in Black Mountain, NC (yup, where John Cage and Merce Cunningham and Robert Rauschenburg staged the first Happening, not that anyone around here noticed a thing when Merce Cunningham died last summer). I was on AV crew, meaning I was paid to run sound and listen to worship services and keynote addresses that people would pay to hear. It was simply the best job ever, and this blog was started on the suggestion of a pastor of mine who wanted to keep up with all the good stuff I was hearing. It has since become a chronicle of (largely) my religious/spiritual journey.

I briefly considered starting a new blog for my Ghanaian adventures. However, it's all the same path. A strange path, that leads me from New York to the South to Africa, but it is definitely one path and so it will stay on one blog. What I will say about this blog to any newcomers is:

There will be a lot of talk about Africa.

There will be a lot of talk about God.

There will also probably be a lot of talk about theater.

I know many people who get a deep sinking hole in their stomach when they hear someone talk about God. I know that the church, the Christian church specifically, has scarred a good many people. I will always try to expand my language to be the most inclusive I can possibly be. But please always know that I mean "God" in the most expansive way possible, and that I believe religion is a way to teach how to radically love every single person. Every single form of life, even. That love is the goal and if the act is not of love, something has gone wrong. If, by chance, I do offend you, email me and let's talk it out, because if I've offended you it probably means I have something great to learn from you.

(In the South, I spend all of my time trying to convince people I'm not insane because I often have a shaved head. In the North, I spend all of my time trying to convince people I'm not conservative because I wear a cross.)

So now.

I'm going to go finish packing.

Let's do this.

Let's live it up.

Meet Rachel, Russ, and Colleen.

(top three on the picture. Russ' hat for the win.)

We are RCR, CR-squared. We are: the AV Theater Majors. And what we discovered this summer is that once you are a theater major, it never leaves you. It's in your blood.

(in regards to the AV Float for the 4th of July Parade)

Me: Russ, what should I wear?

Russ: What do you think you should wear?--woah, I just totally went deflecting director on you.

Russ: This is the book I got at the book sale. Check out the production photos in the front.

Rachel and I: PEER GYNT!

Eric (unaware that we're looking at Peer Gynt prdocution photos): Hey theater friends.

Rachel, Russ and I: ...fail.

Every two weeks, we have a conversation that goes somewhat like this:

Me: somethingsomethingsomething Tennessee Williams.

Russ and Rachel: I HATE TENNESSEE WILLIAMS.

Me: But, guys, his short plays...

Russ and Rachel: Okay, really we just hate Glass Menagerie.

Me: That's legit.

Every week, we have a conversation that goes somewhat like this:

Someone: Chekhov.

Rachel: The Seagull was the most depressing three hours I've ever spent in the theater.

Me: The Cherry Orchard is the weirdest play I've ever read. It has the line, "This dog eats nuts."

Russ: What translation of Cherry Orchard should I read?

Me: Paul Schmidt.

This is generally followed by a debate over whether Chekhov's depressing or whether Stanislavsky ruined Chekhov.

Rachel: We had to read 6 Lessons on Acting.

Me: Boleslavsky?

Rachel: Yeah.

Rachel and I both shake our heads in distaste.

Russ and I, sitting on the porch.

Me: You know why light streaming through the trees is so beautiful?

Russ: Why?

Me: Because the light has something to hit.

Russ: Yup.

Me: I'm currently harping on two things: my dream production of Blood Wedding, and how sound can change the physical experience of a room.

Russ laughs, then: Can I sound design your production of Blood Wedding?

Me: Yes.

(Pause.)

Russ: We could make this room seem huge if we could use all of the organ speakers...

Me: Yeah, I was just thinking about speaker placement...

Russ: I've read too much Sarah Kane this morning for this to be real.

Me: Wanna help me check a mic in Convo?

Russ: Yes. I can read some of A Number by Caryl Churchill.

I recite the beginning of 4.48 Psychosis, all the way through "don't let me forget".

Rachel, Russ, and I, at the same time: I AM SAD!

Russ: I want to do 4.48 as a sound piece.

Me: I love you.

Russ: Okay, let's talk about this. WHAT is with that period of theater right before WWI that includes things like The Maker of Dreams and A. A. Milne.

Me: I DON'T KNOW BUT IT'S THE BEST.

Russ: I JUST WANT TO MAKE BEAUTIFUL NOISES!

Me: ME TOO!

My last night in Montreat we talked about our futures, especially since I'm graduating and none of us are particularly planning on going back to Montreat next summer. And Russ said, "Every so often, we just need to get together somewhere. Like, we can come back here, and stay at my family's house, and reconnect, because when I'm around you guys I remember why I do all of this." I feel quite the same way, and thus this post is dedicated to them.

It is tradition that once you finish your part of the auditorium close-out and turn in your keys, you go to the Montreat pool and jump in, fully clothed. The lifeguards know and don't say anything. Two fulltime Montreat staffers were there, and since they were former summer staff, they saw us coming and cheered us on. Russ grabbed Rachel's and my hands, and we leaped.

When I get older, I will be stronger...

During these last two weeks, I got to experience the creation and introduction of a brand new energizer, which caught like wildfire. We'd set up for a rec event and play the song to bring people over to Moore Center Field, and everyone within earshot would drop whatever they were doing to join in.

This was filmed at Week Five's talent show, the day after the energizer was first introduced. You can occasionally see my hat bouncing there on the front row starting at around 2:30.

And I feel your fists, and I know it's out of love.

When I was in middle school, I was required to read the book The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. For anyone who is unaware, The Hiding Place is a true account of imprisonment during the Holocaust. When my mother found out that it was assigned reading, she exclaimed, "Oh! I had to read that! The part about the fleas is so powerful!"

"The part about the fleas" is the only part of The Hiding Place that I remember. I believe it was Corrie and her sister, imprisoned in one of the Nazi camps, were praying. One remembered that the Bible said to give thanks to God in all circumstances (1 Thessalonians 5:18!), and so they gave thanks for the fleas that infested their barracks. One thought that was an insane idea, giving thanks for the fleas, but then it so happened that the fleas kept the guards from spending too much time in the barracks, so they were able to hold group prayer services without the guards knowing and stopping them.

When we encounter storms in our lives, how radical would it be for us to thank God for them?

The youth conferences at Montreat this summer are themed "In These Waters", and every Tuesday is (well, was, now) "storm day", where they talk about when the waters get rough and how to deal with that. There's a lot about voicing your anger to God, lots of citing the books of Lamentations and Job, and two of my favorite Psalms: 22 and 130. I've found them to be very skillfully handled all around, and believe they have been giving very important messages to youth, specifically that your emotions are valid and that there are ways to release emotions without hurting yourself or others.

A major storm hit in my life on Monday, a storm that may cause me to lose the most precious thing it is possible for me to lose. I have pulled on all the lessons on how to deal with uncertainty and grief that I have ever learned in my life. I have screamed at God, I have tried to run from God, I have wept at God's feet. I have cycled through various stages of the Kübler-Ross model. I have fought the situation (am still fighting), I have distracted myself, I have reread Job and Medea and relistened to the entirety of Diamanda Galas' Plague Mass. I've eaten many Cheerwine-filled donuts and sat on porches with friends and cried myself to sleep several nights in a row and sent desperate emails and made phone calls and Google searched and written Latin on my arms and been really difficult to console and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed. The situation has not resolved and that's causing a huge physical strain including irregular breathing, loss of appetite, and back pain. The resolution keeps moving farther and farther away, too, which is simply maddening. Been trying to stay as healthy as I possibly can.

So yesterday, after another day of this, (in fact after listening to Diamanda Galas) I stopped and said, "Thank you."

Thank you, God. I don't know why this is happening but thank you.

And you know what? It started to feel better.

Not in that "everything will turn out the way I want it to!" way, but somehow it gave me a grasp on the situation and a lot of the physical effects, at least, lessen when I say "Thank you." Even if I'm saying it through clenched teeth, as long as I try to mean it, to say it without sarcasm or irony.

I'd gotten to a pretty good place yesterday and then work was maddening and threw me off again. But I know it can be there, and I am now curious about the spiritual discipline of saying, "Thank you."

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Because even when our lives seem broken beyond imagining, we are blessed beyond measure.

You think that love's too small a pain for a woman?

Optimism is not saying, "Everything's going to be okay!"

Optimism is not even saying that the glass is half full.

Optimism is knowing that the amount of water in the glass will be enough.

He Lives In You

Last Saturday, I went to Bele Chere, an outdoor street/music festival in Downtown Asheville. It's like a mix between a NYC street fair and a normal outdoor concert/festival. They block traffic to a good chunk of the streets in Asheville to set up four stages and tons of arts/food booths. It's also probably the most liberal event/area you will find in this part of the state. Turn down the hippie, turn up the hipster, and cut the space in half, and you have the East Village. Oh, and reduce the number of street preachers. Several preachers were there with signs about the judgement day coming, and we passed one man saying, "Since when is it okay for women to disrespect their husbands by filing for divorce?" Bele Chere is really not the place to do this, as shortly after he made that statement an group of crossdressers walked by, receiving far more support from the crowd. At one point, we saw people screaming about the lake of fire waiting to swallow our sinful souls on one side of the street, and another group with signs saying, "God Is Love", quoting Corinthians, and "We're So Sorry - Not All Christians Are Like Them!" Later, we saw the two groups get into an argument. It was fun encountering these people with fellow Christians, as I was clearly there with people from Montreat. Once someone quoted the Bible as saying something ridiculous, and we yelled in unison, "No it doesn't!" and walked on.

I caught Kellin Watson, The Dirty Guv'nahs, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, and Toubab Krewe. (Toubab Krewe is from Asheville but has a HUGE Western African influence as the band has traveled there quite often, playing a strange fusion style of music which includes a kora and a soku.) It was hot, hot, HOT, so the glass of wine I had was followed immediately by a bottle of water, lest dehydration hit, but the stalls of arts and crafts were cool and there were even misting sprinkler walkways. Russ and I walked through the fine arts section and saw photos of young Buddhist monks, which made Russ exclaim, "Look, Colleen, it's you!" Most of summer staff was there. My boss had just gotten her first pair of Chacos after swearing she'd never own a pair, which now means there's only ONE person on AV crew who does not own and regularly wear a pair of Chacos.

Walking back to join my group as we watched Grace Potter, I saw the sun setting over the crowd, bathing people in pinks and ambers. Since pink light does indeed make everyone look beautiful, everyone's skin was luminous. There was 12 year old making some magic with a Chinese yo-yo right underneath we wall we sat on while catching the end of the concert.

I have had a rocky relationship with the South for my entire life. I did not want to move from Maryland to Virginia when I was going into 2nd grade, and as such spent my childhood rather bitter towards my surroundings. I flew off to New York as soon as I could, where it was very easy to deny that I was from the South. I mystified my Voice and Speech teachers by having no trace of a Southern accent, despite a heavily Southern background. One of my teachers had gone to William and Mary, and upon learning that I was from VA, he commented, "You don't look like a William and Mary girl." I promptly responded with, "I'm not," very intent on dismissing any connection with Virginia.

It was not until last summer that I was able to start to love the South. Nothing is perfect, and some of the very things I've come to love about the South (like love of the land) have had horrible things come because of them. I'm still plenty aware of that, but I have also learned what is good.

Something very notable about the South is its food. People not from the South dismiss this. "Everywhere has their foods," which is true, and I don't trust any pastrami on rye sandwich down here. But what has to be understood about food in the South is that it's not just about the recipes, it's about the culture and tradition that has grown up around food. My friends and co-workers Hilary, Russ, and I determined that you can trace every bit of Southern culture to at least one of two things: food, or Jesus. (I would add "family", but I think that's a combination of food and Jesus.) Southern food is, first of all, delicious, second of all, usually found in mass quanities, but it is also culturally foundational. Visit a Southern family and you will be fed. You will often gorge on such delicacies as fried chicken, chicken 'n' dumplins, corn on the cob, fried okra, southern style barbeque, biscuits with gravy, jello salads, and various kinds of homemade pie. If you have eaten properly, you should find yourself practically unable to move and rather tired, so the only natural thing to do is to retire to a rocking chair on the porch with a tall glass of sweet tea, or lemonade for the weak at heart.

For a long while, the only thing I let myself enjoy about the South was the food. In all my bitterness, I had to admit that the food was incredible. Then last summer I fell in love with Cheerwine, and I was done for from that moment. Many of my conversations with friends this summer have centered around how much we love food, and there have been many late-night excursions to Waffle House and the North Carolina only chain, Cookout, which has a tray where you can get things like chicken quesadillas, corn dogs, and chicken nuggets as side items (an entree, two sides, and drink for $5... add $1 if you want to change your drink to a shake, of which they have over 20 flavors).

What this food really represents about the South that I love, is enjoyment of life.

The South has a different pace than the North. Than New York City, yes, but as I've traveled in the North, I've noticed that the pacing of the South is truly unique. It's hot, and humid, and that sticky kind of heat slows you down tremendously. The ideals of acheivement and success are less potent here. Perhaps it is the strong emphasis on family, but even now, fewer people pack up and go somewhere else. Most people I know go to college in-state, many rather close to home. Out of state's not unheard of, of course, and there are always the crazy ones who relocate to New York City, but even when I went off to college, people asked me and my parents about the distance like it was insane. Most people I know plan to settle, if not in their home state, at least in the South, because where else would they go? The family business and the family trade still thrive, and the values are placed on raising a family instead of on succeeding in a career. The dream is a house with a porch, a yard, hopefully with lots of trees and/or water, and neighbors. Marriage is still often assumed. (I have often wondered, if I do forgo marriage to further pursue my relationship with God, how my relatives in South Carolina would take that. After all, it's Jesus, but it's Jesus to the exclusion of marriage.) And all this is NOT to "collect the best things", to hoard everything, to store up treasures on earth. At its best, the goal is a life relatively free of care so that you can better enjoy what is around you.

I showed one of my friends here that picture of my house in Ghana, and he said, "Man, if I was there, I would never leave that porch." Because he truly appreciates a good porch.

In my life in New York, I get so rushed. Many of us do. We run around trying to win and succeed and acheive and we forget that life is there to be enjoyed. I have so much admiration for people who can simply sit on a porch for two hours, drinking in the landscape.

Part of how quiet I have been on this blog this summer has to do with just that. I have been sitting still and listening and enjoying creation and releasing the pressure on myself to have anything to show for it. And as such, I have learned how to experience beautiful moments. As we left Warren Wilson having jumped in the lake and laid on the dock for hours, looking at the stars, someone noticed that it was 11:11, so, "Make a wish!" And I thought hard about what I might wish for, as we drove along winding country roads with dark outlines of mountains out the window, and I honestly couldn't think of anything there was to want.

But besides simply a feeling of contentment...

The other Sunday, in morning worship, we read a statement of faith that had a phrase about waiting for Christ's second coming. This isn't a particularly unusual occurrence, it's more or less in every Christian creed, though this particular statement of faith was on the "more" side.

And I thought about it. I thought about the scriptures promising Christ's return, particularly in the Gospels and Revelation. I thought about Judaism, theologically, wondering, as I often have, if Christians wouldn't recognize the Messiah coming again, if this is just some endless cycle of religions not believing Messiahs. I thought about Pentecost and the coming of the Holy Spirit, a lot. I thought about the Resurrection.

I thought about why we cling so fastly to that hope. I thought about wars and how we've screwed over this earth and how so many people have this feeling that the world and their lives and crumbling beneath them and they don't know anything they can do about it. I thought the 1900's and how the world is building pressure and building pressure and needs to explode like it did then. I thought about poverty and hatred, I thought about money and what a strange thing that is. I thought about my American generation, how the battles we've faced have not largely been of poverty and physical need, but strong emotional trials of self-hatred. I thought about how hope is, often, the only thing that carries us through. I thought about times, even last semester, where the only way I crawled through was because I refused to give up hope.

But I wondered if hoping for Christ to come again with his double-edged, flaming sword, thrashing out evil and gathering all the Saved is the right use of hope.

I thought about ministry. I thought about people with groups like the PeaceCorps or the Presbyterian Young Adult Volunteers who leave their lives to go help others. I thought about Greg Mortensen building schools for children in Pakistan when he was so poor he was living in his car. I thought about the Australian man who lives by a cliff and spends a good amount of his time trying to talk people out of committing suicide. I thought about Presbyterian Disaster Assistance and the United Methodist Committee on Relief not only sending aid where it's needed, but teaching young people of the value of service, how rebuilding homes can be more renewing than a trip to the Bahamas. I thought about sacrifice for others. I thought about PHTS and the love the staff has for every student. I thought about the people here who will call you "dear" even if you've never met before, and mean it.

And I thought about how the light streams through trees. I thought about what it looks like then a cloud descends on the mountains and everything is shrouded in mist. I thought about the majesty of that city I miss. I thought about swimming with fish. I thought about the shooting star I'd seen this summer. I thought about music made for no reason but beauty. I thought about tiger swallowtail butterflies. I thought about love of land. I thought about love of others. I thought about the soundscape the cicadas make, and the delight in waking up to the sound of rain on the roof.

Friends, the kingdom of God is at hand. The second coming is already here. Hidden in the hearts of those brave enough to risk comfort for love are the building blocks of Zion. We have construction to do. Let's get to work.

I may be young, but I am not naive. It is difficult for anyone in my generation to be naive. Nowadays, we grow up over-exposed and jaded. My optimism is not blind--it grew out of extreme pessimism and cynicism. It seems like every day I hear a new proclamation about how screwed we are. In the 1500's, St. Teresa of Avila wrote that "the world is on fire," and apparently it's just gotten worse since then if "World on Fire" was our theme for last year's youth conferences, 500 years later.

But arising out of all of this fire are streams of living water. In all of these stories of devastation there are anecdotes of people loving heroically. And yes, we cling onto these stories like we cling to the idea of the second coming, maybe even to the point of over-sentimentalization, because we need them so much.

I would not win a theological argument on this topic, but I will point out this: in his years of ministry, Christ did not fix everything. He did not start an uprising against the Roman Empire like many people hoped he would. He did not wave his hand and heal the world, though he certainly had the power to. No, Christ worked by transforming individual lives. And that work is still going on.

That work is, in fact, our responsibility.

I don't know what the theologians say about Pentecost in regards to the second coming of Christ. I really also don't know the difference between the second coming of Christ and the Rapture. But if Christ is God-in-human-form, what is it when the Holy Spirit enters a human form, as the gift of Pentecost, a gift that is STILL WITHIN US?

That is touchy subject and I tred on dangerous ground when I go near it. I'll leave that by simply pointing out that Christ did, quite obviously, leave his work to us when he ascended.

Maybe it's a survival method I've developed. Maybe everything's so awful that I've had to strengthen my optimist muscle just to get through. But I think not. I think when we cannot see Christ in any given situation, it's because we don't know how to look. The miracle of death and resurrection is written into the very fabric of this earth. Show me your pictures of destruction and ask me to explain how Christ could be back, and I will show you a newborn child and ask how he could not be. God is life. If you want proof that there is a god, consider the fact that you exist. It's not that your existence is evidence that something must have created you--it's that God IS existence. "I Am That I Am." I am "am". I am "being". I am "is". There is life, therefore God is here. Even the earthworm is holy.

Once you start looking for God, you start to see Him everywhere. In everything. In describing those who we believe have seen God, we have used phrases like, "mystic", "elevated states of consciousness", "divine connection". But what we're really doing is making excuses, saying "I can't." ("Saint" is often used as the biggest excuse, because it's dismissing the fact that Christ left his work to all of us by claiming that only "saints" can do it, we can't. Fie.) The truth is, it does not take a set of special skills to see God. It doesn't take years of theological training. It doesn't take synaesthesia. It's actually not that hard to see God.

How do you begin to see God? My suggestion is to sit on a porch, or go to a park for those of you in the city, and gaze until you see something beautiful, then say, "Hi, God." Because God is there. If you get good at this and want to stretch yourself, find something beautiful while gazing at a trash can.

Bele Chere is from a Scottish dialect and means, "Beautiful living." All I could do watching the sun set, looking out across the crowd, and listening to the music echoing over us, was greet God. Over, and over, and over.