The new (unplanned) diet

Much of Tuesday night and Wednesday morning of this week was spent in the ER trying to figure out the cause for the tremendous abdominal pain I’d been experiencing since Monday night. After much poking and prodding and waiting, I was told that I have an inflammation in my large intestine, a condition that is highly uncommon for a woman my age (I’m much too young). It’s even more perplexing since the most common cause (according to google) is a diet low in fiber and high in stress, something that does not describe my situation at all. In short, I am stumped.

But I am relieved to know that I’m not dying and that I don’t need to be operated on (because there was talk at first of it being early stages of appendicitis). The doctor told me go on a liquid diet for seven days, eat fiber packets for at least four weeks and then come in for a colonoscopy in six to eight weeks. Easy (albeit slightly uncomfortable) plan.

So. Yesterday afternoon found me browsing the grocery aisles for soup, juice and yogurt. Shouldn’t have been hard, right? But the trick was to find these items sans chunks. As in no soups with vegetable and/or other chunks. No juices with pulp. No yogurts with bits of fruit. Still findable, but the choices became really limited. And boring.

Now I’m on day two of this unplanned liquid fast, and I am hungry. I’m feeling much better, but now instead of being distracted by pain, I’m distracted by my grumbling tummy. I feel like I’ve lost the joy of living. If I can’t look forward to the next good meal, WHAT ELSE is there to look forward to in this life???? (Obviously I’m being dramatic.) But it’s making me realize how much I take the joy of eating for granted.

Eating is not something we do just to survive. Eating is something we do together, in relationship, because it’s FUN. Sure, for us single people who live alone, eating is often done in silence and solitude. But those times we do get to share a meal with a group of people, there is so much more involved than just eating. It’s fellowship, it’s community, it’s a celebration. When you are not allowed to partake in this ritual for whatever reason, it’s kind of depressing. Colors turn to gray scale. All you want to do is heave a sigh and mutter “Bah! Humbug!” (at least I do). 

Unexpectedly, I feel that I am developing a greater empathy for those who suffer from food allergies or other conditions that prohibit them from experiencing the full enjoyable spectrum of food. I know several people with such allergies and I’ve not dedicated the issue more thought beyond the occasional “sucks to be them.” My diet will only last a week. Theirs may last a lifetime.

So, on behalf of all my previous insensitivity, I apologize and I empathize with you. I never thought of how isolated it could make you feel. Kudos to you for putting up with people like me.

A contemplation on death, but mostly life

Jenna, the daughter of some dear family friends just died a few hours ago after battling stomach cancer for some time. She was 23.

I’m sitting here crying but I don’t know for exactly what reason. It’s tragic that a young woman with such a promising future should have it taken from her for no apparent reason. And I can only imagine what her family is going through at this moment. The loss, the grief, the questions. I would be a mess if it were my brother or one of my parents. A complete mess. But that’s not why I’m crying.

I suppose it’s natural when something like this hits close to home to spend more time than usual thinking about death, eternity, and the true reason for life on Earth. Hollywood has freely speculated on the concept of death and life after it, my favorite one being the film “Meet Joe Black.” I don’t consider its take on the concept to be realistic, but it comes close to asking the important questions.

So what are the important questions? I don’t have a definitive answer, but I have decided on what the two most important questions for me are: 1) Where does life begin and end? and 2) Is God really good all the time?

If you are unfamiliar with authentic Christianity, it may be hard to wrap your brain around what I’m about to say. But hear me out.

I don’t spend enough time thinking about Heaven. I know I’m going there when I die, I know it’s fantastic, and I know I’ll spend way more time there than I ever will here (on Earth). Still, I don’t think about it a ton. Why? I have no respectable answer to that question. Clearly I’m too focused on natural rather than spiritual reality.

I do however spend quite a bit of time thinking about my own death. It’s disconcerting for me to not know how or when I’m going to die. My dramatic mind thinks up a number of horrific ways I could go. I don’t want to die one of these violent deaths, but at the same time I can’t truly visualize myself dying a peaceful death at a ripe old age. I don’t know if it’s a legitimate premonition or just my own morbidness, but I’ve always thought I’d never make it past 50. You’d think that with this prospect I’d be one of those carpe diem people. But life is something I take for granted. All the time.

Please don’t feel depressed. I’m getting to the good stuff.

Life, eternal life, starts the moment you give your life to Jesus. And it never stops. It just keeps going. Death is merely a door. And Jesus has always been the point.

Also, God is good. All the time. I struggle with the fact that I don’t see powerful miracles happening. The Bible is full of documented healings and demonstrations of power, and since I absolutely believe that God is the same today, we should reasonably still be seeing the same class of miracles. (Note: There are miracles happening today, just not nearly as many in the Western world, the reason for which is a whole other issue and not one I will expound upon here).

But my point is that I, and Christian believers in general, often think about God in a completely erred light. To take the example of the miracle of resurrection, what if it wasn’t a matter of Jesus deciding to not allow this miracle to happen, no matter how much we prayed for it to? What if He gave the person standing at Heaven’s door the choice between returning to Earth with a restored physical body and staying in Heaven with Him? After tasting the splendor and majesty of Heaven, who wouldn’t choose the latter?

So really, when Jesus is the ultimate destination, you can’t not win. There were two options for Jenna: either the Lord would do a miracle and restore her completely from her sickness, or He would take her to be with Him for eternity. Either way, she’d win.

And I think that is why I’m crying. Because in the midst of the sadness, I am overwhelmed by and in awe of the goodness of Jesus. None of the events make sense in light of natural thinking.  None of them. But when I gaze upon who Jesus is and think about the true nature and purpose of life, the life that HE gave us, it’s impossible not to feel joy.

Today, Jenna won.

Woes of a grad student, part 2: When your inadequacy glares you in the face.

I’m generally a secure, self-confident person, not unusually prone to performance anxiety or people pleasing. But sometimes things happen that serve as uncomfortable reminders that it is so easy for me to base my self worth on how others gauge my abilities. I’m generally good at the things I do, and the things I’m not good at, I avoid. I don’t like looking like a fool and I take negative feedback personally. I do not have thick skin. And this bothers me. How can I expect to survive in the world of international politics when I don’t have thick skin?

                         

I’m in a Master’s program that combines the realms of political science, economics and global studies. I am absolutely in the right place at the right time; this is what I’ve been wanting to do since I had an epiphany in 2006. However, unlike my classmates, I don’t have any formal background in any of these areas. Which puts me in the slow lane as far as I’m concerned. I’m not a fan of being in the slow lane, but I’ve kept my head high about it.

Until I got my first failing grade on a paper. Granted, I knew full well that this particular essay was not my best work. In contrast to the first paper (which I aced, by the way), I wasn’t feeling inspired, I wasn’t finding an angle to attack it from, so I just wrote a mediocre essay, handed it in and hoped for the best.

Well, my prof was not having it. She gave me a “no pass,” told me my analysis was severely lacking, and now I have to rewrite it. Which is a good thing, really. I’m grateful for the second chance. I’m just feeling slightly discouraged and inadequate.

But actually, here’s what’s really going on: This particular professor is exposing my weaknesses, and I resent her for it. That’s not fair to her, because there are things I need to learn. This is why I went back to school - to learn what I do not already know. Unfortunately for me, this involves a great deal of pride swallowing. In this season of my life, I need to allow the limits of what my mind is capable of to be tested, and it is very uncomfortable to feel those limits in the flesh. 

Incidentally, this same morning I listened to a convicting podcast sermon about humility. I even had a nice little time with the Lord about it, asking Him to uproot any prideful attitude, to strip away my self-reliance, to help me embrace humility, etc etc. What perfect timing, as I was certainly made to embrace humility. But I can yield because I am loved by God. There is nothing I can do on my own and in my own strength that is going to impress anyone. I know the plans He has for me are epic. I know that I will someday hold a position of influence on an international scale. I’ve sensed this for years, but I do not for the life of me know how or what or when. I have nothing that qualifies me for such a destiny. Only the fact that God chose to plant a dream in my heart and bestow favor. 

So I am going to reject the temptation to grumble and I am going to rewrite this blasted paper, and it is going to be analytically brilliant.  

Woes of a grad student, part 1: No money.

Today I went on a reconnaissance trip to Gothenburg with a friend in order to locate the political science building that is to be my new second home for the next two years. And being from a small town where the shopping is limited, we also browsed the stores. To be accurate, I browsed and my friend bought. This was hard. 

Understand something: I love to shop. And I don’t buy crap. I like the things that I buy to be made of quality materials, which naturally ups the price tag. Since I’ve had a steady income for the last several years, this has not been a problem. My salary has been modest, but I’ve also led a relatively scaled-down, inexpensive existence (if one disregards all of the traveling). So I’ve been able to afford some of the finer things in life. 

Not anymore. Now I attend grad school. Now I’m living on student loans. Now, suddenly, I have no money to spend on anything other than the. Absolute. Necessities. 

Boring. SO boring. 

So today as we perused shoe stores, clothing stores, department stores, I felt the depressing reality set in. I can’t buy any of this. Having a “day on the town” will only be upsetting from now on. Not forever of course, but for what feels like a pretty long time. Ahhhh what have I done?

An unbeatable summer

Here are some things I’ve learned/realized/acknowledged/concluded this summer:

I do indeed have roots. I’ve lived in several different places and I’ve loved (almost) all of them but not felt especially at home in any particular one. Depending on my frame of mind, it could take me 20 minutes to answer the question “Where are you from?”. But spending time with the CFC* team from Potsdam who came to help out at English Camp** this summer filled a hole in my heart I didn’t know I had. You could say that Potsdam is where everything started. It’s where my dad got saved and discipled, it’s where my parents attended university, it’s where they met and got married. It’s where I was born. And now, nearly 30 years later, I’m meeting the children of my parents’ best friends from that time and finding that we connect really well on a personal level, that we flow really well on a ministry level, and that we have a common understand of local church and Kingdom culture. In short, we have the same DNA. And I think it’s because we come from the same place. Very few times in my life have I experienced such an immediate and genuine knitting of hearts. That kind of stuff is meaningful to me. I guess you can take the girl out of Potsdam, but you can’t take Potsdam out of the girl. 

The CFC team (photo cred: Jeannine Pringle)

My grandmother meant more to my grandfather than I ever knew. During the few days I spent with him, most of the conversation revolved around her. He’s a simple man and he’s never been expressive about his feelings, but now, almost two years after her passing, he’s telling me how much he misses her, how beautiful she was to him, and I realize that the pain of losing her is much greater than what I gave him credit for. The house is still full of her. The closets are still full of her clothes, the bathroom is still full of her perfumes and toiletries; she is everywhere. Yet he’s so lonely, and it breaks my heart. I’m thankful to have seen another side of my grandfather. He’s a really good man, and I love him dearly. 

I'm still his favorite granddaughter

I love my Italian family. This is not a new development, it’s just that I don’t get to spend that much face time with them, and each time I do, I’m reminded of how crazy, dysfunctional and lovable we all are. Between us there’s no b.s., we don’t pretend we’re something we’re not, and when we’re together, it’s a Thanksgiving dinner. Or, as it was this time, a wedding.

Wedding rehearsal

In Boston with Gian and Matt

Traveling by myself is no fun. Bags get heavy, layovers get long, and not having anyone to share the boredom with is…well….boring. Normally this would be an excellent time to do so some legit reading, but when my jet lagged brain is in an airport fog, it’s only good for taking in photo spreads. So instead of reading the books I’ve packed with me, I buy fashion magazines, walk around aimlessly, and wish I had wifi for my phone so I could at least “connect” with somebody on the other side of wherever. 

I need to move to New York City. It’s an idea I’ve been entertaining since last summer, but I’ve doubted whether, after several years of living in a small town and having everything so accessible and easy, I could make it in a city like New York. But after spending five days with my brother who lives there, I am determined to settle down there for a time. I’ve got to say, the city has definitely cleaned up its act since I was a kid. It was not at all as overwhelming as I’d imagined; walking the streets felt completely familiar, and jogging in Central Park felt totally routine. Curiously, out of all the awesome things my brother and I did, one of the greatest highlights for me was jogging - once in Central Park and once along the Hudson River. I have never been on such glorious runs in my life. That kind of thing makes a place livable to me, and I’m not even a disciplined runner. It pretty much sealed the deal. Now all I need is to land a job that pays well enough to finance a loft apartment in Chelsea… 

Washington Square Park as viewed from NYU where my brother attends.

Coney Island. Hard to believe these two pictures are of the same city.

I feel out of place at rooftop bars. Granted, I’ve only been to one, but it was loud, it was crowded, and it was pointless. My brother and I and our friend Josh decided to go all in with the NYC experience, so we booked a room at the Empire Hotel across from Lincoln Center that reportedly had a hopping rooftop bar. I was all excited about it - you know, living the high life for a day and all that. So I put on my little black dress and my little black heels and took the elevator up to the top floor. But as soon as we walked in, I felt out of place. The space was packed with the young, beautiful and upwardly mobile, but since I wasn’t there to schmooze, flirt or hook up with anyone, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. So we ordered Long Island Ice Teas and took selfies. 

The view from the rooftop bar of the Empire Hotel. 

This one doesn't even need a caption.

My brother is my best friend. We read each other’s thoughts, know each other’s tastes, have each other’s backs. He lifts up the people around him. His humor is quick and sharp, and he makes me laugh. His talent makes me want to showcase him yet protect him from the world that will inevitably try to take advantage of him. He brings out the performer in me, and he makes me look good (or is it the Instagram filters?). I could easily envy his charisma and feel the need to compete with his charm (and maybe I do, just a teency weency bit), but mostly I’m content to sit back and enjoy the show that is Daniel. With a guy like him on the stage, I don’t mind never being more than an audience member. I know he sees me. 

*Christian Fellowship Center in Madrid, NY (http://www.cfconline.org/)

**English Camp in Alhaurin de la Torre, Spain put on by Centro Cristiano de Alhaurin 

Concentrated goodness, Finnish style

How do I put five days of deeply satisfying quality time with some of the best people I’ve ever met into words? I can’t. Words seem trite. But the phrase concentrated goodness would at least be an attempt in the right direction. My eternal travel buddy Lina and I went to Helsinki last week to discover a new city, stroll around town, fine dine etc. - a.k.a. ”the usual.” We’ve been to Málaga, Portland, Montreal, Budapest and now Helsinki together, and each trip blows the last one out of the water. We don’t know how we keep pulling that off, but I call it living in the favor of God. 

Part of the reason why I wanted to go to Helsinki was to meet up with Sami and Topi, a couple of Finnish guys I’d met at a conference in Berlin last year (see previous post ”Some personality types are just meant to take over the world”). I hadn’t seen them since then, and as we’re practically neighbors, I figured it was high time for an HQSM (high quality short meeting). In short: best decision ever. Here’s how it went down: 

We stayed at the Klaus K, a very cool design hotel situated in the middle of town, in the Design District. Lina and I agree that it has the best hotel breakfast we’ve ever eaten.  Everything was delicious, super healthy, locally sourced and thoroughly designed to make people happy. 

The Klaus K

Our hotel room

The Design District is completely unpretentious, full of stylish boutiques that offer anything from paper products to tea to locally designed clothing and home decor. Inviting cafés and fine dining experiences abound. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to take advantage of our surroundings quite to the desired degree as it was Easter weekend and things were closed. Besides, we were kept busy as Topi and Sami took it upon themselves to show us a good time. We’re a few gentlemen short here in Sweden, but these two men are gold. 

The day after we arrived, Topi took us out to his farm where we went out in his rowboat, caught a couple of fish, ate lunch and took a siesta.

The view of the lake from Topi's farmhouse

Yup, I caught a fish (and when I say "I," I mean the net caught the fish and I caught the net).

Once Sami joined us after work, the guys introduced us to an authentic Finnish sauna experience. I can now say that you haven’t really lived until you’ve sat in a sauna with sweat pouring out from every imaginable opening on your skin. It was amazing. Politicians should solve world conflicts in this manner. At first I was skeptical about the whole sweat-profusely-then-jump-into-ice-cold-water thing. But after trying it once, the shock became addictive. We alternated between steam and ice for two and a half hours. Simply marvelous.

The Finns take their saunas very seriously. Topi is building this two-story smoke sauna, soon to be inaugurated!

Then it was time for dinner! Topi fried up the fish we’d caught earlier and we ate until we were completely stuffed. Then we ate some more. And then we had mämmi for dessert. It’s a bit unfortunate tasting, but apparently it’s an Easter tradition. It looks like gooey chocolate brownie pudding, but chocolate it is not. It’s more of a malty mishmash of grains that tastes like that black German bread nobody likes. 

Lina and Topi frying fish

Lina being gorgeous as usual, Topi and Sami

Mämmi aside, the day was complete and utter bliss. Disregard every bucket list you’ve ever made. This is the only one you need:

1. Go to Finland.
2. Sit in a sauna.
3. Dip yourself in a lake.
4. Repeat steps 2 and 3 as many times as desired/necessary/forced upon you.
5. Catch a fish.
6. Eat said fish for dinner.
7. Fall asleep on the couch with a glass of wine in your hand. 

Other things we did: 

-Attended a ”Holy Thursday” service at the Rock Church whose sanctuary is literally hollowed out of a huge piece of rock with a giant copper disc for a roof. Very cool. 

-Ate dinner Sami’s place, made friends with a ”Mexinadian” named Allen, witnessed the ascent of a red moon and watched Despicable Me (which, incidentally, becomes a lot funnier when watched after midnight). 

-Visited the Charlie Chaplin exhibition and did our best to channel his persona. 

Good Friday was indeed a good Friday. Sami took us to a worship service at a bilingual evangelical church with tons of hip, English/Swedish/Finnish-speaking young adults who love Jesus. Then we stopped by Topi’s place (he’s got an apartment in the city in addition to the farmhouse) where he offered us ”something cold” to drink (I thought he meant water, but indeed he meant Cava). The man’s knack for hospitality is unparalleled. (**A side note on Topi: He marches to the beat of his own drum more than any person I’ve ever known. He listens to opera, studies theology, farms beans and grains, takes road trips through Eastern Europe and drinks Cava on weekdays. The quintessential bohemian. One is blessed to know him.) 

Topi

Friday night was spent in good company at a local jazz club called Storyville. As luck would have it, on this night the traditional jazz had been replaced with the unfortunate genre of country boogie. Not awesome. But we compensated with a spontaneous prayer meeting in our hotel room later that night - hot seat style. Which brings me to my final thought: the global church is an amazing thing. In what other context do random people from all over the world, some of whom have just met, congregate in a hotel room and pray for each other with words of knowledge, love and encouragement? The body of Christ is beautiful and worth fighting for. Regardless. People like Sami and Topi make me love Jesus even more. Amen. 

Sami, Lina, Topi and me

Istanbul

I’m just back from Istanbul where my mom and I spent a fascinating five days. The city is an eclectic mix of east and west, but I would say it was more middle eastern than I had expected. I saw similarities to Sarajevo, a city I’ve spent some time in, in its surreal blend of European culture and language and Ottoman architecture and religion, but Sarajevo is decidedly more European than Istanbul. Even though Turkey is a secular state, religious expression is everywhere. Calls to prayer sound from the numerous mosques five times a day and in certain parts of the city, men block the streets with their carpets while kneeling in the direction of Mecca. 

Most women wore a shawl around their heads, and a surprising number were fully covered in black chadors with nothing but slits for their eyes. However, in the Beyoglu district near Taksim Square, the population was noticeably younger and modernly dressed. The main shopping avenue, Istiklal Caddesi, is lined with all the major American and European fashion chains, and there’s even a Shake Shack!! I am otherwise against eating American fast food when abroad, but a Shack Burger is the exception. 

Istanbul is a city for those who love history and architecture. The mosques are very grand and numerous and the interior designs are breathtaking. Our hotel in Sultanahmet was very close to the square where the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia tower on either side, and my favorite part of the day was walking across the square at night and seeing these two monuments lit up in a splendor uncommon in the western world. 

The Hagia Sophia (or Aya Sofia in Turkish) was originally a Byzantine church that was later transformed into a mosque when the Ottomans conquered the city. Now it’s a museum badly in need of restoration, but its double ancestry is still visible and preserved. 

Hagia Sophia

You can see the Mother Mary in the dome

Definitely in need of repair

Shopping is a must here. Both the Spice Market and Grand Bazaar are obligatory destinations where you will get the chance to haggle over products and prices with pushy, yet still respectful and polite, shop keepers. My mom and I both love to shop, so it was easy for us to delve into the chaos. There are endless tunnels of carpets, lamps, pottery, scarves, gold, leather bags and jackets, teas and spices. The prices aren’t necessarily cheap, but they’re completely reasonable. 

In the Grand Bazaar

The spice market

We met an eccentric and engaging shop keeper who keeps a broom in the doorway to block people from coming in. He won’t let customers through the door unless they first say hello. ”Whatever happened to manners?” he laments. Apparently he’s not desperate to do business as he shooed away a number of people while we were there. I’m still trying to figure out why he let me in (I just moved the broom and asked, ”Are you open?”) but we’re both glad he did as we got to conversing about relationships, suffering, social classes, music and ”the deplorable state of our times.” A very curious man. I like him. 

I thought the Basilican Cistern was one of the most interesting things to see. Built in the 6th century by the emperor Justinian, it’s an extensive underground water system that provided the city with fresh water. The large swarms of Chinese tourists also thought it was an interesting place as they swooped in with their cameras, oblivious to the fact that other tourists were politely standing in line and awaiting their turn. An Italian guy was getting visibly irritated and swearing under his breath as the Chinese blocked his shots each time he lifted the camera to take a picture. It was comical.

My mother braving the Chinese swarm

Turkish men deserve their own paragraph, because, to be frank, they are probably what I’m going to remember most from this trip. The sights are impressive, but it’s the people and conversations you have with them that make or break a trip in my opinion. I hardly came into direct contact with women as the shop keepers and restaurateurs were all male, and I have never been so flirted with and flattered as I was this past week. Seriously - it got intense. But I must admit that I enjoyed it to a certain extent. The men are very good-looking - often with dark complexions and blue or green eyes - but also quite a few fairer complexions as well, and they have a way of talking to you as if you are the only one they’ve ever had eyes for. I’ve met a number of interesting men in my travels, many of them shady in one way or another. That wasn’t entirely the case this time around. However, there is one incident that I wish I’d handled differently: 

There was this one guy on the street where our hotel was who tried several days in a row to get us to eat at his restaurant. Finally, one evening after a turkish bath, my mom and I decided to step in for a meal. The food was very good and we ended up meeting a delightful British couple who, as it turned out, were also staying at our hotel. They work on an estate in Kent as a housekeeper and butler of sorts (very Downton Abbey). Anyway, this guy, (we’ll call him Dario), who was from the other side of Turkey, was apparently not an employee of the restaurant but was there helping the owner (a relative of some sort) for the season. He took a liking to me and started hanging out at our table, telling us about Turkey and his work as a dancer (he’s apparently danced for Janet Jackson and Lady Gaga, as well as on Britain’s Got Talent - I swear, I saw the YouTube video). Anyway, he was very flirtatious and quite forward, but interesting to talk to, so I kind of rolled with it. He asked me to come by the restaurant the following night for a drink, to which I said maybe. The next evening on our walk back to the hotel, we passed by the restaurant and again he asked me to come by later. I was in a jovial mood, so I said I would. But then I lost track of time and got sleepy and was easily persuaded by my discerning mother to stay put. The next evening as we passed by the restaurant on our way to a café down the street, he saw me but turned away and wouldn’t look at me when I made some lame comment on the rain. I wanted to apologize about last night, but in that instant I thought he was being sulky and petty, so I didn’t say anything. It’s not just Turkish men who have pride issues apparently. 

The point of all this is to say that it’s hard to know where the line is drawn when interacting with guys from other cultures. When every Turkish man I meet flirts and flatters to get at my wallet, naturally I don’t believe a word anyone says to me. But Dario was visibly offended, and even though I may think that he was being ridiculous and territorial, I am guilty of not taking him seriously. He felt toyed with and disrespected, and I didn’t make it right. For that I am genuinely sorry. I wish I’d handled the situation differently. Not that the outcome would have been different (I still wasn’t going to marry him, move to his village and live with his mother, as he had not so subtly insinuated before), but I don’t ever want to leave a bitter taste in somebody’s mouth, regardless of our chances of running into each other again. 

Needless to say, this voyage has left me with a number of impressions and some new insight into my own character. In other words, a successful trip. 

The ferry ride over to the Asian side