Amsterdam, Dim Red

I’m in Amsterdam. Today my phone was stolen, my iphone. It amazed me how frustrated I was. Frustrated that I didn’t think to put it in my bag instead of my pocket or just to hold it. Frustrated I didn’t keep the pass code on it so no one would have been able to access the insides of it. Frustrated that someone wanted to steal it from me and did so easily, right when I was unaware. It was interesting that the most frustrating thing about it was that I lost my thoughts that I had written on my phone and my pictures: memories and experiences that I wanted to keep to remember. The cost of the material object was not on the forefront of my mind; my frustrations, by that regard, seemed deeper.

Today I went to the Red light district in Amsterdam. For the first time I observed women being sold for sex with my own eyes. There they were in the windows staring at me. Some appearing as if bored, others distracted, others had a fake, alluring smile plastered on their face, all of them looking lifeless, a mask of survival separating them from the hundreds who strolled along, peering at them like they were a commodity to be used and reused and reused, without thought to the cost inflicted. The beds were right behind them. In the window you could see the velvet sheets. I saw a man enter the door after the beckoning women. Forthwith I can only imagine, pleasure for one, new cuts of brokenness for the other. But can that even be called pleasure for the one? I hardly dare to think so, but rather lust, fulfilling the flesh for a moment but not satiating it; giving mere crumbs to the beast that will always ask for more, heedless of the cost.

My petty frustrations and feelings of loss, of memories, thoughts, and experiences from earlier were silenced by what my eyes and heart gazed on. To think of how much is stolen from these women and these men is something that can only be known and summated by God.

My friend mentioned how God was wanting her to ask how he feels about this all, to enter into him, dwell in his emotions and not just ours, how there was brokenness and deep sadness but not hopelessness, never that. My soul deeply agreed. I was struck with how it is all the same-the men will experience one more pleasure, one of many. For the woman, it is one more night of being taken from, being given in exchange for. It is all the same, the traveler getting drunk one more time, saying they want a new experience, seeking, striving for something new yet settling on the monotonous repetitions of thrill, of pleasure, of soul-numbing, mind-alluring experiences. Brokenness is the same and over and over again. I was struck then by Jesus and the immensity of the difference that He brings, that He is. Jesus brings, is, newness! Not only restoration, but growth, adventure, the satiation of desire, of delight, excitement, and of experience. I saw how with brokenness, there is no growth there, no challenge or light, in contrast there is digression, there is ease into apathy, and there is dimness, dim red.

Holy Spirit, this broken world, we desperately need your freshness, your newness of life to wash over and consume us. Plant new seeds of restoration, of growth, of Hope, of You into the soil of death and decay that stands ready to receive you, longing and groaning for a Savior such as only you are that can fulfill the innermost needs and breakdown the darkest hardness. Bring the broken places, people, and world into the dance, the Dance of love, the dance of the gospel, a bride with her Bridegroom.

December

         December is here in Granada. I almost have too many thoughts about life right now to write them on here so instead I'll just give a little update; I feel like a lot has happened. We finished our last trip and since then I have been spending the last few weeks here in Granada exploring and taking it all in before I leave in 8 days. Coming off of the trip to Sevilla and Cordoba, I was sick with a kidney infection. It was an interesting experience to say the least; the medical system here is very different than in the States. They gave me the shots and the antibiotics to give myself shots without giving any direction. They didn't check my vitals or test my blood for potential blood poisoning. It was probably the most potentially intense illness I've had and yet I had no misgivings about it. I felt peace and was thankful it wasn't anything more serious. 

Me pondering the feeling of stabbing myself in the butt with my antibiotics using the shot they gave me...

        Last week I became an aunt again, and again to another miracle baby! I am amazed at the marvellous works of God. The doctors kept telling us over and over again after consistent appointments that the baby would have problems, mentally or physically, or possibly die. This was difficult news to hear and brought me and many others to the foot of the cross in prayer. I remember telling my roommate when I first learned this two months ago, "This is going to be for God's glory. I believe He's going to heal the baby. What if this is even just to open up opportunities for God to show Himself, His gospel, and glory to people in Spain?" Then a few days before he was born, I was spending some time praying for him and I felt the peace of God come over me and felt Him say to me, "Chelsea, I've already healed him, he's perfect." On Friday morning I woke up and got an email that Teague Marshall was born, and he is perfect. There were a bunch of specialty doctors in the delivery room with life support expecting an emergency or dead baby. They couldn't believe that a healthy baby was born. They did a bunch of tests and an MRI and he passed with flying colors. When I heard this I cried with joy. God is so faithful in His timing. That day at dinner I shared this miracle with my host family. We got onto a conversation about miracles and then the door opened for me to share my lifestory, another story of God's grace. It was crazy. I praise Jesus for His presence here.

All of my nieces and nephews, 3 of them new that I'll meet for the first time in 8 days!

        As the days wind down I'm getting ready to go home. I've never been one to be homesick, rather a very present person, but as my flight gets closer I'm becoming more excited to be home. It's funny how this often works. At times I feel weary of heart, restless, and ready to be home, then I experience something here in Spain that fills my heart with the joy of another culture and I'm so thankful that I am here. 
       One of these things was this past weekend. Robin and I went over to the house of the pastor and his wife of the church I've been going to here in Spain. They are wonderful people who living out the gospel in a simple and challenging way. We went over, learned how to make an authentic Mexican meal, and ate together with other people from the church. One massive pan of paella ( a traditional Spanish plate) and the Mexican food. It was a community sharing life together in a simple and beautiful way. One thing that struck me in this community is the lack of pretense. Eva, the wife, would ask us to do things blundtly and would accept our help when offered without playing the game of "are you sure?...I can really do it....only if you want to..." that I find others normally dance around. In one sense she would assume our help or involvement but not in an expectant or forceful way rather in a genuine understanding of the function, purpose, and workings of community. In the same way, they don't think twice about generously offering up their food, material resources, time, or emotional energy to us. It is real in a beautiful way. Another example is when I told the pastor my miracle story of my nephew before church and he immediately was about to call me up in front of the whole community to share it; I could anticipate his thoughts as he asked me, "of course, why wouldn't you share this to encourage others of the goodness and activity of the grace and power of God." They lack pretense. What they lack, in reality, is their selfish desires, their natural tendencies as human beings, their individual, one-track goals. It is an emptying of themselves to be filled with genuine love, fruit, and working of the something bigger than themselves, Jesus. In this context I see life. After seeing this example, I want to seek out and change aspects of my life so that I can live and bring out in others a community without pretense, and foster the genuine love of Christ. 

       

Robin and I with our intercambios friends, Elivira and Cristina

Thankful

           Community is one of those things that you take for granted until you don't have it immediately present. I’m so thankful for my friend Robin, who is here with me in Spain and yet I have expereinced what it is to lack community in Spain. Both Robin and I have realized the difference in being around a group of people who really know you and who are pursuing the same goals and mission as you and have noticed when this is absent. With this, I also have encountered the sweet presence of Jesus and His provision in a whole new way. I am amazed anew by how Jesus provides everything at all times.

         I was blessed in crazy ways this past week. Multiple people commented to me this week, "Wow, you have really amazing friends! They must love you a lot!" My only response was to beam with joy, close to tears, nod, and respond, "I know, I can't believe how wonderful they are, I am so thankful for them." This was the reaction after I told everyone that five of my closest friends came from the States to visit me! Yes it’s true, my small group girls came this week and it was such an epic, sweet time together. I met them in another city in Spain, Barcelona, for the weekend. We explored the city, which is much bigger, more touristy, and more international than Granada, and we went to a Barcelona soccer game! This was a crazy experience with the most people I’ve ever seen at a sporting event. I felt a part of the culture considering futbol is one of Spain’s favorite things. 

After the weekend in Barcelona, we all came back to Granada. It was sureal to be able to show them my life here- the places I like to go to and the views I’m able to see. We went salsa dancing and to a tea house. I was encouraged in every way simply by being with them.

Right when they left I had Thanksgiving here, my program put on a mock Thanksgiving for us. I am thankful for so much: for the ability to learn Spanish here, for my family and friends, for life, for God’s grace, and for the presence of Jesus. We were off the next day traveling to two other Spanish cities, Seville and Cordoba. They were beautiful and each very different. Seville has the third largest cathedral in the world and Cordoba has the third largest Mosque, now converted to a cathedral. It’s still strange to me to be seeing things and walking on bridges, for example that Julius Cesar walked on or that were constructed thousands of years ago. I’m still struck with how different everything is here from what I know in the United States.

I have less then a month here now, time is winding down. I’ve decided to only speak Spanish this entire month, to everyone, on every occasion, to journal in Spanish, pray in Spanish, and think in Spanish. I pray for understanding, patience, and self control with this.

This past weekend a wave of home sickness hit me. This is strange for me as I normally am a very present person and don’t often have homesick feelings. I’m not sure if it was the holiday or simply the fact that I have been away since the middle of August, but I definitely experienced a few moments of longing to be home. In the midst of this I am realizing how it’s often necessary for a renewal of purpose. I needed to hear from God again, what am I doing here? What are the reasons you have me here with these people, this place, doing these things? When you hit emotional lows, it is vital to be stripped of yourself and realize things bigger than yourself. Hallelujah for the grace of God’s purposes for us.

         

Mastafaw

Morocco!

At times Spain still seems foreign to me with its language, fake peanut butter (they only have peanut butter here made with 90% peanuts and I couldn’t tell you what the other 10% is…), and different customs, yet this past weekend I entered a different world entirely. This one with sand, camels, Arabic, and little boys everywhere. I went from being in England to Morocco 24 hours later.

        We went into the desert for two nights and stayed in tents in the middle of nowhere in between the sand dunes and the Milky Way. The nomadic people in the area, the Berber people were wonderful. Most of them can’t read or write, yet they know between 5-6 languages, learning just from the tourists who come. Amazing! Every time I ventured into the sand dunes, day or night, all I had to do was wait a few moments and bam, there would be a nomad, seemingly out of nowhere to talk to you. One night Robin and I went out to talk away from the camp and two Berbers came up and sat down with us. We talked for more than an hour with them about things of daily life, culture, and God. It seemed surreal at times in the conversation. I was humbled in the way this man, Mastafaw, shared about the simplicity of the life he leads. He passes the day, working, learning from the “escuela de vida”, the “school of life” as he called it, and being with people. If he doesn’t get to eat that day, it’s okay they just drink more water; if he is too far from his camp one night he just sleeps under the stars; if he’s cold he just pulls more sand around him for insulation. He told how many of the tourists who come end up being too uncomfortable and preoccupied that they don’t experience the culture.

        I came on this trip as a tourist. This isn’t the way I normally like to experience places, but I was with my program and thus 70 other Americans, not ideal to say the least. We were treated like tourists, waited on at points, marked for all of the pitches to buy this rock or that bracelet. Also like tourists, there was an ample amount of complaining and attitudes of entitlement.

        This made me start pondering how I don’t want to be a tourist in life. I saw how being a tourist in Morocco immediately created so many barriers between me and the people of Morocco. It was an interchange of culture but established on a surface level in the way of what do we need from each other, “I need your business and your money.” On the other side, “I need a good experience and the material possessions that you offer.” Tourists aren’t vulnerable; tourists only engage people on the surface level; tourists are guarded and hold tightly their possessions; tourists aren’t willing to be uncomfortable.

        There is a difference between a tourist and a journeyman or sojourner. This trip made me question where in my life am I traveling as a tourist? Where am I just scratching the surface, too scared of uncomfortibility or of engaging with people? Where do I maintain an attitude of entitlement that closes my eyes to the perspectives or needs of others? I want to be a sojourner, a journeyman who holds truth, light, hope, and life wherever I wander. 

This is Robin and I on the ferry to Morocco with the Rock of Gibraltar in the background. 

This is the Medina of Fez that we visited. It has 15,000 winding streets with 90,000 shops that all contain the handicrafts of artisans who work in the same manner as from the 13th century. 

In the Medina at a rug shop. I felt like Jasmine so we recreated the Magic carpet and Aladin.

This is the camel I rode.

This is the camp we stayed in for 2 nights. 

Would you fancy a cup of tea?

I always saw scenes of people running through the airport in movies or when I’ve walked through the airport. In these scenes I imagine people with big backpacks and grand plans of adventure, normally having corresponding colored clothes and running through the airport because of some intense reason, maybe they just saved a child or let someone take their seat on the bus. My mind has woven stories and I’ve thought, “How wonderful that must be, how exciting and adventurous. I want to do that and run through the airport. I'll add it to my bucket list.” After it happens to you your thoughts change; it becomes less of a desirable situation, though the adventure aspect of it remains just as I imagined it. Your blood pumps just as I imagined, you sweat just as much, and the feeling of relief when you sit down on the plane is just as sweet.

Robin and I went to Bristol, England this weekend. While in Europe we wanted to pick a random place and go and the place ended up being Britain, though that was not the original plan. From the beginning, the trip was a little stressful. The primary reason to go to Bristol was to meet up with one of Robin’s closest friends. The night before we left, this friend cancelled her flight unexpectedly. We were all packed and left right after class, planning on arriving to the bus station with plenty of time to spare. The two-hour bus to the airport that we were planning to take was full so we waited an hour for the next one. At the airport we hurried through everything and made it to our gate with 15 minutes to spare. “Whoo, we made it!” I thought as we were in the boarding line for our flight that was leaving at 9.40. I looked over and for another outbound flight a man showed up while the sign flashed “Last Call”. I turned to Robin, “Wow, that guy cut it close, I’m glad he’s going to make it.” Little did I know that we would cut it even closer. We got up to the gate attendant, it was 9:18. She tells us that we needed a visa stamp on our boarding pass that we didn’t have and that we need to go get it. It was before security and she didn’t know if we would make it. The funny thing was that two people before her had checked both our boarding passes and our passports and said nothing of the matter. We looked at each other in panic and took off. We ended up going all the way one direction where a guy directed us at first and it was the wrong way; we continued all the way out of security to the random counter to get the stamp and all the way back through. While running I was thinking to myself what lesson Jesus was trying to teach me, maybe one about how money doesn’t matter, thinking I was going to miss my flight and loose a couple hundred dollars, or about how His plans are different than mine…I still for sure don't know how this played into what Jesus was teaching me this weekend. 

We ended up arriving to our gate for the second time sweaty and out of breath at 9.38 “espera, espera!” “Wait, wait!” we shouted. We made it, walked on the plane a pile of sweat and bags and relief. The rest of the weekend continued in adventure with our interesting hostel experience, talking in British accents the whole weekend, and enjoying scones and tea.

We returned home last night around midnight and leave tonight for Morocco for 6 days. Wow. So many different cultural experiences being thrown at me and I’m loving it.

Walking

         One of the perks of being in Europe, is that there is the opportunity to travel fairly easily to other places and countries. Being the case, I went to Italy this past weekend to meet up with one of my friends and mentors from the States, Aubren. We met up in Rome! It was incredible. It ended up being a trip of traveling for two days and being in Rome for two days, the traveling process being longer with buses, trains, and planes, but it was completely worth it! Each morning I turned over hugged Aubren and said, “We’re in Italy! I can’t believe it, we’re in Rome!” My mouth was open in awe nearly every moment as we walked among the best art I ever have or will experience and among pieces of history from before Christ. What beauty I experienced while walking through the Sistine Chapel, the Vatican, St. Peter’s Basilica, and the narrow streets with vines, flowers and bicycles everywhere! What a blessing to be able to connect with Aubren, it was a good break to see someone from home who knows me well at the 1/3 of my time in Spain mark.

            I returned home to Spain and it was as if fall had hit the city since I left three days earlier. The air was fresh, crisp, and held a chill, yet the sun was full, shining, and warm. I breathed deeply in, “Yes! A new season! So good!” I’ve been thinking about seasons, how they change frequently in the natural world as well as my life. In a sense, being here in Spain, I’ve already seen two different seasons for me, one when I was alone here for a month and it’s been another since having Robin. I have grown and changed in each one, and now I’m realizing another season I might be in…that of walking. In Rome we walked throughout the whole city. In Spain too, I walk everywhere, more than two hours a day and between 5 to 7 miles on average. This theme has translated to be internal as well; a season of walking, of waiting, of being patient, of waiting on God. I’ve had aspects of “waiting seasons” in my life before where I’ve expected, hoped, waited, but I’ve always been “running” during those times. Walking is a different concept for me, I’m used to running, to having my life be going fast and intense, this is the way I like it. Just like the culture that I am in and experiences I’ve been having, walking is completely different. Walking uses different muscles, has a different focus, and a different mindset. Or like a sailboat that is free to glide the water, but it waits for the wind to direct it, it’s speed ebbing and flowing with the current and the wind together. I’m wrestling with what it means to wait for the Lord. I’ve realized that just as walking is not passive but is movement, is constant, to be patient, to long for, hope, and seek are also active.

            Waiting makes the coming sweeter still. Seeking makes the finding all the more satisfying. I thirst for the Lord and when I find Him, he touches my tongue with the sweetness of His presence and leaves me full and desiring more nonetheless, what beauty of the gospel.

Psalm 27.14-“I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”

A good snap shot of Italy.

Aubren and I at the Colosseum pretending to be gladiators :)

            

Like a Child

I’ve felt like a child a lot recently in Spain. It’s been interesting feeling like I’m reverting back a decade or so of my life. Being in a different country, culture, and learning a new language has slowed my life down; slowed down my speech, communication, ability to build relationships, and the general speed at which I like to go through life. It’s slowed down my pace, but my mind, thoughts, questions, and curiosity are running at normal speed, which for me means my mind is focusing on 10 plus paths of thought independently. I wonder if this is what a child feels like, that their words or ability can’t keep up with their questions or curiosity? I remember when I was little and couldn’t read yet, my brother Caleb told me, “Once you can read you will point out everything and read every sign, it’s the greatest.” I feel the same way here. The other day I found myself walking along the street and similar to what I remember doing as a child, I was mentally pointing things out and translating them into my new language. Street:calle, tree: arbol, lamppost: farola, sky: cielo, sparrow: gorrión, fountain: fuente….and the list continues. Not just with objects but also song lyrics, prayers, and thoughts. It has definitely been a practical lesson in a few of the things I have been learning internally about patience and about simplicity. It has made me think very carefully over every word that comes out of my mouth. What do I need to say? What is mindless chatter? If out of the heart the mouth speaks, what am I choosing to speak about with my few words?

I felt like a child another time this week, a child being reprimanded. My roommate, Robin, and I decided to go on a run in the pouring rain. It was so fun, refreshing, and beautiful, but at the same time not culturally harmonious. We passed by some school children and teenagers and they openly pointed and laughed at us. We joined in because we felt so out of place. As we were nearing the house I began to feel nervousness build; my family here is extremely concerned about their floors and are the opposite of relaxed when it comes to moisture in their house. We reached the door and now the prospect of walking in sopping wet, dripping all over their floor made me feel like a child who wanted to run away after doing something wrong and not face the disappointment of others. We opened the door and as I presumed, my Spanish parents came in shaking their head in awe of how foolish we were. None too please they pointed at us and tapping their heads said, “¿Tu mente, tu mente, donde está tu mente?” “Your mind, your mind, where is your head?” We sat in the bathroom dripping, for a while, feeling terrible. We apologized profusely and afterward our Spanish mom assured us that it was totally not a problem that we should just learn and not do it again.

This made me think of how God relates to us, humans who often are very childish. The gospel is beautiful and I find myself again praising God for the redemption of my soul. When I make a complete mess of things, of my heart, mind, or soul, or when others do, again He comes near, holds my soaking wet body and says “It’s okay, I have something better though, won’t you come with me and jump in a different pool, one of life and joy?”

It is an experience of being humbled, sometimes gently and sometimes in surprising ways.