Song in my heart.

Well, here’s the deal. If you know me, you know that I’m not exactly a talented singer. I mean, I sing, but not for public entertainment.

So, the other day I was at this big celebration thing with about 1,000 people in the audience. After one of the performances, the announcer said, "And now, Elizabeth from America will perform a special song and dance! Since she has come from so far, we expect something very special. Elizabeth, please come to the stage."

Shoot. Really. Ahhhhhh. How can I possibly get out of this?

a) I can't sing.
b) I can't dance.
c) Especially not in front of 1,000 people.

I tried to respectfully decline, but they literally escorted me onto the stage. My heart was racing. I was so shocked I couldn't even think of ONE SONG. I was like, “G0D, I’ve got nothing. Do what you want.” When I took the microphone, I blurted out... "I don't have a song or dance for you today, but I do have something really important to tell you. It's something that changed my life. Would you like to hear about it?" The whole crowd shouted, "YEAHHHHHHH."

So, there you have it, I can't really remember all the words that poured out of my mouth, but He said something, and they listened to every word. He promises His Word doesn't return void, right?

“The little things”

Mornings.

Fresh flowers.

Tea.

The ability to read and write. Um… journaling.

 Laughter.

CORN FLAKES. 

Two Homes.

For the next few months, I'll have two homes. Check them out:

 My village home:

My city home:

"Exercise Class"

In a place where there’s no such thing as PE in school, Gold’s Gym down the street, or early morning joggers, people think exercise is strange/hilarious. They don’t have to do push-ups because they pump water from the ground, and jogging isn’t much fun after you’ve walked all over town, so I get why they think it’s weird.

Life here is exercise, but nonetheless, some girls here at the hostel I’m living at asked me to teach an “exercise class.” Laughter is probably the biggest form of exercise they actually get, but if we do anything legit, they all groan and say, “oh miss… it’s paining. It’s paining.” So, we stick to stretches, crunches, random warm-up activities, and the ever so hilarious wall-sit.

It’s a sweet afternoon activity. 

I found some not-so-secret family footage. =)

Roti

5 minutes of sound.

You’d think that I’d be used to intense noise levels after growing up in a family of eleven. Well, I thought so too, but I’ve now experienced a new realm of noise. I’m living in a tin-roofed hostel with ten women and seventy children from ages 3-17-- we’re about a block from the train tracks and ten feet from a Hindu temple. Let me tell you-- life here never stops. Sometimes my head wants to explode because of all the noise, but then I just have to embrace it because each one of the voices I hear represents a person who is deeply loved by the Creator of the universe... and they’re eager to hear about His love.

One day I wasn’t feeling too well, so I tried to take a nap… turns out, sleep didn’t happen, but I became intensely aware of all the noise around me, so I pulled out my journal and recorded all of the sounds I heard in the next 5 minutes. Check it out:

  

Welcome to my life. 

Sweet questions I've been asked.

-       Are you six foot?

-       What’s your weight? (heck no)

-       How much did it cost to fly from America?

-       Did your parents let you come alone?

-       Did you take good rest?

-       Did you take bath?

-       Your handwriting is not join, no? (Nope. Sorry. I don’t always write in cursive)

-       What are you thinking? (If you only knew...)

-       Are you Hindu or Muslim?

-       Where is your husband? (I left him at home for a few years. haha)

-       Will you teach at our school?

-       What do you wear in America?

-       What are your friends’ names? Are they girls or boys?

-       What do Native Americans look like? Why are they called Indians? What languages do they speak?

-       Do you know Hannah Montana? (yeah... we're best friends)

-       Are you friends with Michael Jackson?

-       Is Obama your father? (yes. duh)

-       Are you married?

-       What day is teacher’s day in America?

-       What is sugar made from in America?

-       Will you teach me English?

CORN FLAKES.

So, the first day I was at my new village home, they were asking me what kind of things I ate for breakfast in America. One thing I mentioned was cereal, and they said, “Like Corn Flakes?” And I was like, “Yeah, like Corn Flakes.”

And that simple conversation is how it all began.

They eat rice for every meal, but because I’m their guest and I “love Corn Flakes,” they add Corn Flakes to most things I eat. Since they don’t eat cereal, they don’t get that most people simply pour it in a bowl with milk (and the only “milk” around here is dairy powder anyhow), so some of the Corn Flakes treats include “Corn Flakes Chai” and my favorite... rice, oats, and Corn flakes in a bowl of scolding hot water. It’s absolutely hilarious to me so I’ll never tell them how I usually eat cereal. Because I think it’s so funny, I’m actually starting to like the random Corn Flake concoctions.

Language.

I’ve been living out in the middle of nowhere for about a month now, but I’m back in the city for a few days for a little Thanksgiving (I’m giving thanks for a real shower, a little internet cafe, and a cup of instant coffee). 

I'm living in a village to try to catch onto a new language and build relationships with the people who live there. Language learning here is a lot different than Spanish class back at ole Kingwood High School. Instead of a classroom, I have a village. Instead of a textbook, I write down the words I here in my handy dandy notebook. Instead of tests, I try to effectively get my point across. And my teaches come in all shapes and sizes. Here are my most consistent language instructors: 

I've got the skills of a preschooler right now (I can greet people, ask them questions, talk about what I've done that day, beg people to stop feeding me, and tell a few really short stories). I head back out there on Sunday, and I hope to move up to Kindergarten before Christmas. haha. 

In Transit. Again.

Some signs so far. =)

Here we go again.

Transition is becoming the new norm. 

Home is where the heart is, right? haha. Over-spiritualization. I'm learning that my earthly home is wherever my head hits the pillow.

These are a few things that help me to feel 'settled.'

- knowing where the bathroom is. 

- spreading out my little teal blanket over my bed. 

- taping a few pictures to the wall. 

- looking out the nearest window and taking a deep breath. 

- going for a stroll around the neighborhood. 

Tomorrow, I'll be headed to my new home on the other side of this sweet country. 

To learn a language I've never heard. To live with people I've never met. To know my Father in a way I can't imagine. 

Lists. And diarrhea.

I love lists.

So I'm going to share some with you.

The only list I've got right now is a little disgusting, but it's a reality here, so just bare with me.

Nicknames for diarrhea:

Hoobastank.
Pudding Poop.
The Squirts.
The McNasties.
The Runs.
Delhi Belly.
Bloatation.
Projectiles.
The Trotskies.
Fart Fog. (personal favorite)
Explosives.
Backdoor Trots.
Salad Shooter.
Montezuma's Revenge.
Anal Leakage.
Wrong-Way Vomit.
Colon Blow.
Whistlebelly Thumps.
Poop Soup.
Butt Nuggets.
Willies.

I'd like to give a shout out to all my friends on this side of the waters that helped compile this sweet list. If you've got any to add, just send 'em my way.

Walk with me.