Them Shorts

There is something about receiving clothing from parents or grandparents that automatically warrants it “uncool”. Even if said parents and grandparents are hip and in and all that jazz, there is just something about it that gives pause when deciding to wear something received from them. Regardless of what the garment actually looks like, in your mind’s eye it is always a bit tainted. Your confidence does short hops and skips between, “I can rock this!” and “I look like a dork… in a really bad way.” It has nothing to do with what the clothes actually look like, or if they fit perfectly, or even if they are what you might have picked out yourself—when you were not there to guide the process, it is as if some strange, alien factor comes into play that deems the apparel “sketchy”.

I received a package yesterday from my Faja and his fiancé, Lynnie, my grandpa and his wife. They all went in together and bought me some stuff I needed and wanted and shipped it over.* After finally receiving it (see note), I opened it, excited to find that, besides the Oreos (which were just a tad worse for wear), everything was intact and unharmed.

Amidst the contents of this package were some t-shirts and shorts, which I had asked for. They are really nice shorts, longer (ain’t no hoochie momma stuff goin’ on), cute, and very comfortable. However, today, when putting them on to wear, I had a moment of panic; Do they look like soccer mom shorts? (not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not really my style), Are people going to know my dad bought them for me? Do I look like a boy? Or perhaps the worst fear of all—Do I look like a homeschooler?

All of these things were running through my head as I dressed to go to breakfast. I questioned whether or not I should change. I examined myself in the mirror, and was relieved to see that these shorts did not scream “dweebtacular”. Still, I was a bit nervous. I went to breakfast without incident and then went to our morning meeting to learn about our day. As I was sitting down, my lovely friend Ails exclaimed, “Those shorts are really cute! I might have to borrow them sometime!”

With a grin, as if I had known the awesome factor of these shorts all along, I nod and reply, “Thanks, my Faja sent them to me in my package.”

_{*Said package made it here ­got stuck in customs because of a labeling error, was sent back to the states and then sent back here. Oreos sent across the Atlantic three times are still delicious, in case you were wondering.}  

Package

AlthoughI have always been fond of receiving mail. I never new exactly how exciteing it could be. Real mail, snail mail, from the mail man, with stamps on it, and postage marks, is perhaps one of life’s greatest, if not seemingly insignificant, joys.

Everyday, around mid morning, the mail comes. I have never actually seen the mail man, but around 10 or 11 am packages and letters appear in the mail slots. The packages are left on the table surface, just below the slots, and range in all shapes and sizes. There are those fortunate few who  by the third week had received as many packages plus various letters and cards.

For the Americans the wait is longer. It takes roughly 7-10 days for a package to arrive, though some longer and others shorter.

As soon as you know there is a package in the mail, regardless if it has been only one or two days, you begin to obsessively check the mail slot hoping that it has arrived early. Then when it comes, you rip it open with your bare hands, using whatever sharp object is nearby to get past the tape. The feeling (after it is finally open, hopefully nothing torn to shreds in the process)  is something akin to Christmas or your birthday— even if it’s only a letter. 

Moral of the story: Send people packages and letters.

The Truth about Girls (and boys)

The truth about girls is that we are all, at some level, insecure. But there are some who exhibit this quality far more than others. There are those that when in close, trusted circles of girl talk will admit their flaws and insecurities, and truth be told this we only do this so that someone will stand behind and affirm us. We sit and pour out our hearts, telling how awful we think we are, then self-consciously look around to see how many are there to disagree, and tell us how wonderful we are. Guys do this too, just not in the same way. Guys have to constantly “prove their metal,” or prove that they’re tough enough, or strong enough, or brave enough, or in girls opinions stupid enough to do x, y, and z. Things like welding left handing, just to prove you can. Or climbing onto roofs of two story buildings when your 60-years old, just to prove you still got it. Or to the younger generation, watching porn to prove you’re a “man,” or using crude language to “fit in.” I don’t know all the things guys deal with, but you know what I mean and you should stop. It’s not about “not doing something” it’s about following God. Everyone wants to be told they are a precious snowflake and that there is that magical “someone” who will come and love them for exactly who they are, implying that that, when this happens, life will be perfect. I am not of this same school of thought. Excluding body image, as in what God has made you, I tend disagree that everyone is a “perfect snowflake “. Personally I think that all sounds like a load of psycho-babble. The truth is you’re probably a jerk. Or maybe you’re really weird. Or overweight or you dress like a boy (or you’re a boy that dresses like a girl) or you stink, or you have personal hygiene issues! That’s the truth, but here’s the question: What are you going to do about it? God has given us the ability to change, a characteristic He does not posses. If there is something about yourself you’re not okay with, change it. Or, reckon within yourself that this is who God has created you to be. If you choose this second option be careful, because in doing so you are formulating not an opinion of yourself, but really your are shaping your idea of Who God is. Does God make junk? Did God mess up? Did God make me a waste basket instead of a vase and so that is my purpose forever? First of all, let us note that all of these questions are focused on self. Regardless of what anybody says, their favorite person in the whole universe is themselves. Women are naturally manipulative. We compliment others so that they will compliment us in return, and when they don’t we feel slighted. Ladies: I propose that we turn from our selfish and manipulative ways. I propose we truly examine ourselves without self pity, but ask that God would examine our hearts, our lives, and our wardrobes, and that He in His graciousness would reveal to us the things we should change. That we would seek approval in His eyes and gain confidence in our standing as Daughters of the Eternal King. The truth is we need to stop taking our cues from this messed up world and start creating trends of purity and confidence. Looking up for approval and not allowing the stench of carnality or worldly wisdom to be our perfume.

Invisible Neon Sign

As soon as you leave American soil, there is an invisible neon sign that turns on and hovers above your head.  It flashes brightly, and loudly in obnoxiously bright colors accented by laughter and a general aura of noise.  It tells the world: I am an American.

There are two courses of action which might then take place: 1.) You don’t really care that there is a sign, you wear it very LOUD AND PROUD!!!!, or 2.) In humiliation you do as much as you can to hide the sign. Inevitably while  walking in a group with other Americans you will be stared at. Combined together, all of the neon signs flashing above your head create an uncomfortable blinding glare that offend the locals. This blinding light is accompanied by the megaphone-like volume that precedes your group and even gains din above the noise of traffic.

This knowledge of the neon sign first came to me on my first trip to Budapest. As our group moved from one street to the next, I began to notice the stares and realized we could probably be heard within a three block radius. The climax of this realization came while our group was waiting for the bus and one of the young men in our group yelled across the street, “PUT A SHIRT ON LADY!!!” In horror, I looked to see the reaction of the recipient of this shout, only to realize he was yelling at a statue that was decorating one of the beautiful old buildings.  While I’m no proponent of  nudity, I do believe that there is a certain air discretion to be taken into account when addressing such matters. Particularly when those  sentiments are in regards to a statue.  It was at this moment I became acutely aware of the AMERICAN neon sign hanging above my head, and our group. For the rest of the day I did my best to hide it, choosing to stick a little closer to my Hungarian friend Lilla. I  apologized to both her and Mátcy (pronounced similar to Mauchy, there’s really no English way to write it properly) for having to tow us obnoxious Americans around. Mátcy seemed like he was more bored than annoyed, however. He lives in Budapest and was acting as tour guide. After that I believe my sign dimmed a little but it was still there, ever there. Regardless of the sign, it was a lovely day shopping and seeing some of the breath taking sights of this  beautiful city. 

Path Less Traveled

I have had an interesting couple of weeks on this journey of mine. I have made it to Hungary and it is awesome! Besides a little mishap with crossing the street in from of a cyclist that I thought was saying “Go ahead” and turns out was probably saying something a little closer to “You darn dag nabbit pea brain!”, I have found the locals to be very understanding of my lame American-ness.

I must also admit that I have been probably less enthusiastic as I could be about this leg of the trip (coming to Bible College in Hungary). I love the people here they are amazing, the place I’m living is amazing, everything so far has been nothing less than spectacular. Still, my heart, I must admit, has had a hard time letting go of San Diego and the school I was at there. However, I have been extremely comforted not only by the fact that this place is really, really cool, but that I know that this is where God has called me to be. I don’t know why, I don’t understand it, but Gad has been so faithful to encourage me.  It seems the theme for the semester of the school here and also, unintentionally, some of the teachings and music has been all about grace and how our God is a God Who sees and will never leave me, but His grace is a shield and it is always near.

I was so encouraged the other night; God really spoke to my heart about being willing to follow Him wherever He said to. As I was looking through a small journal that I kept some notes in last semester at the SD school, every single one of them seemed to be pointing to this exact moment when I was reading them, 9,000 miles away from home. It never ceases to amaze me when God shows up right when you need Him to.

I think sometimes as humans living with other humans, who are sadly very human, we get very used to disappointment and the feeling of being on our own. It’s tragic because we project that same expectation on God; when He is the One Who will NEVER fail us.

I believe God is doing wonderful, amazing, and fantastic things all over the world.  I am so privileged to be able to have this new perspective and point of view. I can’t wait to see what He does in this next part of the journey. My guess is… it’s going to be miraculous.