a great wind...

"You make your plans and then a great wind comes along..."

Tonight I'm borrowing words from Sabrina Ward Harrison's "Messy Thrilling Life", which I read yesterday while waiting in yet another airport... Sometimes another's words can be more fitting than your own...

:: :: ::
And in the end, it turns out that maybe it's not the order of our words and our stories that's so important, but how we pick them up off of the floor and how we hold them, how we live them and how we begin again... There really is no protection from life. But why all the believing there is? Why all the acting as ifs -- the careful protective editing and graceful sashaying away for safety. There is no clean shield from living and loving... I am filled with happiness, not perfect rightness, just a softening of understanding for the way life is going. This has all happened before us... Untied and loose we travel together, making it to the next landing point, bags in fist, eyes wide open.
:: :: ::

I feel the wind these days... And while I don't know what direction that wind is going to take me and what it might do to the pieces of my life, I'm very sure that it's going to carry me to a very good place.

Trusting what I cannot see...

:: "We must be willing to get rid of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell

plight and flight...

I'm safely across the sea again... Last Tuesday at 12:35 I was beginning my transatlantic journey -- I had the thought during my ten hour flight that maybe going backwards across five time zones might actually give me a chance to catch up with myself...

Six days and three states later I'm still a bit numb. Nothing's changed about my life circumstances except that I've now had to try to explain it to a lot more people. Which means, I suppose, that there are more people praying, and more people caring, and less people I have to explain it to later.

Traveling from place to place this way my I'm struck by how my possessions dwindle (less to carry) but my relationships grow. The less I have to hold on to, the more I cling to intangibles, and the more they actually become tangible. Ties of family and the care of friends turns into something I can feel -- like an invisible blanket surrounding me with warmth and security. Small generosities and acts of kindness amaze and humble me. And I am left feeling forever indebted.

Someone asked me the other day, after the muddled explanation of my current situation, "but are you happy?" I thought about it and said that I was. Even in the middle of this uncertainty and undefineable future, I realize my happiness. It's a quiet sort of stable happiness, that ebbs and flows but is always within view. It's in knowing that my security and richness doesn't dwell in anything that can be taken away. Whatever happens in the next few weeks, wherever I end up, the most important things to me in life are not at risk.

They go with me.

:: "My happiness moves..."

quandary...

I almost forgot it was Tuesday... And last Tuesday, it wasn't exactly that I forgot to blog -- I just had a serious case of wordlessness.

When you're at a loss for words, dictionary.com is always a good place. And I did find one:

"quandary" n 1: a situation from which extrication is difficult especially an unpleasant or trying one; "the woeful plight of homeless people" [syn: predicament, plight] 2: state of uncertainty or perplexity especially as requiring a choice between equally unfavorable options [syn: dilemma]

I think that pretty much covers my current life.

Bible.com is also a good place when you're speechless. Interestingly enough I didn't find the word "quandary", but I did find the Scripture of the Day:

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then you shall call upon me, and you shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12)

And I think that pretty much covers it as well.

:: "I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much." - Mother Teresa

displaced persons...

Tuesdays are too far between to relay all the things going on in my head... I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life this week -- what in the world I'm doing here, where my life is going, how much I do or don't have to give... Feeling displaced in life in a number of ways...

I need perspective...

Mine this week came from Liberia, a little war-torn country on the corner of West Africa -- through pictures taken by current Mercy Ships Anastasis photographer Scott Harrison, just docked in Monrovia a week ago... Go look at these images and maybe you'll see what I mean... (Ganta upcountry screening, patient screening...) In particular, I was struck by the gallery "A study of Monrovia's former luxury hotel Intercontinental. Now home to more than 1500 Displaced Persons." Just look at the pictures, and think about it. Think about what was, and what now is, and the harsh and vacant reality of the contrast...

Displacement. I don't even know the meaning of the word.

My self-centered wonderings about my own ridiculously blessed life are silenced for the moment.

:: "What you don't have, you don't need it now..." - U2

vacancy...

I'm determined to write on Tuesday no matter how I feel... Tonight you're catching me at full-fledged creative exhaustion. I've got nothing but raw, disjointed thoughts...

I'm thinking about the Anastasis arriving in Liberia last Friday without me... And I'm thinking about the frustrations of conjugating French verbs... And I'm thinking of the people I miss... I'm also thinking how providential it was to have Sorina come for a 36 hour visit this weekend and help fill the friend void I've been feeling... And I'm looking at the tulips on my table that remind me spring is just around the corner...

Bon nuit...

:: "Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here." –– Marianne Williamson

retrospective...

Maybe it's the new snowfall outside, or the mountains surrounding me, or the wide ocean insulating me from the rest of the world, but my life feels quiet and muffled today. One of the things I realized when I came here to start this quieter season of life was how much I needed exactly that -- space and time and quiet for me to process so much that had gone before...

What do I learn from looking back? From the pages of my life a year ago: "The past few days have been full of Adam. He's onboard, and I've been able to be there from admission, to the ward, to the OR -- holding him in the recovery room when he woke up, and even carrying him down to the ward. Memories for a lifetime or more are being made every day..."

Memories reach into the present... Today I got an email from Adam's waiting new mother, who heard from the orphanage that he had a seizure and a high fever yesterday. He is okay today. But my heart skipped so easily back over time...

A year ago on a beach in Sierra Leone I ended a journal with these words... "I suppose you always feel that the time you are in is the one that will change you the most. But you can't know what lies around the bend. Time -- the speed of it takes me ever so steadily toward my next destiny... "

I look back to remember... to find echoes to fill my quiet.

:: "Life is a journey, not a destination..."

parlez-vous français?

I started French lessons on Monday... And what have I learned in a week? I've learned to say "Bonjour! Comment allez-vous? Je m'appelle Tianna. Je suis graphiste. J'habite à Lausanne." ...among other things. I have learned that Lausanne is a very international city -- my class of 9 comes from Australia, Israel, Peru, Brazil, India, Portugal, Italy and America... I have learned that I actually can survive walking to and from the bus every day in below-freezing temperatures... I have also learned that "to go" coffee is a very American concept -- at least to the people on my bus... And I'm still trying to figure out how to get my work done in half a day and still find time for my French homework...

:: "C'est la vie..."

transatlantic...

I've added a word to my blog title:

trans·at·lan·tic, adj.
1. Situated on or coming from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
2. Spanning or crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

Life happens in stages... I think this is the best word for mine right now, given I'm not sure what side of the world I'm on half of the time.

I wondered if there was a word "transpacific"? Indeed there is... who knew? It's funny that I've never heard of it before, being a Pacific Northwest girl...

:: "I am not the same having seen the moon on the other side of the world..."

la jument...

This image captivated me today. Look closely and you'll see the man at the lighthouse door... I wanted to know the story...

I miss the ocean. I was born on an island, and my entire life (with the exception of four land-locked years at college) I've lived within view of the sea. I love its hugeness – its peace and its power... It reminds me of God.

In the midst of this overwhelming sea, I am still and safe...

:: "This is over my head but underneath my feet..." – Lifehouse

blur...

I have 59 minutes to still make my Tuesday deadline... and ironically, nothing much to say. Well, not much I can say here, anyway, in this randomly public forum. Not that I don't trust you readers with my innermost thoughts and most confidential information... it's just that I don't trust the rest of the world that might trip across this page someday.

Do you ever feel as though you are standing still and watching everything else rotate around you? No, not the "I am the center of the universe" daydream -- it's a real feeling I'm talking about -- as if things are moving and happening so fast and it has nothing to do with you, yet everything to do with you. Like pieces shifting into place, being positioned by a divine and deliberate hand...

That's how I feel. I'm in the middle of something. Something big.

For now I can't speak. I can only watch, and listen, and sometimes feel overwhelmed and sometimes very peaceful... And go to sleep at night trusting another piece of the puzzle will fit tomorrow...

:: "Can anybody fly this thing..." - Coldplay

one more ocean line...

Alright... I think the Ocean Lines site was feeling abandoned so I posted one more update that I hadn't finished from the end of January. Maybe I won't quite be able to leave it behind after all. We'll see... www.northernharvest.org/tianna

My ski-less Saturday was vindicated today -- it was such glorious weather we abandoned our desks and headed for the mountains... Carpé diem. :) So all of you can quit asking me if I've gone skiing yet (as if that's the only thing to do in Switzerland... there's also fondue!). All in all, it was a very Swiss day. I promise I'll work twice as hard tomorrow...

And no, it's not Tuesday (again)... but keep checking. ;)

:: "The mountains are calling and I must go..."

shore survival...

I just realized this is my four-month anniversary of leaving the ship.

It's hard to explain the emotions involved with leaving a part of your life behind that has been so deep and defining. You wear connections to people and places that will never leave you. The experiences mark you forever, and change the course of your life. You are never the same.

I am still realizing this.

:: "How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand... there is no going back?" - Frodo, from "Return of the King"

through a lens...

Joshua Fletcher -- last year's talented photographer on my M/V Anastasis Communications team... Here's a link to his website and a few of the thousands of poignant Mercy Ships moments he captured in Sierra Leone, West Africa...

tuesday's child...

So I had this whole plan to update this blog every Tuesday. Why Tuesdays? Well, I like Tuesdays. I was born on a Tuesday, and strangely, I've noticed quite a few significant things in my life have happened on Tuesdays. I like to think they belong to me somehow.

But Tuesday's child is full of grace... not discipline. :/ So... here I am on a Saturday. It was going to be my first visit to the alpine slopes this morning, but since it's raining, here I am catching up with myself instead. There's nothing very exciting happening today. Nevertheless, the whole point of this blog is to give you a regular window into my life, so... boring or not, welcome to this one.

I've been back in Switzerland almost a month now, with a long list of good intentions... (Tuesday's child is apparently also overly optimistic about her own capabilities). Printing and mailing a newsletter was one of them -- catching up on all my emails, exploring my new surroundings... Not to mention learning French and making fabulous strides in my new job.

Well... the newsletter IS coming, I promise. I've made a satisfactory dent in my inbox, and also in the beautiful Swiss countryside (sometimes I feel like I'm living in a postcard...). My French... well, I'm starting courses in a few weeks so I can say something besides "bonjour" and "enchanté". And the fabulous strides in my new job? Every day the nebulous cloud clears just a little bit more and I can see a step farther. But just a step or two. Then every now and then, this rare ray of light comes through and I catch a glimpse of the bigger picture and I know distinctly what I'm doing here. That vision keeps me going on the cloudy days.

How strange it is to find oneself in a new place, a new country, a new job... Who am I when so much is unfamiliar? Who am I when I can't speak to people? Communication, language, words -- are so important to me. I'm finding the exercise in identity good for the soul... when the familiar is stripped away, you discover what's left underneath -- who you really are.

I'm finding myself at home... A new and different home. There's snow on the ground and the days are (mostly) sunny and the nights cozy in this big old house... I miss the ship in odd and random moments, but I miss my friends scattered around the globe so much more. I'm thankful for technology that keeps me connected -- phones and fiberoptics and satellites... Mostly, I'm thankful for words that translate across oceans when nothing else will.

Tuesday's child prays for grace...

:: "All that I can, I will" – French saying

page of change...

In keeping with the current theme of change in my life, I've decided it's time for my web presence to change. After all, I created my Ocean Lines site three whole years ago, and somehow, since I'm no longer on the ocean, it seems fitting to close that chapter and move on to something new. Don't worry -- this won't look so different, and it might actually get updated more often due to its amazing ease of use. And never fear -- for those of you who aren't quite ready for this change, you can still access all my old journal entries in the same old style at the same old place: http://www.northernharvest.org/tianna

Change... A year ago I was floating on a big white ship, off the west coast of Africa, in the tropical sun... And now here I am, sitting in a big white house, on the edge of Switzerland, in the middle of winter...

Welcome to my new world. Discover it with me.

:: "Destinations are where we begin again"