Life updates, August 2010

I haven't blogged to just blog in a while. I've written a lot about PLC; I've written a few creative pieces, but I haven't just blogged.

Granted, most of the time I blog I have some muse to inspire me. I'm muse-less. I'm reading an essay by Ray Bradbury about "feeding and caring for your Muse," but it hasn't helped. I'll be back to school soon and will have plenty to write about. So, no worries. (Were you worried?)

But, stuff has been going on, so I'll update you.

Updates:

1. I'm in America. Yes, I'm adjusting well. I've spent 20 years and two months in America; two months away isn't going to do much difference. I wish it did, sort of. I wish I viewed my life completely differently (but for the better) now that I'm home. I wish I was more thankful for my freedoms. I wish I spent my money on the children in Iraq and not on Old Crown coffee.

2. I have a boyfriend. For those of you who don't know the story, Nate and I started talking when I was in Iraq - the first week I was there, actually. We had a few classes together at IWU. (Fun fact: one of my first memories of Nate was when he beat me in Scrabble. Bah!) We're "official" now, and have been for 3 1/2 weeks.

3. I'm going back to IWU soon. I don't know the exact date, but I'm heading back early for Sojourn workshops. I am the managing editor this year (second in charge, I guess), so I get to plan said workshops. It's kind of fun. But also extremely stressful and hectic and frustrating.

4. I have a million half-read books on my bedside table. I started reading a few books in Iraq and in transit (Jayber Crow, Teaching a Stone to Talk) and started a few more now that I'm home (The Zen in the Art of Writing, The Copy-Editing and Headline Handbook), but I've only finished a few this summer. I'm disappointed in myself. Last summer, 19 books. This summer, 3.

5. I was in the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette this morning. I was interviewed about my internship. You should read it, then feel led to donate to PLC and #RemedyMission.

On health care in Iraq

Health care - or "Obamacare" - is still a buzz word around here. Though having been out of the country for two months, and completely shutting myself off from American politics, I knew that the tension of the healthcare reform would continue whether I was paying attention or not.

I don't want to talk about the U.S.'s health care issues. At this point I'm ready to throw up my hands and say, qué será será. What will be, will be.

But I want to talk about Iraq's health care issues because they're bigger, and more dire, but there are people out there trying to take care of those problems.

I've blogged before about Dr. Aso Faiq, the only pediatric cardiologist in Kurdistan. I've told you that he can't go to Europe for training because he cannot be approved for a visa, even a 4-day one. I also learned that though Iraq lacks pediatric cardiologists, there are adult cardiologists in the country. But the causes of heart disease in Iraq are not the same as they are in America (high blood pressure, obesity, inactivity). To be blunt, the kids born with congenital (in utero) heart disease die before they can see an adult cardiologist.

So ... this is where we're at.

Thousands of children in line for heart surgery - surgeries they cannot receive in-country because doctors don't have the training. This is why organizations like Preemptive Love exist, to "eradicate the backlog of Kurdish and Arab children in line for lifesaving heart surgery."

Some die without getting their hearts checked out.

--

I'm excited: this week the International Children's Heart Foundation is traveling to Sulaimaniah, Iraq to perform 30 heart surgeries and train local doctors. This Remedy Mission is one step toward getting those thousands of kids into surgery in-country; no longer will sick kids have to cross borders for heart surgeries.


Preemptive Love still needs more money to bring the team in to perform heart surgeries and train doctors. We're close, but not quite there.

To put this into perspective: Preemptive Love sends about 20 kids to heart surgery in a year. Remedy Mission will do 1.5x as much as PLC alone can do in one year.

Your donations will help improve health care in Iraq.
And save 30 kids' lives!







Lauren


* photo by, of course, the wonderful Lydia Bullock

Jesus Wore Klash

The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.


--


Kurdish men wear these funny shoes called klash. They're handmade, hand-sown clogs with a hard sole and white top. Ever since Lydia and I first arrived at the Sulaimania airport, we saw dozens of men wearing these shoes with their juli kurdi, traditional Kurdish garb.

During my internship with Preemptive Love in Iraq, all the intern guys bought one or two pairs of klash. Jeremy and Gigs, the photographer, have klash too.

--

When Jesus came to earth 2,000-odd years ago, he didn't come in a sparkly white robe with a glowing orb surrounding him.

He wasn't the son of a king or religious leader. He wasn't hot. He wasn't a different race than the other Jews; he was from the tribe of Judah.

He was born next to sheep. He grew up learning a trade like all the other boys his age.

He was Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph. He lived among the people he wanted to help. He didn't elevate himself to a higher position. Philippians says, "he made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant."

People didn't know him as that outsider coming in to change their situation. He didn't market himself as a savior.


I wonder what would happen if Jesus acted like a lot of Americans doing development work overseas.

What if he only came for two weeks? What if he came with certain tools useful in his homeland, but not this one? What if his knowledge of the Hebrew people came from Disney movies or what he heard on the news?

I love that Jesus came and lived as a human among humans for 30 years before starting his ministry. He didn't come out of the womb proving to be an expert. He lived like us. He worked like us. He dressed like us.

I'm convinced that if Jesus came to the Kurds of northern Iraq, he'd wear klash. If he came to America, he'd wear Converse or flip-flops.


And he wouldn't talk like he knew everything,
without living in the culture for a while.

--

I spent two months living and working with Jeremy and Jessica Courtney, two development workers in Iraq. I saw how their way of living affected PLC's work in Iraq. Locals respect them because they live like their neighbors: in similar clothing, in houses among other Kurds, they know the language.

Spending a summer with the Courtneys has taught me a thing or two about God.

We say that we have a LORD that empathizes with us. I get that now. Empathy implies experience. It doesn't mean Jesus gets how we feel because he's GOD and that's what he does. It means that he gets it because he lived it.



Ezek.

* photo by Lydia Bullock

Jeremy Courtney is legit.

I've had this blog in my head for a while. I didn't want to write it until I was home in the States. I didn't want anyone to think Jeremy coerced me into writing it. I promise: no coercing took place.

--

My friends and those of you who follow my blog know that I am very critical of "Christian organizations." Can an organization possess faith? Is that even possible? Preemptive Love Coalition, though founded by a couple Christians, does not call itself a ministry or a "Christian organization" - it call itself a coalition of people, an NGO. PLC is devoted to eradicating the backlog of Kurdish and Arabic children waiting in line for lifesaving heart surgery and creating cooperation among communities at odds.* No secret agenda. It is what it says it is.

If you go on the PLC website, you'll see pages and pages of company and financial information. PLC has no secrets. They have a very in-depth core values page, written by CEO Jeremy Courtney himself.

PLC is devoted to local solutions to local problems. The staff isn't only using foreign money to fund heart surgeries, but takes donations as well. And Aram, our Klash maker, is a local business owner. All the shoes and all the scarves we make are made or bought in-country.

Jeremy, who was not only my boss for the summer but my mentor and Iraqi dad, is an incredibly intelligent, well-read, thoughtful friend, father and husband. He is legit.

--

The week or so before I left for Iraq, I got coffee with Dr. Perry, my professor and mentor. He told me I have unrealistic expectations for companies like RELEVANT that calls themselves Christian. But he told me to stay idealistic, and not succumb to cynicism.

PLC has renewed my hope.

Jeremy and the other PLC staff would not admit perfection. They're broken people too. But they're honest and transparent about it. They don't put up a front. There's nothing I respect more.

Working with Jeremy this summer reminded me that though not all ministry and "Christian organization" heads have integrity, some do.

--

I'm not done blogging about Iraq. I have a hard time processing anything when I'm in the middle of it. Now that I'm home, I'm starting to comprehend what this summer meant for me as a student, as a comm. major, as a writer, as a Christ follower and as a woman.

So get ready.

--

* Funny side note: the actual mission statement says "between communities at odds," but PLC does not just create cooperation between only two groups, but many. Grammatically speaking, the word should be "among." Thus, in the year-end review, I changed the mission statement to say "among." Ha, sorry Jeremy.



Lauren

Nine of the fifteen people I live with

I love them.

Back-front, L-R:
Joey
D-Buck
SophiePop
Benji
Me! (Laurenzo)
Claireta "Killer"
Alexi
El Presidente
Lyd
Estah

Happy (belated) America Day from Iraq

It's fun celebrating an American holiday abroad. I highly recommend it.

I love that no one understood why we ran to the basement Ferdos market to find sparklers; or why we made a makeshift American flag and saluted to it.

I've never been a huge fan of America. Ha, it's sad but true. I hate her materialism, her ethnocentrism, her arrogance. I've never really appreciated our rights because I lived without them. You know, until now.

How I celebrated the Fourth of July, Iraqi style:

At 9 a.m., on our way to work, we bought cans of Coca-Cola and drank them for breakfast. What is more American than coke - except drinking coke with bendy straws? (Which we did.)

In the office, before our morning meeting, we played American music from our computers - Yankee Doodle, the Star Spangled Banner, etc.

(For lunch we ate Kurdish food instead of American. Whoops.)

At home, someone made a paper American flag and Micah, the two-year-old, waved it over his shoulder like a Continental solider.

We made cheeseburgers for dinner and ate cookies and brownies for dessert.

We played Bon Jovi and sang along.

But more than anything, we taunted our British housemate Anna for losing the war. A Revolutionary War reenactment:

Thank you, Joshua Gigs, for playing the humble colonial soldier.

--

In all seriousness, living in a country that doesn't have a Bill of Rights has makes me appreciate, if nothing else, the First Amendment. At home, journalists don't get killed for speaking out against the government. Thank God.

I have privileges in the States that I don't have here. As a woman, I can speak up in America. I can choose whatever career I want. I can join a union! I can petition.

Despite some of my issues with the American attitude, I cannot forget how blessed I am.

So the first and only time I'll ever say it, and perhaps the last time I'll ever say it again: God bless America.


Haha.



Lauren

Hospitals, sick babies & a remedy

A few weeks ago I got to visit a children's hospital in Sulaimaniah. We went to meet Dr. Aso Faiq Salih, the only pediatric cardiologist in Kurdistan, who's also a dear friend of Preemptive Love Coalition.

Dr. Aso's office was crowded with parents holding crying kids. Instead of having a waiting room outside of an office, Dr. Aso has a couch in the same room as his desk and the table he examines patients.

Dr. Aso is the friendliest doctor I've ever met. He's definitely a pediatric doctor. He's smiley and goofy. When we ask him about his children, he pulls out his cell phone and dotes on his sons.

Alex, Claire and I stood next to Dr. Aso's desk as he did an echo cardiogram of each kid's heart. He talks to us between patients, and sometimes during. Worried mothers look at us suspiciously, as we borrow Dr. Aso's attention. He will look at somewhere around 20 patients a morning. He tells us that he needs an hour with each patient, but time is precious. If he spends 10 minutes with a patient instead, he can see more in a day.

After each echo, Dr. Aso will diagnose his patients. If their problem is minor, he can give the child a prescription or schedule an in-country surgery. But since most heart problems are serious heart problems, he will send them to an organization - like Preemptive Love Coalition - to get help outside Iraq.

The day we visited Dr. Aso, we saw him examine baby Abdul. The 9 month old has a heart problem that will kill him if he doesn't get help. When Alex, Claire and I got back to the office, Abdul and his father had just met with Jeremy (see photo to the left).

We're now raising money to get Abdul to surgery with Remedy Missions in the fall!

--

It would be 100 times easier and quicker to get kids like Abdul into surgery in Iraq, if those treatments were available. But their not. Iraqi doctors just do not have the skills to treat major heart defects like Abdul's.

Doctors like Aso cannot leave the country for training either. Even as a member of the Association of European Pediatric Cardiology, he cannot get training in Europe because he's an Iraqi. This is why it's such an incredible opportunity for us to get Remedy Missions to come in and train Iraqi doctors.


We still need a lot of money to get the doctors here in the fall! PLEASE donate!

Consider donating a week's tithe or giving up a week's worth of lattes.

Do it for cute little Abdul.





Lauren

* photos by Lydia Bullock

What I Do 40 Hours a Week

Most of you have been asking about what I've been up to, other than learning about what it means to be a Kurd in northern Iraq. ...

I am an intern. I work 40 hours a week - did you know that? I walk to the office every morning at 9, and walk back at 5. I have a lunch break from noon to 1:30.

We work in an office space on the third floor of a mall. In our office there's a lobby with couches, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two rooms. We have a split (A/C) in both rooms, but our power often goes out, which renders them useless. Also, the Internet hasn't been working.

So, most of us leave the office and go to 1. Assos Hotel across the street 2. Melody Cafe, where all the Amerikim hang out 3. Blue Cafe with delicious milkshakes or 4. home.

On every morning except Monday (our work week is Sunday-Thursday) we have a staff meeting at 9. We talk about what we did the previous day, what we will do that day, and what might stop us from accomplishing our tasks.

On Mondays we, the interns, spend our mornings having Interlocutions a.k.a. "Fireside Chats" with Jeremy. We typically discuss blog posts or news articles as a group. (Last week we talked about starting an NGO, why you should travel to countries outside Europe, and about something called voluntourism.)

After our meetings, we get to work! Everyone has a different task, according to their interests. I am in charge of Preemptive Love's year-end review, which is developing into a "Who We Are" coffee table book. It's coming along rather nicely. (A quick shout-out to Dr. Karnehm. Working on the School of Nursing magazine has helped me out a lot since I've been here!)

Besides the year-end review, I help others out with their tasks (such as updating the PLC blog or doing audio for the Honya video).


Soon I'm going to blog about the other interns - they're so awesome. I want you all to virtually meet them!



Lauren

She's Always Smiling

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to meet Honya Mahdi, a 15 month-old who had surgery last November.

I remember reading about her on the PLC blog months ago, when I was first learning about Preemptive Love Coalition. I fell in love with this baby's Dumbo ears and big brown eyes.

Seeing her seven months later, healthy and laughing - it reminded me why I'm here. I'm in Iraq for my professional career, yes. I'm here for my IWU internship, yes. But I'm here because babies are dying in northern Iraq - and I want to help save them.

"She's Always Smiling" The Story of Honya Mahdi from Preemptive Love on Vimeo.

Mohammad Star's Follow-Up

If you all haven't had a chance to read my post about Mohammad Star on the Preemptive Love blog, check it out now: click!

Baghdad

Last Friday I met an girl named Shahoda who's a university student in our city. She's one of the first Arabs I've met since being here, which immediately piqued my curiosity. I got lunch with her, Claire, Elise and Sarah Monday, before taking Shahoda back to the office to meet Jeremy and the interns.

I learned that Shahoda was born in Baghdad and lived in Lebanon and Jordan for a few years before moving to Kurdistan. She lives with her parents, but when she graduates college - she's completed two years - she's going to move back to Lebanon, the "Europe" of the Middle East.

For the past week or so I've been interested in the culture of Baghdad, before 2003. From Shahoda, and ESL students, I was reminded of what Baghdad's like now:

• It's dangerous. It's a war-zone. Shahoda couldn't go to school without a guard.
• Professionals are leaving. No one with a Ph.D wants to stick around that city - they're all emigrating.
• Americans are not your next door neighbors - they're soldiers. They've come not to play soccer or drink tea; they're not CEOs of an NGO. 
• It's hot - much hotter than northern Iraq. (If I've learned nothing else this internship, it's that Kurdistan's summer is nothing compared to Baghdad's!)

But what's most fascinating to me is what Baghdad used to be. At ESL last week I made a list of what used to populate this infamous city:

• parks
• museums
• libraries - once the biggest in the Middle East
• malls
• amusement parks
• entertainment
• roller coasters
• buses/trains (efficient ones at that)

I talked to my stepdad Russ about it a little to, since he's so well-versed in ... everything.

The only thing I know is that I remember Baghdad being considered a very cosmopolitan and wealthy during the 70's. When the OPEC cartel formed and pushed itself out strong after the 73 Arab-Israeli war, oil prices skyrocketed.

Iraq was a major producer, on a par with Saudi Arabia. Lots of money. I remember a TV show about it. Lots of construction, parks and running water. Jobs like crazy.

Then Saddam took over completely and decided he wanted to be an emperor also, started the war with Iran which destroyed a lot of the oil fields. War went badly and things got worse because the money dried up slowly. That’s why he started the Kuwait war in 91 thinking he could get away with taking over theirs. We threw him out of course and the rest is history.

I wish I could visit Baghdad. I know there are a million reasons why that'd be a bad idea - see list above. But I don't want to judge a culture without experiencing it myself. Maybe I'd be a target because I'm a little white girl with red hair - clearly Amerikim - but that doesn't stop my curiosity.



Lauren

Hi, I'm a narcissist

I am a narcissist.

After my Media and Society paper about narcissism on Facebook, I realized that I have all the tell-tale signs of a narcissist. I talk about myself. I am frustrated when people don't honor me the way I think they should. And in the midst of my self-loving is self-loathing - I want to be more than I already am.

It's a big mess.
It's also something I've been praying against since the spring.

My goal for this internship was to rid myself of narcissism. I wanted, and still want, a character arc. I want my character - me, Lauren Deidra Sawyer - to change during this internship, and for the better.

I wanted to magically become more others-focused and compassionate.
I wanted to overcome my insecurities and view myself soberly.

It's about four weeks into my internship, and I think it's finally happening, just not in the way I had imagined. I thought that I'd start stripping myself of narcissism when I met a bunch of sick kids or toughed the 115 degree heat. But honestly, I'm being challenged the same way I am in the States.

Note that I'm glad I'm going through this. I don't want my dear PLC family to think that they're doing anything wrong. Everything that's going on is for the best - I believe it. I won't be able to shake this narcissism without fire.

Observations:
- I am most comfortable in a leadership position ... so I find myself in a country where women aren't meant to lead. I'm forced to be okay with that.
- I'm not the best. Esther's the journalist. Lydia's the artsy one. Claire's the funny one. Sophie's Wonder Woman. I'm just me. A me that isn't "winning" at the moment.
- The task I chose for the summer does not bring me instant gratification. I am one of the few interns that took a long-term project. I am making headway on my assignment - PLC's year-end review, kind of like a magazine - but it's not as though what I'm writing is posted on the blog. It's hard. That's the one thing I love about working at a newspaper - I can see results by the end of the week.
- To somehow make this vague and mysterious: it's hard talking (I mean "talking") to a boy when you're a narcissist. It's easy for me to talk about myself all the time, but that's not how you attract the opposite sex.


Oh God, break me down.



I read this prayer in Elise and Sarah's copy of "The Pursuit of God" by A.W. Tozer:

Oh God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further Grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still.


Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee that so I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away." Then give me Grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.








Ezekiel

Meeting Honya and Mohammad

After Preemptive Love sends kids into heart surgery, they continue to check up on them through a program called FollowThrough. This program allows PLC to make sure the kids are adjusting to life, are healthy, and so on.

Thursday Claire, Lydia and I went on our first home visit with Jessica and Awara.

--

This is baby Honya. She had heart surgery last November. She's now 15 months old and healthy. She had a parasite a little bit ago, so she's still thin from that, but she's giggling and playing like any little one her age.

Honya's dad calls her "grandma," because she doesn't have any teeth. Toddlers her age should have teeth by now, but the heart surgery delayed her development a little.

--

Mohammad Star, whom I call the Kurdish version of my 10-year-old nephew Austin, had surgery in November. As we eat the cucumbers, fruit and pastries his mom sets out for us, Mohammad sits close next to his younger siblings, looking up at us timidly. Awara somehow gets Mohammad to talk, showing our Kurdish coworker his toy car.

Awara asks about the chickens running around outside their home. Mohammad raised 14 chickens from a hen and a rooster - all on his own!

Mohammad takes Claire, Lydia and I out to see the chickens. He and his little siblings pose for pictures - and so do we, actually - with the village and Kurdish flag waving in the background.

To get to Mohammad's house, we drove through the mountains. For someone who has lived her whole life in the flattest part of the country, seeing mountains on all sides of me, winding up a huge hill just to get to a village, seems unreal. And euphoric. It felt like I was watching a movie, not really there. Lydia compared it to being in a Bible story, us on an old felt board, a caravan through ancient Babylon.

--

For all that I've done with PLC so far, this has been my favorite. Seeing the kids we've helped in the past reminds me why I spend 40 hours a week in the office. It reminds me why I try to capture the kids' stories through writing.




Lauren



* photos by Lydia Bullock

To be human

people are just people
they shouldn't make you nervous
the world is everlasting, it's coming and it's going

--

People are just people.

I read in George Orwell's "The Lion and the Unicorn: Socialism and the English Genius" that people are not just people, that people in England aren't the same people in America or in Germany or in South Africa. But I don't believe George Orwell - and I wonder if at the end of the essay he doesn't refute his own opinion.

I joined Preston and Claire who taught English last night at the Life Center. I had met a few students last week at the party, including Van's brother Ahmed, Zeba and her husband Amir.

The two-hour class is organized into two parts. It's an upper-level class centered on conversation, so each half of each class has a different discussion topic. The first topic was marriage.

What surprised me about our conversation about marriage with Kurds, primarily Muslim Kurds, was that nothing they said surprised me. Every answer sounded American. Everything sounded Christian, and not even ultra-conservative Christian. It sounded like something I've said about marriage or I've heard said about marriage.

Several of the students talked about respect: the husband respecting the wife, and vise versa; the wife respecting her husband's friends, etc. They talked about what they look for in a spouse: education, values, looks, honesty.

--

I'm writing this to expose my ignorance. I assumed a lot about this culture because of the books I read (A Thousand Splendid Suns) or movies (I'll be honest: Aladdin), but I've been wrong.

It's hard to know a culture without being immersed in that culture. I can read all I want, and still not grasp what a people group is all about. I can talk to Jessica and Jeremy about life in Kurdistan, without understanding what life in Kurdistan is really like.

I can't stop thinking of the Incarnation, and what it meant for God to step into our world in order to empathize with us.

He didn't just read about the world or watch movies about it.
He lived in our houses; he "moved into the neighborhood" as Eugene Peterson says.
He put on our skin; he put on our culture (he wore Klash!).
He died a death that we die: political, religious.

So when God says to me, "Girl, I get it. I know what you're going through."

He means it.


I'm beginning to understand that now.





Lauren

[* photo by Lydia Bullock]

Goforth

Hi, friends, from Sulaymaniyah.

As you know from my last two posts, I started my Preemptive Love Coalition internship a few days late. (Thanks, Delta.) Tuesday was my first day; Wednesday was my first day in the office.

I love it.

--

Last semester in Dr. Allison's World Lit. class, we read excerpts from 1001 Nights. The overarching story is about King Shahryar, who after he learns that his wife has been cheating on him and his sister-in-law has been cheating on his brother, decides to marry a new woman every night, sleep with her, then kill her in the morning. That way no woman could deceive him.

The daughter of Shahryar's vizier, Shaherazade, devises a plan in order to save the women of her village. She asks to marry the king, but before the king falls asleep, she tells him a story. Each story has a hidden message, about mercy - what the king was unwilling to show his virgin wives.

As dawn approaches, Shaherazade ends with a cliffhanger, enticing enough to keep her alive until she can finish the story. Every night this happens; Shaherazade tells stories within stories within stories to keep the king's interest.

And through this she wins King Shahryar's trust and keeps herself alive.

Jeremy told this story the first day in the office, comparing Shaherazade to us.

As Preemptive Love interns, as marketers, storytellers, representatives, etc. we need to tell a story that's going to keep our audience enticed, like King Shahryar. We're not meant to throw a message at someone and expect them to be instantly moved with compassion. We aren't an infomercial offering something people don't want.

We need to "get permission" first. We need to build relationships; we need to tells stories.

I want to invite you all on this journey with me. I want you to fall in love with Preemptive Love, just like me, but I don't want to shove it in your faces. Come along with me. Read my stories. Look at pictures. Read stories on the PLC blog.

And maybe like Shahryar these stories will change your heart and you'll be filled with compassion. Maybe you'll want to donate money or your time or resources to this organization.

I hope so.

--

I'm trying to figure out why I'm here.

I know I fell in love with Preemptive Love's mission statement in the middle of Dr. Perry's radio production class, during a "break up" with a previous ambition, at the brink of a season of doubt.

But I never felt "called" here ... not in the way I thought people should be called. I remember talking to my roommate Lindsey in January, telling her about this internship and how Mom wasn't cool about it, but how I wanted to do it anyway, and that I wasn't getting a "clear sign" from God.

And then I stopped believing that God calls people the way he had in I Samuel, or in the rest of the Bible. He doesn't speak audibly. He isn't so blatantly obvious about anything.

I never felt called here, but I feel at home. I think of Wendell Berry's character who says, "Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there." I was led, but not in the way I wanted to be led.

Back in December when I read about Preemptive Love Coalition, nothing magically fell into place. It wasn't easy getting my mom on board. It wasn't easy to get my sister and my dad on board either. It was hard figuring out how to apply for a loan, and to write an internship proposal to Dr. Turcott, and fill out my internship app. with PLC.

I spent most of second semester nervous and sick to my stomach and crying all over Mollykins.

Good stories must be fought for. They don't just come. At least, not usually.

"I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. ... I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by the way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led - make of that what you will." Jayber Crow, p. 133

--

Last night the interns and I went to a party for an ESL class Claire and Preston will start teaching. (Thursdays are Friday nights in Kurdistan; Friday, not Sunday, is the Muslim holy day.)

On the way there, our taxi dropped half of us off at the wrong location. Preston, Alex, Sophie and I wandered around downtown Suly looking for the Life Center, unsuccessfully. We ended up hailing another taxi and driving across town to the right location. Total cost: 7,000 dinar for two taxis on the way there. The first guy over charged us.

At the Life Center, the room was filled with both Americans and Kurds. Sophie and I pulled a chair up next to Lydia, Claire and the two couples they were talking to.

We learned that Zeba and her husband are kitchen interior designers and the other two were both teachers. We talked two Zeba about how she met her husband (he taught her how to rock climb) and how he asked Zeba's mother permission to marry her.

Zeba's going to do our makeup and bake us cake.

We met Van, a university student who's my age. She's spoken English her whole life, and her brother Ahmad is in Claire's class.

After talking and eating Kurdish food - they wrap rice in pickled leaves, weird! - we danced. I like Kurdish dancing because I cannot dance otherwise. Not very well, anyway. Elise, one of the Americans, told us that the key to Kurdish dancing is moving your shoulders. I can do that. You hold hands and do a foot-shuffle thing in a circle.

After the party, we went home and six of us interns stayed up until 1 a.m. playing Scrabble (Go Team Gingers!). Then bed. Then we slept in.


Lauren

Stay connected with PLC on Facebook. (The interns are posting lots of pictures!!)

Turkish Delight

I’m writing this in Sulaymaniyah, but I’m going to pretend I’m writing this from Istanbul. I’ll post my first-day-in-Iraq blog when I get to it. Perhaps when the Internet consistently works. (Come on, Lappy.)

--

The flight to Greece was, above all other adjectives (long, tiring, boring, etc.) uncomfortable. I tried to get comfortable, but I couldn't. Even though the seat next to me was free, the 30-something Greek man in seat F to my seat D felt the need to use seat E's tray and seat for storage. Thanks, Mr. Greek Man.

The girl diagonal to me, who was sitting next to a girl with cropped hair -- not her boyfriend (simple mistake, one I corrected only four hours into the trip) -- was reading Willa Cather's My Antonia. Part of me wanted to strike a conversation with her about American literature. The other part of me just wanted to get comfortable.

We watched three movies on this flight: Leap Year, Crazy Heart and Bride Wars. (Lydia asks me: were the movies on your flight good? I rattled off this list. Obvious answer: no.)

The best part of the flight was either the brownie or the plane's approach to Greece. I love the hills in Greece. I wish I had more than two hours there.

Like I said, I loved Greece, but I didn't like having to walk from the bag drop ("You don't have your ticket, go to the Aegean desk!") to the Aegean desk ("You need to talk to Delta. Turn left.") to the Delta desk ("They couldn't just print it out for you?") to the bag drop again. But I got through, got to the gate, talked to my dear sister on Skype, then boarded the plane.

Why I love Greece: on a one-hour flight in the middle of the afternoon, they fed us. They fed us well:

• Beef
• Rice
• Lentils
• Gelato
• Roll
• Cheese
• Coke

In Istanbul, I got my luggage, went through passport check, got my luggage, and looked for a ride to the hotel. I looked specifically for the hotel shuttle, but it turns out I need my reservation print-out to get a shuttle. At least, that's what the Hertz guy told me. Right before he hit on me.

Hertz Guy: How old are you?

Me: 20

Hertz Guy: You have boyfriend?

Me: Uh, no.

Hertz Guy: Next time you come to Istanbul, I will be your boyfriend. And your body guard! And your guide.

It was all very charming, not at all as creepy as it sounds.

He walked me to the edge of the parking lot to meet my driver, a Turk with a soul patch. He reminded me of your typical LA business type. He drove a sleek silver car; wore all black. I'm surprised he didn't have a Bluetooth.

Getting my hotel room was frustrating. They made me pay cash (in USD, not Lira, thank goodness. I only had 47 on me).

I got into my room. Played with all the lights. Tried to get a universal adapter to no avail. Took a long, long, long shower. Then crashed for three hours. I woke up, ate Ritz crackers for dinner and watched How I Met Your Mother on my iPod. I was feeling very American.

I read Jayber Crow until Lydia arrived at 1 a.m. Finally someone I know. Or, know through Facebook.

We talked for a little bit. Commented on the mirrors all around the room. (Hmm.) Then went to sleep for three hours.

--

The next day we ate well. The hotel had a free breakfast buffet with eggs, cheeses, pastries, rolls, fruit and sausages. And Turkish coffee. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Turkish coffee. I have found true love. Sorry, Starbucks. Sorry, Hawaii. Sorry, Old Crown. (Yeah, I said it.)

I love Turkish coffee.

Lydia and I drove to the airport with the same Turk with the soul patch. We wandered around the airport, got some more coffee - yum! - then sampled every piece of Turkish delight available. I don't get it, Edmund Pevensie, it's not that good.

Then we waited in our gate, discovered our seats were next to each other, road a bus to the plane, got on the plane, ate more food, drank more coffee, got off the plane, had no problems through customs, got picked up by Awara and Jessica, then got settled in Iraq.

More to come, I promise.



Lauren

Georgia peach

"We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all. We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if we ever wake, to the silence of God." Annie Dillard

--

I am supposed to be in Istanbul right now. So for those of you wanting a recap of my past day (and a look into my next few days) here it is.

--

My flight from Indianapolis was delayed because of storms in Atlanta, but I board the flight only 45 minutes later than scheduled and all was well. My window seat is nice. I get to look out on the Neighborhood of Make Believe, or what seemed to be, with the tiny cars and all. And I read.

“That’s a great book,” says the woman next to me, who looks like Diane Keaton.

Jayber Crow. “Yeah! I’ve read half of it already, but it’s been a while so I thought I’d start from the beginning.” For some reason I tell strangers more than they need to know, or care to know. I spend the rest of the flight trying to guess her profession. (English education.)

When we approach Atlanta, the captain announces that the storms would keep us from landing. We hover over the airport for a while (I don’t know if planes really hover; I just imagine it like that) then fly 180 miles west to Huntsville, Alabama where we sit. On the plane. For over an hour.

Meanwhile I'm sending text messages to Daniel, another intern, who's at the Atlanta airport waiting for our flight. He keeps me updated on delays. I tell him I think I'll make it back just in time; he tells me the captain announced that they're waiting for our plane to get in before taking off.

We make it to Atlanta by about 5:00. The captain on my plane asks for only those who needed to catch flights to get up and get off. Everyone gets up and gets off. I’m in the back of the plane. I squeeze in front of Diane Keaton and shuffle off the plane and begin looking for Gate T3. Other side of the airport? Awesome. I run. (Power walk.) I huff and puff all the way across Atlanta's airport only to find out that I just missed the flight.

Breathe, girl. In and out. In and out.

I wait in line to get my flight changed. Turns out the next flight isn't until 4:20 p.m. the next day.

[I'll fast forward through my minor freak out, eating dinner, paying $10 for Internet access and getting a call from Jessica who asks me to fly in a day later even so I can arrive with Lydia, another intern.]

I wait in that long line again to talk to Draga, the Delta exec. I talked to the first time I was in this line. The one who told me that I couldn't get on a flight until Saturday evening.

Me: Is it okay if I fly in a day later?

Draga: No, we can't do that.

Me: But the people I'm meeting can't pick me up any earlier.

Draga: Sigh. Talk to her. (Points to woman next to her.)

After this woman finishes talking to the most adorable elderly couple, who speak only Italian, I ask if I can move my flights back a day.

Woman: Of course you can. (Click-click-click of her computer.)

Me: And can I get a hotel for tonight?

Woman: Yes. It will be free for tonight, but will cost you tomorrow. You'll have to ride back on the shuttle to get another voucher.

Me: Okay. Thank you. And how do I get to the shuttle?

Woman: I'll take you there myself.

Nicest woman ever. At least compared to Draga.

I wait outside for my shuttle. Finally it hits me that I'm in Georgia - what a pretty state. I remember thinking that as we flew above it a few hours before. The sky is a pinkish blue color now; the weather is 70 degrees and breezy. I get into my shuttle and daydream about perusing the town for a cute coffee shop.

The driver asks where I'm headed - Days Inn. He calls me Days Inn Girl the rest of the trip. I tip him two dollars because I like my new nickname.

--

I spend the rest of the night either laughing on the phone with Molly or sobbing on the phone with my mom. I am one emotional cookie. We were having issues changing my flight out of Istanbul. But $600 later, we get it figured out.

--

Earlier this week I was thinking about the book of Job and how maybe we try to find hidden truths within it, truths that aren't really there. We take verses out of context; we try to figure out what God means about this and if it justifies that. But if we look too deep, if we look too hard at the details, we might miss the big picture.

It's a simple story: Job has it rough, but things end up okay.

Maybe the conversation between Satan and God was metaphorical. Maybe Satan didn't do the taking away; maybe life happened. And maybe Job thought he had everything under control and he realized he didn't. Maybe God needed to talk some sense into Job in the end, to call him out in the middle of the storm - in the middle of the chaos - to say, "Job. You're not a god. You can't control everything. Let go and trust me."

I'm not saying that the story isn't literal - I don't want to cause a theological debate. But if we look at the story of Job in its purest form, we see a guy who's met conflict, didn't handle it right, but still made it through in the end.

I see myself like him.

What happens to Job will happen to me. I have experienced conflict, yes. I've handled it wrong too. But I'm going to be okay.

So far, so good.

Iraq, here I come. 

(Just later than expected.)

Lauren

Remedy Mission

I'm going to be in Iraq in three days.

I'm not going because I'm trying to make a stand for some abstract cause. I'm not going because I see myself as a 21st century expatriate or a hippie or an IWU-approved world changer.

I'm going because little kids are sick and need heart surgeries. I'm going to help them, or help people help them.

--

Preemptive Love has the opportunity to bring Remedy Missions, international pediatric heart surgery teams, to perform 30 heart surgeries in August. (That's a lot of kids!) They will also train local Iraqi doctors and nurses, which means the children won't have to fly to Turkey for surgeries anymore. (That's loads cheaper!)

Please, please donate.
-Donate this week's tithe, or this month's tithe.
-Give up one Starbucks drink a week for the month. (We all know that adds up. ...)
-Deposit all that change in your coin jar, then write a check.
-You know that money you were going to donate to me? - wink! - write the check to PLC instead.
-Like you really need to hit Higher Grounds on the way home from work.
-NECC congregation: I think this is in line with Tony's AWAKEN. (Fast your money??)
-Tax return!

I bet you think I'm giving myself a break. (I wrote the blog. I posted stuff on Facebook and Twitter. I'm going to Iraq. ... blah blah blah.) Well, I'm not letting myself off that easy. I'd be a hypocrite to tell you to donate, and then do nothing myself. So I will. Right after I post this, I'm going to follow the above link and donate.

--

I have two nieces and three nephews, all ten years and under: Austin, Noah, Emily, Taylor and Aaron. I love them. I would do anything for them. I'd watch Thomas the Tank with Noah for hours. I'd let TayTay cry in my arms till Mommy comes home.

I love my nieces and nephews - but their parents love them more. And when they're sick, their moms - my sisters - are scared and nervous and assume the worst.

There are moms in Iraq that feel the exact same way. They dote on their children. They worry about them when they're sick.

But their kids don't have runny noses; they have holes in their hearts.

--

I've said this before: there aren't a lot of things I'm sure about. I doubt a lot about my faith, and I don't always know who I am, but I know that some things matter. Some things matter more than money and religiosity and comfort and patriotism and happiness.

Life is kind of important.
So is love.

Please help make this happen!


-Ezek.

... and overcomes conflict to get it.

I go home Wednesday - I'm halfway through college. I'm terrified; I'm sad. I love college - especially the learning - and I don't want it to end. But I'm beat. I'm sick of writing papers. I want to rest my brain.

In between writing this, I'm working on my final exam for Media and Society. We're supposed to comprehensively write about our approach to media literacy, using just about everything we've learned this semester. Dr. Perry suggested we start with a specific medium or issue and go from there. 

I decided to start with RELEVANT.

Seven months ago Kevin Erickson emailed me about his RELEVANT thesis. Six months ago I sobbed and screamed at God for killing my dream. 

But now I'm writing about RELEVANT and what it has taught me about media literacy and what I think Neil Postman would have to say about it. And it's forcing me to relive last fall. I'm rereading Kevin's thesis - yes, all 99 pages. I'm rereading my emails with former employees. I'm reading that email from Jason Boyett where this game started.

But you know what? It's okay. It's really okay. In fact, I don't want to work for RELEVANT. I think it'd be cool ... and I wish there were more magazines like RELEVANT out there ... but I don't need to work there.

I'm beginning to wonder if it was just getting  in the way. Maybe that whole experience was the "inciting incident" that got me from there to ... well ... Iraqi Kurdistan.

--

My mom said yes - I'm going to Iraq this summer.

God is good. How good? Let's see:

December: Lauren finds Preemptive Love Coalition internship

December: Lauren tells sister about PLC internship. Sister freaks out.

December: Lauren tells mom about PLC internship. Mom freaks out.

January: Lauren tries to convince mom that she can handle said internship. Mom says no.

January: Lauren prays a lot.

January: Lauren fasts Wednesday lunches.

January: Lauren applies anyway ...

February: Lauren buys passport

February: Sister finds out and freaks out.

February: Mom finds out and freaks out.

February: Lauren considers giving up dream.

February: Lauren reconsiders giving up dream.

March: Lauren can't sleep because she doesn't know what to do.

March: Lauren gets internship!

March: Sister finds out and freaks out.

March: Lauren still can't sleep because she doesn't know what to do.

March: Lauren tells mom about internship.

March: Mom says no again.

March: Lauren tries to reason with mom to no avail.

March: Mom gives Lauren a chance to "propose" the internship to her and stepdad.

March: Lauren prays a lot.

April: Lauren asks other people to pray.

April: Lauren proposes internship. It doesn't look good.

April: Mom contacts lots of people who know PLC. It looks better.

April: Mom changes her mind!

April: Lauren buys plane tickets. :)

I know I didn't handle that maturely. The praying part was good, so was the fasting, but the going behind my mother's back thing was not. The arguments and stubbornness wasn't good either.

But holy cow. O Jacob, you worm: I am nothing. This, this was all GOD. I can't even make it seem like this was my doing. GOD worked a huge miracle. 

--

I leave in less than a month. I'm not scared yet; I don't have time to be scared. There's so much planning I need to do. 

To think I was so sure I'd be planning for my RELEVANT internship this time last year.

Instead, I'm planning to spend the summer in freaking Iraq. IRAQ! Man alive. I get to work for a organization whose mission statement I not only believe in, but can be sure that they live up to it. 

Praise GOD - he knows what he's doing. 

ezekiel

only by prayer and fasting

"But if God is so good as you represent Him, and if He knows all that we need, and better far than we do ourselves, why should it be necessary to ask Him for anything?" I answer, What if He knows Prayer to be the thing we need first and most?

--

I never share prayer requests. I don't like to. When Dr. Huckins asks for ours in Practicum, I never make eye contact. I think it's because in youth group everyone tried to one-up each other. Your mom's sick? Well, mine just died - beat that! And I don't want you prying into my personal space.

--

This season has been filled with doubt. I don't know what I believe. I know some things, and those things I hang my faith on like a hat. Others, like prayer, I don't know what to make of.

But I'm going to live them out, like Jayber. This blog will testify to that.

--

I want to intern at Preemptive Love Coalition. I've wanted to since December. I thought God was finally going to give me a break - let me have a big story to live out. RELEVANT died. This was it.

Then, Mom said no. 

She said no in December, but I applied for the internship anyway.

She said no in February when I bought my passport.

She said no in mid-March when I got the internship.

She said sigh maybe in late March when I begged and pleaded and cried and came up with logical reasons why I should get to work with PLC in Kurdistan.

(I'm realizing how persistent I can be - to my own demise.)

So I prayed. Reluctantly. I didn't have anyone else pray except Molly, Lindsey and my college group at home. I didn't ask Dr. Huckins to pray. I didn't ask Dr. Bence to pray. I think I asked Dr. Perry to pray, but that's it. 

I didn't ask people to pray because I didn't believe in prayer.

(And maybe I still don't.)

Then Mom said that she would think about it, that she might consider letting me take the internship. She started asking me questions like how I could pay for it and how long I'd be gone. I was hopeful; I asked more people to pray.

Maybe God did have a hand in this after all.

I asked Molly to pray, of course, and Lindsey. I asked my dear friend Jason to pray and Austin and Matt. I asked the other PLC interns and the president, Jeremy, to pray. People on Twitter told me that they were praying for me and for my mom. 

I prayed for the dead saints to pray for me because that seemed like a very Catholic thing to do, even though I'm not Catholic.

And God has moved. 

--

I don't think God's only moving because we're praying. I don't think that's what Jesus meant when he said, "Where two or three come together in my name, there I am with them." I think that Jesus shows up when I'm alone too.

I think that praying for others and asking others to pray for you is a humbling experience.

I think it transforms you more than it spurs God to answer in your favor.

--

We must ask that we may receive: but that we should receive what we ask in respect of our lower needs, is not God's end in making us pray, for He could give us everything without that: to bring His child to his knee, God withholds that man may ask.

--

Maybe that's the point. Maybe the ask-not-because-you-have-not is God's way of getting us to talk with him. Not only that, maybe it's his way of making us rely on others, to think outside ourselves. I can't ask people to pray for me out of pride. I can't do it. I have a huge pride issue, but if you're going to pray for me, it's got to be for a legitimate reason.

I need to need you.

And praying to the saints? Maybe I should save this for another blog post, but I think there's something - uhh - transcendental about asking saints to pray for you, to intercede. Not because Christ can't do it. But because you can't do it on your own. You need help. You need the saints. Dead and alive ones.

I say this again: it's humbling. Especially for someone who doesn't like sharing prayer requests, to know that David, a follower on Twitter, is praying for me is humbling. He owes me nothing. He has no ties with me. He doesn't know my age or hair color. He just knows my situation and we share the same God.

--

I fast a meal a week. I don't like talking about that either because I'm afraid that sounds like I'm bragging. To help: this was Lindsey's idea.

Every Wednesday at noon I pray instead of eating. Sometimes I stay in my room; sometimes I go into the NHC chapel or sit outside; sometimes I drive to Tree of Life. Sometimes I can stay focused, sometimes I can't at all.

But I'm not eating during this time. It's just me, my "worship music" playlist, my Bible, my notebook ... (wow, this list is long) ... and God. Just us. Hungry.

Maybe this works. Maybe it's like prayer and it's more about the communion, less about the results. Who knows. I do know that when Matt texted me one Wednesday, right as I entered the chapel to tell me that he was fasting with me, I felt loved and cared for and humbled.

--

Mom's going to tell me Monday if I can go to Kurdistan with PLC. I'm confident that she'll say yes, but I don't know for sure. I also don't know if Dr. T is going to approve it as an internship so I can get loans to pay for it. I don't even know if CitiBank will pay for it.

So pray.

Please.

If for nothing else, for the support system it's bringing me and my family and the other interns.

love,

ezekiel