I'm Sorry For Your Loss

When a death occurs we say it often: "I'm sorry for your loss." Because what else do you say? I am the first to admit the phrase became overused and empty for me a long time ago, but the message behind it still rings true.....
     On any given day, I meet total strangers during one of the worst times in their lives. They are people in various stages of grief, and I often have to take a step back and remind myself of that fact. It sometimes means having to repeat a question numerous times to an elderly widow because maybe she was distracted by the bouquet of flowers sent from her college roommate or maybe she simply didn't understand what I was asking. Maybe the phone is ringing off the hook at a house and my walking in the door with 10 folding chairs is not a priority at the time. I quietly place them by the front door and wait patiently to ask if the family needs anything else right then. I shake hands saying, "I'm sorry for your loss," on my way out. Maybe I get back in the van and eat my lunch while going back to the funeral home and jam out to the radio, because for me, this is an ordinary day. For the people I serve, however, it is anything but.  See, while a death may be one of the most painful things your family can face, to us funeral personnel, it's a daily occurrence. It's what we do. It's why we don't let our cell phones get out of sight, and why our closets are filled with dark, muted colors. It's not always easy, but it is not supposed to be. 

     When a death occurs, it is likely that the family is next to clueless as to what to do. As soon as the phone call is made to the funeral home, however, a process begins. We make checklists. We label clothing. We label people. We order flowers and caskets and vaults and mark graves to be dug. We make a list and check it twice in hopes of minimizing mistakes (unfortunately, we are only human and mistakes still happen...).
     In this service based industry, each situation, each family, each deceased individual is different. Each has a story, yet each comes with a unique set of challenges. I would be remiss to say that each funeral is the same ol' same ol'....because it's not. We have a basic procedure to follow, but the details in between are as varied as the day is long. We really are sorry for your loss, but our way of saying it is by taking the necessary care to do the behind the scenes work to help you share about and honor your loved one.
     So yes, I'll come back to open the funeral home for the hairdresser at 7 PM, and yes, I'll clean up the water spill from when you knocked over the vase of flowers, and yes, I'll even go with you when you come to town, 20 years after your father was buried, and help you locate his grave in the cemetery. It's the 'funeral director way' of saying, "I'm sorry for your loss," even when the words fail.

Women of the Funeral Home

I'm an educated young woman working in a small, Southern funeral home.

Think about it for a minute. It's a statement that holds so much more than you know.

In the short time I've been here, I've heard a lot--platitudes, playful banter, downright perversion. I get it. I'm probably an unexpected sight. In fact, my young colleague and I have been referred to as 'novelties.' It sometimes seems that I don't fit in among the gray-haired men and red-dirt covered gravediggers. I try to look the part, wearing conservative clothing and composing my words and demeanor with maturity and sincerity. Steps and movements have become more measured and reserved. I only hope to appear graceful, which, if you know me, is easier said than done for my tomboy self.

After funerals I sometimes hear,

"I'm so glad there are young people like you interested in doing things like this!" 

or, "So nice to see a pretty face around here!"

     Still, there are days when compliments barely outweigh the negativity. Issues directly linked to my gender and perceived aptitude are brought up and challenged daily. When I think of the societal implications of my chosen career, I just don't think women should feel so out of place or uncomfortable in the funeral business. After all, death does not discriminate, and, historically speaking at least, women have fulfilled care-taking and event planning roles quite well. BUT there's always a little old lady saying,

"Those men need to be out there washing those cars!"  
or, "How do you expect to raise a family with a job like this?"

I usually just smile and change the subject. I'll cross that bridge when I get there. And I'll wash all the cars along the way.

     I do more than answer phones and type obituaries. I do it all, just like my male counterparts. Except, unlike them,

I know what it feels like to be looked down upon. 
I know what it feels like to be stared up and down. 
I know what it feels like to be blatantly ignored.

     I also, however, know what it feels like to be welcomed into a home with a,

"Come on in, honey! Let me show you the clothes we picked out for mama. Oh, and here's some of her lipstick. What do you think?," followed by a soft touch of a hand on mine and a gentle whisper, "...I know you will take good care of her." 

     I've had to learn when to take a step back and let a man handle things. And they've had to learn when to step down and let one of us women come in with a little bit of a softer touch. It may also be that men (and women) feel more at ease to show emotion or even *gasp* cry in front of a female funeral director as opposed to a male. And let's not even get started on whole 'male ego'/'won't stop to ask for directions' thing...
     It's not uncharted territory, and luckily for me, my fierce sense of independence kicks in and I am thankful to have been surrounded by strong women throughout my life--women who have taught me to work hard and to use my voice and to stand up for what is right; they have shown me that women are intelligent and important and influential and that, as a woman and as a child of God, I matter. I believe I have unique gifts that rival many men's abilities to remain sympathetic and engaged with a mourning family while also planning and organizing the details of a funeral. Perhaps you agree with me or perhaps you don't. All I know is that each day brings new stories and new challenges and new realizations. I hope to be able to look back on this season of growth with a spirit of appreciation. Until then, from me to other women striving for success in traditionally male dominated fields,

52 weeks

52 weeks isn't really that long if you think about it. 52 Sundays, 52 Mondays, 52 TGIF's.

     Each week holds routines, challenges and opportunities. In the funeral business, no two weeks are ever the same.
     Each week leads to another and another until we find ourselves here again, staring down the barrel at a new set of 52 weeks.
     It's January. It's a new year! And think about it, this week has never happened before and it will never happen again.
     I'm not one for resolutions, but I do see the value in stopping to take a good look at areas of our lives that need some attention. Whether that means sprucing up or re-prioritizing or whathaveyou, I wish you all the best.
     I've always been a planner {insert funeral director joke here} and I like to look at things long-term whenever possible. I know that this year will bring many changes and challenges. One of those challenges being a national DUAL licensure exam (for funeral directing and embalming) in July. Which means I have approximately 27 weeks to prepare for it. Not that I'm counting.
     Classes at my much beloved technical school resume next week. Books arrived two weeks ago and my nose will be in them for the next few months....along with work, and life, and death, and all the other things like grocery shopping and exercise. Maybe a vacation or two. We'll see.
     In whatever this year brings you, may you have joy and peace!

A word for the women.

Hers is the faith of How Great Thou Art. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound of children laughing and singing and reading the Christmas story. Dust will gather on the tops of hymnals, the organ will fall out of tune, candles will melt into oblivion. But I have brushed up against the other side: the one without belief. The light does not shine there as it does in a wrinkled Kleenex, wet with tears. She showed me what it meant to believe, as she sat at the table, wiped her eyes again, and forced a laugh. Of course everything would fall apart at once. A hug and a knowing eye and a prayer. She showed me what it meant to believe against unbelief; sitting in that church, gripping the pew in front of her, knowing what she was going home to face, sobbing during the benediction, loving even though it hurt.

Women of my childhood, of my home church. Women I have met since I moved away. Women I can only hear about as I lay them to rest. Women who have shown me sacrifice along with hate and truth along with pain. I have seen their tears and I have heard their stories.

They are beautiful in a way only women can be; whispering, giggling, shushing well past the schoolgirl years. They carry burdens and harbor secrets, they bring casseroles and baked things and care for the children and do the housework. They smile and sing, ....oh do they sing. They write, they teach, they pray, they dance. Squared shoulders and powerful arms, gentle enough to rock even the newest of babies to sleep. Their words echo in my mind; words of wisdom, hope, empowerment.

We gather at the table (the one the women prepared), all from different places now; some strangers, all friends. A still, small voice breaks through the static, telling me to stop and listen instead of talk. To wait with the faith of Hannah and Elizabeth. To believe against unbelief. To take the things and ponder them in my heart.

I carry them with me; their smiles, their eyes. I hear their laughter and their broken voices. In many ways, I'm made up of what I've seen and heard, in other ways, I'm quite the opposite.

There are some songs we never seem to forget, some words that seem to spring forth before our eyes even get the chance to open in the morning, some recipes (especially Christmas ones) that will always lead us home. For these, and for the women who keep bringing them to me, I am grateful. I want to be this kind of woman.

When the Saints Go Marching In

As many of you are aware, today is All Saints' Day. It is a time to remember those who have passed on during the year.

I had the honor of being a part of a rather large funeral today in which a faithful servant was celebrated. As friends eulogized, voices cracked and tears fell, but I noticed that as quickly as Kleenex's were snatched up, smiles also swept across faces. It made me think about how grief, in its simplest form, is a reaction to loss. This reaction, however, is a process.

Popular psychology will tell you that grief has stages. Elisabeth Kubler Ross even goes so far to define these stages as denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. In reality, these stages aren't really stages in the way we think of stages. There is no set order, there are no set time-frames. We go back and forth, around and around, drifting in and out of our own sense of consciousness. We tell, we re-tell, we 're-member.'

It all brings us to a part of ourselves we wouldn't get to otherwise.

Grief over life, grief over death.
We give each other grief. We grieve for and with one another.
We are taken aback by it.
We all somehow grieve differently and yet we all grieve the same.

Oftentimes, our minds process our stories in pieces. We end up telling and retelling our experiences in an effort to fully grasp them. Our words take on a rote tone, one that Thomas Lynch describes as prayer-like.

It's a funny thing, our rememberings. Our words. Our prayers--even the ones that don't have words. Our grief ages our souls as it brings us to our knees. It shows up in the daily things--in getting the paper and in the breaking of bread. Our comings and our goings--it all becomes more holy. Our daily bread becomes a perpetual communion and sleep is an answered prayer. Life becomes fractional; bits and pieces exist in a type of suspension, but not as a whole.

Our grief, however, is not the end. We can take comfort in the fact that a new world will one day be revealed, a world where death shall be no more. As Revelation 21 says, "neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."

I will leave you with the words of the hymn, When the Saints Go Marching In.

      We are trav'ling in the footsteps
      Of those who've gone before,
      And we'll all be reunited, 
      On a new and sunlit shore...

Some say this world of trouble,

Is the only one we need,

But I'm waiting for that morning,

When the new world is revealed...

Lord, how I want to be in that number

When the saints go marching in!

Prepositions

I'm sitting in the same classroom for the 4th hour in a row. On one side of me, there are two caskets (empty, I promise), on the other, there are twenty classmates, all of various ages and backgrounds. The instructors ramble a bit, confusing words like 'generic' with 'genetic,' 'presents' with 'presence,' and 'elections' with 'electrons.' Nobody else seems to notice. Oh well.

Somewhere between the chemistry lesson and the three-thousandth question about whether or not we have to  know ALL the bones in the body, words begin to pop out at me. The words are simple, prepositions actually: by, with, for...

We have moved on to the 'Funeral Services' portion of the school day and are watching a PBS Frontline documentary called The Undertaking. (<-- VERY highly recommended).

....By the living
....For the living
....With the living

It strikes me as it has done before-- funerals in the modern sense mean different things to different people, but Thomas Lynch's words start to work in my finite brain, "we deal with death by dealing with the dead..."

Our death traditions are just that- traditions- just like our marriage traditions, birth traditions, and holiday traditions. They serve a purpose, but we have to remember they are not immune to change. The processes of planning, conducting, and attending funerals helps usher us through the beginnings of the grief journey. They give us something to grasp, rules to follow, and roles to play as our little worlds change beyond our comprehension.

We all view and deal with death a little differently, but, in the end, we all must face it.

It never fails that at any funeral I attend, there is a solitary moment in which time seems to stand still. It often happens at the graveside as the pallbearers carry the casket to the grave. Watches tick, birds chirp, cars go by, but the hallowed plot of land on which we place the casket is eerily quiet. We've come as far as we can. Family and friends have eulogized, prayed, sung, cried, rejoiced, remembered and now we stand in reverent awe. The casket is lowered and we reach the end. The body stops moving. We stop carting everything around. We arrange the flowers for the last time. We say a final prayer, maybe sing a final song. Then we leave and the reality of the loss accompanies us as we walk away from the grave.

We continue to lean on the living; hearing words of sympathy, accepting tender embraces, and eating fried chicken to our heart's content. In these moments, we are vulnerable in our humanity. In moments to come, as we look back and remember things about the ones we've had to let go, we seem to be more vulnerable in our spirituality. Through tears and laughter we keep moving until death interrupts again; until our little worlds stand still.

Do you see what I see?

[If you're a regular, you may have noticed that the background changed a bit. Don't be alarmed, it was just time for an update. If you're new here, welcome! Hope you're not intimidated by a little dialogue about death... no, really.]

I get it. I like living in the mountains. I use cloth bags for my groceries. In fact, I advocate 'reduce, re-use, recycle' in all circumstances. I compost. I cringe at the amount of petroleum used on a daily basis, yet I want a bus-load of kids. I'm obsessed with learning about midwives and morticians. I'm kind of a granola-- and that's ok with me. All of this begs the question: aren't modern embalming practices anti-earth friendly? The simple answer, yes, unfortunately, they are.

So what of it? There are many unnatural things, and lots of chemicals, involved in preserving a 'memory picture' of our loved ones as we view them between death and burial. Without these chemicals, the type of viewing (open-casket) we think of would simply not be possible. The chemicals--formaldehyde, methanol, phenol, etc. offer temporary preservation for the body. After burial, the chemicals eventually reach the earth and probably our ground water. There are also materials used in hospitals, ambulances, the preparation room, and cemeteries that are not sustainable (mostly plastics and precious metals). And then there's the space taken up by cemeteries, headstones, mausoleums, on and on and on. To think I will actually depend on this way of doing things for my livelihood bothers me sometimes. But, then again, it doesn't. I get it. I understand why we do it this way. I mean, let's face it, it's right in line with our American way of living. Does that mean I agree with it or think it's for everyone? No.

The bottom line is that we see what we want to see about the funeral business.

If you want to see that our culture has shaped us into being materialistic and shallow, you can fall into the camp that says funerals are obsolete; that the presence of the dead at their own funeral is optional; that all funeral directors do is capitalize on the grief of others.

If you want to sympathize and say open-casket services are essential to the grieving process, you'd be in the group that says embalming is a necessary art, one that is unique to the funeral industry and important for closure for friends and loved ones.

If you want to get hung up on the paperwork and the insurance and the money and the convenient 'packages'  funeral homes offer, you can and I won't judge you because I have the same thoughts.

I choose to see that embalming, open caskets, cremations, funerals, gravesides, flowers, thank-you cards, etc. are important. I just don't think all of it has to be for everyone <---And that is what will help me change along with this business.

After attending a funeral directing convention this week, I have some new knowledge of the industry and some new ideas of my own that I will continue to talk about. Please feel free to share your ideas with me too!

A fly on a cupcake

You know the feeling you get when something is first brought to your attention and then suddenly it's EVERYWHERE? Yeah, that's how death is for me. Don't get me wrong--it isn't a creepy kind of ghoulishness or an overwhelming sadness type of thing--it is just there.

I'm working at a small town funeral home and I'm going to funeral school, so my day-to-day activities are centered around embalming, cremation, funerals, burials, etc. I'm finding the work to be pretty much enthralling. I guess the subject just jumps out at me now. I have so many questions and I am in a state of just soaking in as much information as I can. Death, dying, grieving, history of funeral service, cultural and religious traditions--anything--I'm interested. If you have a story, I want to hear it. If you'll sit still long enough, I'll tell you one of mine. Don't be surprised if this blog sort of morphs into a conglomeration of everything I'm learning. Also, don't be surprised if I start to sound like a fly on a cupcake. There is just so much involved in death. 

I was thinking yesterday about how I came to this point in my life. The only other career option I have ever been this excited about is that of an OB/GYN. I know, I'm crazy, right? Who wants to usher in life? No, I hear you, that's not the first thing you thought of... let's be honest, it's a different kind of job... That's why I kept the idea mostly to myself. I didn't pursue that route because A. Med School. and B. it just seemed too bogged down in ultrasounds and pitocin and monotony to me. I much prefer the idea of a midwife. 

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that midwives, at least in America, were actually some of the first kinds of undertakers. These pioneering women, along with their traditional tasks of assisting in births, took on the role of washing preparing bodies for burial. Undoubtedly, this had something to do with the astronomical rate of stillbirths and infant deaths, but still, it's kind of mind boggling. That juxtaposition of life and death--the one we all feel somewhere deep inside of us--the early midwives lived it. To wash and prepare a body is truly one of the most moving experiences this life has to offer. I can only imagine that ushering in life is along the same vein. In our modern era of technology and busyness and blah, blah, blah, I find it fascinating that to actually be entrusted with a body, to slow down and take care and 'undertake' the process is something that is unique to birth and death. I learned that the word 'undertake' means "to bind oneself to a task or to pledge to get it done." What a concept!--one that has carried over into our modern idea of funeral directing.

Something to think about, right? I guess I qualify as a granola now, huh? More on that later...

Christmas [In July]

Folks,
      I'll admit I was racking my brain for what to write about this month. I thought about just letting this one slide by and making up for it with two posts in August. I came up with a few ideas yesterday... one about my love of reading and the books I am currently obsessed with, another about the conferences going on this summer in Montreat. I just couldn't get myself to sit down and process either of those. Then, today at work, LIFE hit me square in the face.
      It was a quiet moment in the store, a rarity during the mornings of youth conferences when hundreds of teens stream in to get their t-shirts and Cheerwine. In the midst of my own to-do list of cooking, cleaning, packing, forms, classes, and the line of customers waiting to purchase their items, my thoughts were interrupted by a pair of earrings sliding across the counter.
       I reached for a box to put them in and the customer said, "Oh, I don't need a box, I'll wear them out!"
       I said, "Alright, that's good with me! Your total is $36.38."
       I swiped her card, and as I waited for the receipt to print, she said through tears, "They remind me of my son. He always loved calla lillies." Then, as if realizing she was talking out loud, she said, "I lost him recently." More tears.
       I was dumb-founded. Asking her to sign the receipt seemed trivial. I didn't know what to say. This wasn't the funeral home. This wasn't a pre-packaged environment where sadness and tears and death were expected; the norm. There wasn't a box of Kleenexes within arm's length and there weren't any flowers to move around for the hundredth time.
       There was only me. And her. And her grief. Suddenly, the three of us seemed to be taking up too much room so I stepped back a step and said the only thing I could think of, "How old was he?"
       "25," she said.
       "Wow," I said solemnly. "Well, I'm sure he would have loved to see you wear these."
       She removed the earrings from the paper card they were on and I held the pieces in my hand as she slowly and deliberately swapped old for new. I smiled and she smiled and she took a deep breath and walked away to join her friends.
      It bothered me--that space between the "Wow." and the "Well." That space in my thoughts that said, "How, when, where, why?" "WHY?" I wanted to know everything and I wanted to know nothing. I wanted to hear her story and not have to hear her pain. But, then, the two are inseparable. So it goes in life. So it goes with our faith stories and our loss-of-faith stories, our love stories and our loss-of-love stories. And no, this post really isn't about Christmas [in July] or Christmas at all. Except for the truth of the One incarnate, the One who came so that our tears and our grief and our pain will be no more. Praise be to God.

"Most People"

January: the month of doors and gates. Christmas is behind us and most resolutions have come and gone by now. For us college students, January means new classes are started and new friends are made. For me, this month marks the beginning of a final semester at PC.

Among other things going on at this time, such as trying not to freak out about graduation, deciding on plans after college, and adjusting to the fact that most of my friends are now married or soon-to-be so, I am embarking on an adventure this semester called an "internship." I must warn you: this is not going to be your run-of-the-mill experience.

I am interning at a funeral home.

That's right, I'm considering becoming a mortician. I realize that the words "undertaker" and "embalmer" just aren't the kinds of words that pop up among things a parent dreams of for a child. Nevertheless, I am investigating the field.

I have spent a few days on the job this month already and I like what I have seen so far. It seems doable to me. Judging by the mixed reactions I get when I tell people of my current career goal, most people are just not cut out for this kind of thing. My answer to that: I am not "most people."

In four days, I have attended more funerals than "most people" will do in their lifetime and I have already experienced a "diverse clientele."

As the semester continues, I am sure I will have stories to tell and reservations to process, and I would appreciate your thoughts, prayers, and encouragement as I go through this time of discernment.

I will leave you with a final thought, an observation of sorts, that occurred this past week at a funeral I was working. It was a funeral for a young grandmother; a woman who had passed unexpectedly. Some out-of-town relatives arrived early for the combination visitation/service. As the day progressed, the rain began falling harder and harder outside the little country church and as more family and friends arrived, more and more of them went in and out of the doors to smoke their cigarettes. The other funeral home employees and I stood in the vestibule of the church, awaiting the end of the service when we would transport everything to the graveside service.

Between the visitation and the memorial service, one of the out-of-town relatives struck up a conversation with me. She told me about the mess her home was in from recent remodeling projects and how, since her kitchen was being torn out that morning, she didn't know what she was going to cook for dinner in her microwave. She then proceeded to tell me how she had worked hard all her life and how she was doing these remodeling projects as a way to reward herself upon her retirement. She stood there, glanced around at us as we held the memorial bulletins in our hands, and said, "Yes, ma'am, I worked hard all my life. I didn't stand around in a suit all day worrying about which way to hold my hands."

Her words, snide and insensitive, considering the occasion, sparked within me an immediate desire to defend my fellow funeral workers. I chuckled and gently said that I hoped all the projects turned out well. When she turned to re-enter the sanctuary, I thought about what she had said and wondered if "most people" would agree with her sentiment.

I hope to never underestimate the power of maintaining respect and practicing integrity, and even if I don't end up pursuing a career as a funeral director, I will never discount the importance of this profession. It is, in a way, some of the hardest work imaginable and I know now that it is not a decision to be made lightly.

Until next time,
Caroline

February.

-from the Latin, februum, meaning "purification."

It is also the hardest month to pronounce.

There are a lot of interesting holidays in February: Groundhog's Day, Valentine's Day, Black History Month, National-Bird Feeding Month (that one's for Dad), Chinese New Year, etc. Birthdays: George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Susan B. Anthony, Ronald Reagan...

Going back the purification concept....

I have noticed that I am really lazy sometimes. (Part of that comes with the territory of being a college student: wanting stay up late/sleep in, yawning in class, procrastinating on homework, etc.)

I came to this conclusion as I sat on my futon one night last week. I needed to look up a professor's office hours, and instead of leaning up, unzipping my book-bag, and finding my notebook, I went to the school website, found my class on the Blackboard site, and downloaded the syllabus. This may not seem lazy, but it is. In fact, it may seem smart and efficient, but it isn't.

You see, I downloaded the syllabus and read the office hours, closed it, and then promptly moved on to the next tab on my browser and forgot all about the office hours. Then, I had to lean up, unzip my book-bag, find my notebook, and look them up again.

I had reason to remember them after that.

What does all of this have to do with purification, you ask?

It is a small, simple reminder to live purposefully; with intention; to avoid distraction and busyness as much as possible; to live in the moment, appreciating and celebrating people and times that bring us together.

It is a variation of stopping to smell the roses; to soak up the sunshine on a pretty day, and to marvel as the rain-drops slip down the window panes or the snow dusts the ground.

It is a reminder to love, and love deeply; to love with the love of our Creator, and to relish in His joy along the way.

Happy February, my friends!

2/5/11

Turkeys, Traditions, and Too Many Tests

Turkeys: As this past Thursday was Thanksgiving, I felt I should say something about food, or family, or thankfulness, or....something. I picked food because, well, my family likes to eat, and for that, I am thankful. The thing is, we don't eat turkey on Thanksgiving. We used to, but now we don't. We only eat turkey on the 4th of July. For Thanksgiving, Mom and I made our annual trip to Sam's to pick out a prize rotisserie chicken, fresh out of the oven. We loaded it up, along with a giant bag of rolls, and headed down the road to grandma's. She provided everything else, haha...dressing, collards, lima beans, corn, sweet potato pie, on, and on, and on... It was all very good.

Traditions: We took our annual trip to the mountains, caught up with our Charleston relatives, and did some shopping (no Black Friday outings for this crew). It was very cold up there and all the leaves were off the trees. It was kind of pretty in that Winter-y, dry kind of way.

As for the tests: let's not even talk about that right now. I counted it up...I have had 21 tests this semester. That is ridiculous. Exams start next week........no comment.... This week is dead week: when nothing, yet everything, is due. Yay for that!

on evolution...

[T]he human species is by no means the pinnacle of evolution. Evolution has no pinnacle and there is no such thing as evolutionary progress. Natural selection is simply the process by which life-forms change to suit the myriad opportunities afforded by the physical environment and by other life-forms.
-Matt Ridley, author of Genome: The Autobiography of a Species in 23 Chapters

      I won't claim to have a true interest/background in the whole creation vs. evolution debate, but I will admit it gets my wheels turning sometimes. A project in my senior Biology II class in high school was a learning experience aimed at examining the various points of both sides of the debate. Since my presentation portion was focused on DNA as God's universal code for life and much of the evidence I found was in support of the Intelligent Design Theory, I did not further my research into the spiritual aspects of the debate.


      A recent conversation with my parents sparked my interest again, and then a few days ago, I ran across this quote [see above]. I am by no means a scholar on the matter, but I believe there is something to be said for the relationship of the spiritual side of the debate to bring evidence against evolution.


       I believe that humanity's purpose on earth is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. I also believe that I was created in the image of God, separate and distinguished from other animals. I do admit the similarities in certain aspects of development and composition of other life forms, which coincide with some human characteristics, but I believe this was a specific design by God to show the order of the universe and His control over it. I am not saying that natural selection or micro-evolution does not exist, at least in some form, I am just saying that, when you get down to the basics of Evolutionary Theory, there is no goal other than survival. There is no "stopping point" in evolution, so to speak. There is no room for "purpose" or, perhaps more importantly, for a relationship with God.


        I don't have much more to say while on this soap-box. My knowledge sort of dries up here. The quote just caught my attention.

Well, my job is winding down...this Saturday should be my last day. Seasonal at best, I guess. I made in killing in commission though, thanks to the tax-free weekend. Can't complain about that.

I guess now it is back to re-arranging the bedroom and trying to squeeze in all my furniture.

A few things I learned from this weekend filled with shoes and impatient customers:

1. America runs on cigarettes and Mountain Dew. Literally. I thought this before (after working in a label-packaging factory), but I truly believe it now. These people don't believe in lunch breaks. All they focus on is who is bringing them a drink and when they can step out for a smoke.

2. Wearing dress shoes on a concrete floor for any amount of time over 3 hrs hurts your feet horribly.

3. Because of this pain, one must take significant amounts of ibuprofen for the first day or so just to be able to sleep.

4. Black people will try on every shoe in the store, not put them back in their spots, and then buy one pair on clearance.

5. White people will ask you to come help them find their size. Even if all the boxes are clearly labeled. It is like they can't read or something. It amazes me.

6. Cleaning dozens of mirrors is fun. They don't argue.

7. Smiling always helps.

8. Don't look at the clock.

9. Only right shoes are put on display (except Timberlands) and they must all face the same direction.

10. Corporate holds a significant amount of mental power over their stores. That inspection was scary...and I didn't even have much to lose.

11. As soon as you put all the socks on the rack, somebody will want the pair at the very back.

12. Cutting up with your co-workers is essential.

13. Peanut butter and jelly goes rather well with Doritos.

Thinking on my feet...

so, i got a job (a real one—not cutting grass). at a shoe store. in the podunk rock hill mall.

i literally walked up on it a few days ago. mom and i were in line to check out and i heard the manager telling somebody in front of us she just needed somebody to work for the next few weeks (to get them through the tax-free weekend and back to school). i told her i was willing to work, she gave me an application, and then hired me on the spot. i reported for duty yesterday and worked a few hours to learn the ropes. i worked a full 10 hours today and will do the same tomorrow. after sunday, i don’t know what they will need me to do, but i am fine either way (working or not working).

it has been fine so far…lots of running around and sorting shoes. we have to wear dress shoes, which totally sucks…my feet are killing me. who woulda thunk? such foot troubles…in a shoe store, no less.

it’s all good. it keeps me super busy for now and i get some money.

words, words, words

I recently discovered a new (well, new to me) artist/author. He is a little different...my brother says he draws like a kindergartener. His words, however, are very inspiring. He has a way to sum things up in a sentence or two and I think many people appreciate this. I have posted a few of my favorites (so far) and hope to read some more soon. He is definitely a man who loves his wife and his children, has been through some hard times, and who has a refreshingly unique perspective on life.

Quotes from Brian Andreas:

- "Anyone can slay a dragon ...but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That's what takes a real hero."

- "This is a giant block of whatever is most difficult for you to carry and trust me on this, you'll carry it more times than you can count until you decide that's exactly what you want to do most and then it won't weigh a thing anymore."

- "We sat in the car
the night dropped
down until the
only sounds were
the crickets and
the dance of our voices

for a moment
the world became
small enough to
roll back and forth
between us."

- "You may not remember the time you let me go first.
Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn't that far to go.
Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up.
You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:

Today, no matter what it takes,
we ride home together."

- "I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand and the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that."

- "You're the strangest person I ever met," she said. I said you too; we decided we'd know each other a long time."

- "I wish you could have been there for the sun & the rain and the long, hard hills. For the sound of a thousand conversations scattered along the road. For the people laughing and crying and remembering at the end. But, mainly, I wish you could have been there."

- "I held her close for only a short time, but after she was gone, I'd see her smile on the face of a perfect stranger and I knew she would be there with me all the rest of my days."

- "It is hard to forget, I said, when there is such an empty space when you are gone."

- "I sometimes wake in the early morning and listen to the soft breathing of my child and I think to myself, this is one thing I will never regret and I carry that quiet with me all day long."

- "Waiting for the pen to dry up so he can start fresh with thoughts that are worth new ink."

- "There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other's cooking and say it was good."

Peru 2010

Our team of 18 youth and adults spent 10 days in and around Cusco, Peru this June. After flying all day and spending all night in the Lima Airport, we arrived without a scratch in Cusco. Let me paint the picture—very brown and dusty, lots of dogs, crazy drivers, and lots of Spanish flying around.

The team worked in conjunction with Keith and Ruth Powlison (full time missionaries in Peru) building outdoor and indoor playgrounds at the Josephine House orphanage. We used oil based paint, most of which stayed on our hands instead of on the walls. In our extra time, we also worked on projects at their home (dry-walling ceilings and tiling bathrooms---the Powlisons have lived in this home for 12 years and it is still unfinished).

We stayed in a cozy little hotel in the heart of San Jeronimo complete with breakfast every morning (great coffee!) and two of the best staff members I have ever met. Cesar, 15, lived under the staircase of the hotel and was willing to do anything we needed him to do. Miriam, early 20’s, was an excellent cook. We all came to care for these two—a good reminder that mission work is not always cut and dried. Oftentimes it comes up in the most ordinary of places, such as gas stations and hotels, and in forms such as clearing your own dishes or offering a piece of cake to the 15 year old under the stairs. The smiles on their faces would melt your heart. I know that looking back on this trip, Miriam and Cesar will always pop into my mind.

Most of our meals were served alongside the children at the Josephine House or at the Powlisons. Everything was pretty normal (taco salad, pizza subs, black beans and rice), but then came the cuy. Otherwise known as guinea pig. Yes, guinea pig. And yes, I ate it. Lol. Think…dark meat chicken. There was not much meat on it, but there was a claw. Based on the reactions I have gotten from friends and family, I know you are grossed out by now, so I will stop talking about it, haha. Other interesting things to eat came in a Brazilian steakhouse we visited. Again, you had your normal cuts of beef, chicken, and pork. Then came the cow hearts. And the chicken gizzards. Yum. The last weird thing was in a buffet at Machu Picchu—alpaca. I will admit, I felt a little funny eating it, especially after thinking of the soft alpaca blankets I bought, but at least I can say I tried it.

We did get to attend a church service while in Peru. There was some praise music, a message about the 10 lepers, and lots of Spanish. I caught a lot of it, but the thing that stuck out to me the most was the praying. The young man leading the service was very humble and sincere. He kept saying, “Gracias, papa…” thanking his heavenly father for his family, his money, his life and his home. The service was very simple, yet moving. It was a good reminder of the universal nature of worship. We also had group devotions every night discussing the Beatitudes.

Despite the narrow roads and cramped quarters, we also got to visit a mountain school and perform our skit/make balloon animals. We got lost going up, so our trip turned into a 2 hr jeep ride complete with a donkey blocking the road and lots of horn honking (apparently whoever honks first has the right of way and the other person has to back up). Our other big adventure was to Machu Picchu- it was great going up and the actual ruin was amazing. Our tour guide, Sylvia, was hilarious; only a few language differences (wirgins, bysteries, and queers/virgins, mysteries, and squares). BUT, the ride down was a little rough. The train in front of us was “de-railed,” meaning it jumped a little bit off the track, nothing serious. It set us back 4 hours though. We even had to walk through part of the de-railed train and then get off and walk beside the track for a while. We waited for PJ, Andrew, and Melissa (who were a few cars behind us) and met some nice backpackers—one guy from the UK and a girl from Boston. We got back around 2:00 the next morning (Mrs. Beth and Ms. Penny were extremely worried). Cesar and the owner of the hotel had potato soup waiting for us. A few hours later, we boarded our plane to Lima and the group settled into the South American Missions (SAM) House for our last couple of days. I had to leave that night, so we all headed out to downtown Lima and toured around some. We saw the changing of the guard, saw some of the nightlife, and then I said my goodbyes and headed off to meet my family in Boston for our New England vacation.

Needless to say, after 59 total hours of traveling in 3 weeks (21 hrs flying, 38 hrs driving), hitting 4 states, Canada, and Peru, I was glad to make it home.

Continued prayer concerns: The Josephine House is mostly in need of good, reliable staff. Many of the issues that face daycares in the US are also present in Peru. The kids (some of which are handicapped/have Down’s): Moses, Jose, Daniel, Catalina, Veronica, Fabiola, Fabrisio, Zoe… are all wonderful. They are content to just sit in your lap and play with blocks. All they need is love and attention. It is so wonderful that they have a place to stay and good food to eat, but there is always a need for more.

On our last day of work, a new baby was dropped off at the orphanage. She has a severe cleft palate and has to be fed with a medicine dropper (pending surgery). When we left, she was staying at the Powlison’s home because she required so much extra attention. Ruth named her Zoe and we all took turns feeding her. Please pray for wisdom surrounding all the decisions that will need to be made regarding her housing and surgery options.

Also, it is important to keep the Powlison family and another missionary family that we met, Scott and Megan, as they are full time missionaries in this area.

Praises for safe travels and health for our team. It was a wonderful trip and I hope to do more trips like this in the future.

Bullet points from my journal:

- Natalie stuffing the pillowcase in the cold air vent on the van to Atlanta

- Playing Dutch Blitz in the airport with Pastor Roberts and Ms. Penny

- Not flushing toilet paper (the pipes are too small)…and yes, the water spins the other way

- Cramming into the Toyota

- COLD showers

- Blankets so heavy you couldn’t move

- Brushing your teeth with bottled water

- Lots of bread (and coffee)

- Winter Solstice celebration—sacrificing a llama

- Kids are kids, no matter where you go. If you build them a playground…they will still play in the dirt.

- Also, it doesn’t matter what shape the balloon starts out as (a dog, a sword, a hat…usually all three), it eventually becomes a worm.

- Peruvian time—it teaches patience

- Singing Happy Birthday 16 times for Sarah, then 18 times the next day for Andrew (it also teaches patience)

- Tangentines

- Oil paint doesn’t wash off

- The 2 hr drive up to the village. On a one lane dirt road. In a tiny Jeep. With 8 people. We got lost…Scott said he could see Chile, lol

- Singing hymns in the lobby (Amazing Grace, Come thou fount, Turn your eyes)

- Chapstick

- The dead cow on the side of the road and the man with the knife walking a little further down

- Yogurt on French toast

- Zoe- the baby that was dropped off on our last day of work-she is only a few weeks old and has a severe cleft palate

- Machu Picchu and our horror movie checklist

- Domino’s pizza in Lima

- The changing of the guard

- My solo flights from Lima to Miami and then from Miami to Boston

For more information on the Josephine House, visit: http://web.mac.com/kppowlison/iWeb/Josephine%20House/Welcome.html