Mexico, July 3-11 2010

The first missions trip I went on was in the summer of 2007. Sixteen of us, about half youth and half adults, went to Costa Rica and stayed at the Capernwray Bible school in San Jose. We drywalled a tiny church (the size of my bedroom) and painted one large room of a women's shelter green. I was fifteen, about to turn sixteen, and as far as I can remember my primary motivation for going on the trip was that it sounded fun and my friends were going. I bought a camera, got a passport, swam in the Pacific while it rained, and went on a plane for the first time. I also experienced some interpersonal difficulties that I don't recall dealing with very well, and generally didn't do much except what was expected of me. However, as a first missions trip experience, I'm glad I was there.

The second missions trip I went on, in August 2008, was spent half in Quebec City, QC, and half in a tiny town (also in Quebec) right near the US border, called Noyan. During the first six days, while we helped with the initiative Quebec Espoir (Hope for Quebec) in Quebec City, I felt quite insecure and isolated; most of the people we interacted with were speaking French, and the extent of the outreach I could manage was to hold out a Gospel of John to people on the street and say, "Un cadeau?" ("A gift?"). Our days of outreach were fairly uncertain and spur-of-the-moment affairs, a setup that, as an anxious Type A personality, I didn't respond to well. During these six days, it poured rain and I soaked my shoes, I saw a master Jack Sparrow impersonator, I developed a faux French accent, and I turned 17.

During the second six days, the trip improved for me. Despite being horribly homesick and nursing a fairly bad attitude left over from the first six days, I enjoyed the time we spent nailing siding to Noyan's new church. I also went water-skiing (or tried) for the first time, received a can of real Quebec maple syrup, went to a hot air balloon fair, watched Sahara, and got a blister from using a hammer. Even reflecting back on the trip on the plane as we headed home, I felt like I'd been there mostly for myself and that had somewhat sabotaged the experience.

I'm leaving for Vicente Guerrero, Baja, Mexico in 12 days, to serve in an orphanage, and this is what I've been reflecting on. My initial motivation for signing up for this trip was a sense of, "Oh, I've got it now. I know it's not for fun and I'll be able to really step outside myself now that I know what NOT to do." I'm not sure this is true, and that I won't come home from Mexico with some new additions to the How Not to Serve Selflessly list, but I do feel that I have some perspective on the way short-term missions affects an individual and what the best way to deal with some of that is. But I'm intimidated.

I'm scared that I'll forget to pack something essential. (I forgot my passport in the printer for Costa Rica, and my dad had to drive back from the airport and get it for me before our flight took off.) I'm scared that I'll be completely unprepared for some unforeseen aspect of the trip. I'm scared that I'll lose perspective and fail at being the selfless, eager-to-serve person I want to be. I'm scared of feeling inadequate, stupid, shallow or ineffective.

Prayer for all of this would be amazing. I've been praying about it myself, but particularly from July 3-11, I'd really appreciate the support.

It's not that I'm not excited. I bought new books for the plane ride and am collecting a little stack of things to bring on my dresser, and I'm ecstatic about the group of people with whom I get to spend a week. (I'm not just saying that because some of them will probably read this.) But I know now that short-term missions isn't a vacation or a thrill ride.

It might not be pretty. But it'll be worth it.

Driving

I'm hoping to have my driver's license by the beginning of August, so recently I've been getting behind the wheel a bit more. The difficulties that I've been having are almost all small things that I never would have anticipated - stopping, for instance. The first time I stopped I stomped the brake so hard it was whiplash-inducing. I have graduated to slowing for traffic lights with success, and am presently struggling with lane changes. (I'm CONVINCED that I'm missing something. I don't care if I've mirror-checked and shoulder-checked! Someone is going to run into me!) I guess this is a rite of passage into adulthood? Learning to tell between the gas and the brake?

At some point I'm also going to have to buckle down and actually get my taxes done, another delightful part of entering the age of majority. Last Sunday afternoon I forgot I was supposed to work and nobody was responsible for my schedule or my subsequent apology but me. It's a little uncomfortable to be accountable for these larger things; to keep track of my finances, to make sure I know where to be and when and how I'm getting there, to be the person I'm accountable to.

If I think about it too much, I get intimidated considering how much more independent I'll be next year. I'll have to balance a budget, get homework in on time, work and save, and make sure I do random things like go to the dentist. I'll have to make my own grocery list and pay for my own food - what I don't eat in the cafeteria, where I'll have to watch the balance on my student card. I'll have to make sure my credit card is paid off. It's startling how much I didn't realize I had to be aware of, to be independent. It makes me uncertain that I want to be, sometimes.

In essence, a lot of the time I find myself saying, "I guess I'm driving?" instead of, "I want to drive!"

Constantine I

I got my first laptop around Christmas of 2007. It would not be an exaggeration to say I have it with me in almost every single picture. It (he, Fitzwilliam I) was a white iBook G4 that I received secondhand from my uncle, and the feeling of having a laptop for the first time was similar to what I imagine getting your first car must feel like. Since February of 2007 I'd been spending a lot of time instant messaging various online friends, and eventually got to the point where I was dissatisfied with having only an hour of time on the computer per day (our family rule at the time). I worked out a deal with my mom, and every night I'd do the supper dishes and make breakfast for the next morning, and often spend the rest of the evening on the computer. My internet acquaintances have, I'm sure, very clear memories of the times I had to beg and plead to use the computer and be forever negotiating with my siblings for fifteen more minutes and the like. It was a huge relief to finally be able to do my own thing where I wanted and when I wanted. To this day, NOBODY but me uses my computer. (Well, okay, with a very few exceptions.) It was almost literally my best friend.

I enjoyed Fitzwilliam I until April of 2008, when water got splashed on his keyboard and he spluttered and died over the course of a (very unpleasant) few days. I cried. A lot. My uncle tried valiantly to fix him, but water is to electronics as Kryptonite is to Superman, and Fitzwilliam I was relegated to the back of my closet, where he still resides. I spent a month reliving the begging-and-pleading-for-15-more-minutes days.

In May of 2008, my mom (fankoo mommy) bought me another laptop, also a secondhand iBook G4, who was christened Fitzwilliam II and kept far away from any spillable liquid. Perhaps due to how much more careful I was, Fitzwilliam II lasted all the way until April of 2010, a respectable two years for an already secondhand laptop. When his screen began dying with increasing frequency, it was agreed that money spent fixing him was not money spent well, and on May 7, 2010, Constantine (Connie for short, after Robin McKinley's vampire) arrived in the mail.
Connie has a webcam.

He is a white MacBook, widescreen, brand spanking new, and already sporting several stylish Fringe-themed desktops. I have reveled in his ability to play flawless video (by viewing, over and over, the preview for the Fringe finale) and played with the iPhoto face recognition technology, and watched the strange ways PhotoBooth can deform my pictures, and moved all my music into iTunes. Connie also comes with a 1-year warranty, which I may end up extending.

I am very happy. Long live Connie. (Vampires are immortal, you know.)

Countdowns

On April 3rd, I realized that it was exactly 3 months until our missions team to Mexico (which I am on) leaves on July 3rd. Since then, I have been fervently wishing it were the end of June already: the beginning of my (fun!) summer, and almost the end of my working year. In the spirit of enjoying life how it is...but also looking forward to things coming:

22 days until I take the SAT on May 1st (and move one step closer to acceptance into university).

75 days until I leave for Mexico on July 3rd (returning home on the 11th).

122 days until I see potr/Jamie on August 9th!

126 days until my birthday on August 13th (it's a Friday again this year. It was a Friday the year I turned 13, too).

151 days until September 7th, the day I move into residence at Ambrose.

(And 6 days until the next episode of Fringe, White Tulip. Simple pleasures.)

Excuses, excuses...

My blogging constancy lately has been about the same as my journaling constancy, which makes sense, since they come to the same thing--one more private and one less so.

I got a gorgeous journal for my birthday in August. It looks like a ship's log and is made of leather and thick, parchment-y paper, and it sat in my room for months unused because I couldn't make up my mind about what epic purpose suited this wonderful thing. Eventually I decided that I was being silly and started using it as a journal, which I solemnly promised myself I would not neglect.

Ha ha.

What you have to understand about this (and what is part of my feeble defence) is that I am supremely bad at journaling. I'd like to think I'm good at it, since yeesh, if I can't write about my own life, what CAN I write about? But my entries tend to descend into tedium like, "Today I woke up and did not want to get out of bed. But I did. Then I went to work. Zia told me she hated Piglet. My feet have been hurting after work lately. Anyway, it was a long day and" then I'm distracted by something else. I did manage to be semi-consistent for about a month, and then I can cite to you a host of excuses about ceasing to be consistent, but the point is, I've been horrible at any degree of regularity since about October. I meant to memorize quizzing verses. I meant to play the piano every day. I meant to learn some degree of Spanish for the missions trip in July.

I meant to...wait for it...blog! Consistently!

The reality is that until I'm done working shifts at two jobs, shifts that are different every week, and juggling that with church involvement and studying for the SAT in May (which I should be doing as I am typing this) and getting the last bits of my university application ready to go (if you're curious, that's going well and I have residence acceptance. Also the director of the English Lit program emailed me and we used Elvish. I feel at home already) I won't be regular or consistent at anything except that necessary stuff.

It's not too much longer; we're almost into April (oops. Header.) and come next year I'm pretty sure I'll HAVE to blog or I'll be bombarded with questions about how university is going.

All that to say, please forgive me. I'll be here. If you're really curious about how I'm doing, fire me off an email or message me on facebook. But I can promise nothing, blog-wise, of a terribly excellent degree of regularity.