June 30, 2009

Sweet, sweet home.

For nearly a year, I’ve been waiting.  

Waiting for it to have been a year since we left England, so that we could go back, shamelessly.  Desperate.  Homesick for a place that, by all normal definitions, is not my home.  If we could just wait a year, we could say we really tried.  That we gave America a fair chance – that magic number: One Year – and it just wasn’t for us.

I missed the trains, the bakeries and the Saturday markets.  I missed our house group, our church, our tiny little flat that was once a Post Office.  Our life there had been perfect.  That’s what I told myself.  

I interviewed the owner of a well-known restaurant in Chapel Hill before Christmas, and she told me she’d moved here from New York for love, and that it had taken five years for it to feel like home; for her to let go of the notion that she was just visiting, and would return to her city any day.  

I felt sick.

And so, when we went to England on June 3, I was prepared to scope out London neighborhoods and job opportunities.  Simon even had an interview.  

But we had only been there a few days when we started to realize that we didn’t want to slot back into our old life.  Things are different now.  We’re different.

2008 was, quite possibly, the worst year of my life.  Because of bureaucratic nonsense, I was separated from my husband for four months, and forced to celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary during a weekend jaunt back to England.  My faith suffered.  My health suffered.  Anxiety and depression assaulted me at every turn.  

But it’s not America’s fault.  And maybe that’s why we need to be here now, to see that God is good to us on both sides of the world.  To see that home has become something new.  It is not the town where Simon grew up, or our 500 square-foot flat, or my parents’ white farm house.

Home, for now, stands alone.  It is independent of a city or street – it is the cloud of love, of friendship, of community, where we make our life together.

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June 28, 2009

Pack your bags, we’re headed west.

I’ve got to get something off my chest: three weeks ago, I was preparing my heart to return to England.  

But things change quickly, and if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s not to fight it.

We’re moving, alright, but not overseas.  We’re not even moving out of state.  We’re just moving west: toward the mountains, toward the cooler weather.  Toward trees that turn red and gold in the Autumn, and where there are hills to sled down when it snows – which it does more often – instead of miles and miles of flat, flat cotton fields.

We’re moving to Winston-Salem.  To the home of tobacco –  (I went to college up there on a Reynolds’ Scholarship, my student mantra: “Keep smokin’, folks.  You’re payin’ for my education.”) – and Moravian stars, and Krispy Kreme.  

We’ve been talking about this possibility for over a year.  We’ve got amazing friends in and around Winston, but now it seems right.  And it’s funny how God can bring you full circle, back to something you already considered and ruled out.  It wasn’t the wrong place, just the wrong time.  Our hearts weren’t ready yet.  

Now they are.

And so I covet your prayers: for a house, for jobs, for a church, and for a community where we can feed and be fed.

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June 25, 2009

The real Michael Jackson died a long time ago.

What left this earth this afternoon was a broken, lost individual; the shell of a man who’s been looking for decades for an elusive Hope it seems he never found.

We can mourn the loss of a soul that it seems never made peace with its Creator, but we should be wary of glorifying a man whose life was riddled with scandal and addiction.

A talented musician, yes…but I ask more of a role model.

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June 24, 2009

My father’s day

I’ve been gone for days. Physically, yes, but mentally too.

I checked my email once while we were in Myrtle Beach from Friday until yesterday.  Vacation doesn’t feel much like vacation if you’re just as plugged in while you’re gone as you would be at home.

My dad – bless him – is not known for his ability to relax.  Growing up a preacher’s kid, I remember our vacations being interrupted on numerous occasions by phone calls from church members saying that someone was dying, had died, that dad was needed back home to pray with the family, to lead the funeral.  He’d usually drive back for a couple of days, meeting us later, sometimes just in time to pack us up and take us home.

His current preaching job is only part-time, and somehow he’s found two small churches who value his family time, who don’t seem to mind that he wants to spend time with his wife, or play in three different bands, or own his own music store.  But even those things keep him from unplugging now.

Two years ago, when Simon and I had first gotten married, Dad and Mom came to England to visit.  Business was slow at the store, and it consumed his thoughts.  He spent most of the trip emailing back and forth with the store manager, desperately trying to figure out how to pay the UPS man, the electric bill, at the beginning of what we had no idea would become this Recession.

I love that my dad has always worked so hard for our family.  We lived on a meager pastor’s salary when we were kids so my mom could stay home with us, and it wasn’t until a few years ago that I discovered just how little we’d lived on.  It wasn’t until recently that I realized the reason my Care Bear didn’t look like my friends’ was that my grandma had made it from a pattern instead of buying it from Toys ‘R Us; or that not everyone got Christmas dress hand-me-downs from Mary Morgan Barbour – some people got new dresses from Belk, or first-day-of-school outfits from Limited Too.

I love that I grew up this way.  I love that my dad sacrificed so much – and worked so hard – to take care of his family.  He’s downsized his business now, in light of the economic slowing down.  But I covet time away for him.  I want him to turn off his phone, to lock the shop doors, to leave the laptop in its case.  I want him to read a book on the couch, to play bocce ball in the sand, to sit in a beach chair while the waves lap around his feet.

It’s the least he could do.

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June 17, 2009

I think you watched it too.

I remember watching an episode of Touched by an Angel, guest starring child opera singer, Charlotte Church.  In it, Roma Downey lamented that she wished she had a voice as beautiful as Church’s, which could make the sounds Downey heard in her head, could praise God the way Downey dreamed of doing.

My mom was watching with me, and said, “That’s how I feel.”

As a singer, I hadn’t thought before, how it must feel to open your mouth and hear something come out that doesn’t match what’s in your heart.

But when I watch a dancer move her body like – let’s be honest – I’ll never be able to…

I get it.

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June 17, 2009

Three words: vacation, vacation, vacation.

Finally, we’re back from England, after a two-week visit that, to be honest, felt very little like a vacation.  We were so desperate to see everyone we’ve been missing for the past year,  that we made plans morning, noon, and night.  Fun, but exhausting.

Now we’re back on American soil, I’ve got allergies, and Simon caught a stomach virus from his mom just as we were leaving the country.  Basically, I think we’ll be spending the next couple of days recovering – until we head to MYRTLE BEACH (said in a Spring Break! tone) on Friday with three of my best friends from college and their husbands.

Our 5-day beach weekend plans include:

  • eating breakfast every morning at the local pancake house, The Golden Griddle
  • reading several books
  • cooking out most every night
  • playing Cranium and Power Uno*
  • splitting into same-sex groups to talk about our favorite subject: marriage  (we don’t plan this, like a Campus Crusade conference…it just happens.)

Now that sounds like a vacation.

*Power UNO is my favorite card game.  I’m not sure where it came from; it was passed on to me from my sister, who learned it from her friend Jimmy, who learned it from one of his friends, so…who knows?  It’s a souped-up version of regular UNO, and it’s super addictive.  Basically, it’s regular UNO, plus these extra rules:

  1. Any time anyone lays down a 0, everyone has to make an O shape with their mouth and pop their hand on it – last one to do this has to draw another card. (Play picks up with the person to the left of the one who had to draw.)
  2. Any time someone lays down a 9, everyone has to slap the table.  Last one to do this has to draw a card. (Again, play picks up to the left.)
  3. You can go out of turn if you have the EXACT same card (same color, same number) that someone has just played.  For instance, someone across from me lays down a blue 2.  It’s not my turn, but if I’m fast, I can lay down a blue 2, thus getting rid of my cards quicker.  (Play picks up to the left of me.)
  4. If someone lays down a Draw 2, and you’re next, you can lay down another Draw 2 if you’ve got one, instead of drawing.  If you do this, the person after you has to draw 4, unless they have a Draw 2, which means the next person has to draw 6, etc.  My friend Ashley once had to draw 16!  Ouch.
  5. If you’re stuck, and you can’t play, you can ask if anyone can help you, instead of drawing a card from the deck.  If another player has a card you need, they can slide it across the table, face down, and say the magic “You can trust me” word which, for some reason, is “Cougar.”  The trick here is that sometimes, people are just trying to get rid of card, and there’s nothing that says they can’t lie, so you’ve got to decide whether you trust them or not.  Remember when Ashley had to draw 16? Well, it was her turn, there had been 8 Draw 2’s laid down, and she asked if anyone can help.  My scumbag friend Steve gave her an earnest look and said, “Cougar, Ashley, cougar” and slid a card across to her.  It was a yellow 1.  She couldn’t play it and had to draw 16. Steve is a jerk.*

*Steve is not a jerk.  He’s actually probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met.

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June 10, 2009

Guest Blogger: Catherine McDuffie (my little sister)

I’m still in England for another week, and my little sister (who’s not so little anymore, mind you), has graciously written a blog on human trafficking for me to share with all of you lovely people who read Great Smitten.  God has blessed Catherine with a heart that breaks for oppressed peoples all over the world, and she’s currently interning with an anti-trafficking organization in Greensboro, North Carolina, and preparing to spend a year learning Spanish in Mexico.

You can read her blog at sociallyactive.wordpress.com, and follow her on Twitter at @catherinetatom.

 

Slavery Still Exists?

ellen

Human trafficking is defined as the recruitment, harboring, obtaining, and transporting of persons by use of force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of subjecting them to forced labor or commercial sexual exploitation. 

A few facts..

  • There are at least 30 million slaves worldwide, more than any other time in history. 80% of these victims are exploited for sex.
  • Human trafficking is a multi-billion dollar industry. The second largest crime in the U.S.A.
  • Over 50% of child pornography web sites originate from the U.S.A.
  • U.S. citizens account for 25% of sex tourists worldwide and 80% in Latin America.
  • A victim of trafficking may look like many of the people that you see everyday.
  • Over 200,000 youth are victims of commercial sexual exploitation within the United States.
  • There is a trafficking victim brought into the United States every 10 minutes.
  • Human Trafficking is rapidly on the rise in North Carolina due to military presence, Interstate 95 & 85, coastal ports, agricultural industry and a large immigrant population.

Human trafficking is nothing short of modern-day slavery. I’m doing an internship in Greensboro with the Triad Ladder of Hope, which combats Human Trafficking in the Triad (bet you didn’t even know it existed!) It’s all over the state of North Carolina, as well as the entire United States. I went with our Executive Director, Danielle, to do a presentation last week and when we introduced the concept to the ladies, a few were somewhat familiar with it. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that…it happens mainly in Eastern Europe…very sad,” one lady said. Granted it’s great she’s even HEARD of human trafficking, although her facts are somewhat skewed. Labor and sex trafficking are happening right here in Greensboro, High Point and Winston-Salem; right here in our own backyards.

Many people don’t understand that, I’m going to take the liberty to say ALL, women in prostitution do not want to be there. What a degrading position to be in as a human being! Most of the women in the sex industry are there by force. Whether they’ve been trafficked into the country or abused by someone who threatens to ruin their “reputation” by not performing certain acts, they are victims of sex trafficking. Many vulnerable women abroad are lured into the sex trade by false promises of well paying jobs, work visas or passports. Traffickers, who are often disguised as legitimate businessmen, or a modeling agency, offer safe passage to destination countries, or convince a woman that he loves her. 

Danielle has been asked numerous times about the statistics of human trafficking and her answer is simply, “What number is enough?”

Is one human being not enough reason for us to get up and say, ‘no, it’s not okay,’? What number is large enough to get the body of Christ to stand up against this horrific problem? Human Trafficking has surpassed drug trafficking in Europe and is now the continent’s number one crime; it’s time for us to take a stand.

Not only is it necessary for us to take a stand against human trafficking, but it is also INCREDIBLY necessary for us to reach out to those who are or have been victims. Can you imagine being a 12-year-old girl and being sold 30 times a day to be raped by men who bought them? This is such a devastating thing to be involved in and the rehabilitation process is incredibly difficult for victims. Without Christ, there is no way to survive something like this…and that is our role as believers and followers of Christ! I’ve been asked how I would respond to a woman dressed like a prostitute coming and sitting beside me in church. My initial reaction was “Whoa, that’d be weird and inappropriate”…and then it was such a slap in the face when I realized what position I was putting someone so broken into. The same role we put victims in when we call them prostitutes, or when we cringe at the thought of seeing one of these broken women walking down a dark street. We should be broken with them and for them…

My charge to you is this: If, when we read Luke12:48 [To whom much is given, much is expected], and wonder what exactly it means, this is it. Those of us who have been fortunate to live comfortably are now forced to think of those who haven’t. By following Christ we agree to love the homeless, the widows, the orphans…we agree to forget how we’re seen by our business colleagues, employers or our friends. Following Christ wholeheartedly means to take up the cross and bear it. Christ died for us, ALL of us, don’t you think it’s time we showed others what that means? 

Ways to Learn More/Get Involved:
The Nest Foundation
International Justice Mission
Not For Sale
World Relief

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June 7, 2009

England is brilliant.

We landed in London bright and early Friday morning – thanks to everyone who prayed for safety!  I took a 3-hour nap when we got in, and haven’t stopped partying/visiting/reuniting since then.  

Friday night we met up with friends at the Queen’s Head – my favorite pub in Chesham.  It’s in the old part of town.  You know, the part with the cottages and tiny doors.

Saturday, we hit up our friend Russell’s birthday party.  I swear, Russell and his wife Ellie throw the BEST parties – always themed, always all-out on the costume front.  Russell’s birthday a couple of years ago had a pirate theme, Ellie’s last birthday was a masquerade ball, and this one was a Cowboys and Indians party.  I, being from Benson – home of Mule Days - didn’t have to do much.  I just put on a plaid shirt (which I always wear) and cowboy boots (which I always wear).  Unfortunately, cowboy hats don’t travel well; neither do guns.  Yikes.  

But we’re pretty cute, no?

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Here I am with Ellie – she’s an Indian, obviously, but we put our differences aside for the party’s sake.  Kind of like Thanksgiving.  

 

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This morning, we visited our old church, Broadway Baptist, and I got to hold my friends’ Simon and Christine’s new baby boy, Nathan.  

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After church, we – quite controversially – went for coffee with all our friends at Starbucks.  We used to go to Caffé Nero after church every Sunday, but apparently The ‘Bucks is much better now that our favorite barista has moved over.  You may remember him from this post, and I think you’ll be pleased to know he remembered my order – a soy chai latté – AGAIN.  How does he do it?

It’s great to be back with all our friends, in the community where we started our married life.  It’s weird to be here, but mostly it’s weird because it isn’t weird.  

In a way, it feels like we never left.

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June 3, 2009

How low can you go?

This isn’t the first time Simon and I have been in limbo since we got married, and certainly not since we started dating.  I can’t count the times God has drawn me to a place of complete and utter dependence on him: no idea where I’m going, certain only of Who is taking me there.

We moved everything we own into a storage unit over the weekend.  It’s odd – and freeing – when all your worldly possessions are in a 10×10 room.  We’re staying with my mom and dad (and whoever else will take us) for the few days we’re around over the next two months, and we’re committing this time to praying for our future.

Desperate to plant ourselves, to start our family, we are trying to enjoy this season of uncertainty while it lasts.  I get the feeling that one day, I’ll be looking back on this time and missing the way God showed himself to me, the way we just had to let go of worldly securities and trust in His plan for our future.

We fly out to England tomorrow, and we can’t wait.  We haven’t been back since last September.  I think that’s a record, even for me.  Since 2003, the longest I’ve not been in England is, I think, about 8 months…

I’m looking forward to meeting our friends at the pub on Friday night, having a drink with Veronica and Laura and Beshlie and Sophie; to sipping a coffee at Caffe Nero and sitting by the big window so I can watch people walk by; to praying with Simon’s Auntie Anne; to holding my friend Christine’s new son; to enjoying the gray coolness after North Carolina’s sweltering heat.

I plan to update here at Great Smitten while we’re abroad, so please stop by and get a taste of England through my eyes…

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June 2, 2009

Photo Booth is good for many things….

…including applying mascara in public places.

Photo 104

Got a Mac?  What do you use Photo Booth for?  

(or “For what purpose do you use Photo Booth?” – more grammatically correct, less easy to say)

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