The Pursuit of Peacefulness

This weekend we traded in our business clothes for sweats and tennis shoes, shed our city-skin, and headed west for more graceful ground.

Robbie and I had randomly hopped aboard this crew of campers on my whim. Sometimes my whims are not so reliable. This was not one of those times. We spent the weekend in lovely company, settled into the folds of God's great creation: Shenandoah National Park.

Oh how nature soothes my soul.

Shenandoah is gorgeous. The water sits in the air here, misting the mountains and creating this ethereal haze. You could so easily forget the world in this place. You could so easily sit and ponder the expanse of hills and trees for eternity.

I try really hard to find glimmers of peace in the city. I walk along the waterfront, I visit the 300-year-old buildings at Georgetown University, I slip between the gravestones at Arlington Cemetery. But in Shenandoah, the peace is complete. I didn't have to look for it, it was just there.

In the morning we scrambled up the mountain—over boulders and through crevices and under tree branches. We hefted climbing gear onto our backs and when we needed a break, we rested on slabs of stone that overlooked the valley. We lent helping hands and took pictures and rationed trail mix. We sang Sound of Music and swatted away gnats and pointed out mushrooms. And finally, we perched at the very top of Old Rag and every which way we turned, we beheld miles and miles of pure land.

And as we walked back down the other side of the mountain, my friend Kate turned to me and said, "You have such a calm personality. You just exude . . . peace."

I laughed, hearing that. It validated me. Mother Nature had done her job. I had been filled.

This is why I am the middle child—the peace-maker. This is why my personality color is white—the peace-seeker. This is why I have such a strange obsession with sunsets, with silence, with serenity. This is why I listen to piano music on the bus, why I take walks by myself, why I do yoga.

For peace. For these mountain moments of quiet and calm—hard to catch but easy to embrace.

A night for the books

Confession: I just cannot get over the DC temple. Every time I see it a little light flashes in my soul. It's like if God had a house on earth, this is what it would look like. Go figure. Whoever designed it was a genius.

 

We stopped by the visitor's center first, to meet up with a friend. We didn't find our friend, but we did find quite a few sister missionaries and a free Lindsay Sterling concert! 

One of the sisters, Sister Owens, is new to the area so I hadn't seen her before. She is a striking human being--she seriously looks like the girl from Tangled. Big green eyes and long blonde hair. But more than that she just exudes spirituality. But not in a pretentious way. In a completely humble, beautiful way. I walked away thinking, "I need to get to know that girl. I want to learn to be like her."

We left the temple at twilight. We headed back over to the visitor's center to catch the end of the concert, but honestly I didn't really want to go inside because the sky. Holy cow.

Lucky for me, I had time to stare heavenward for a little while and listen to Lindsay Sterling's final song. Beautiful temple, beautiful sky, beautiful weather, beautiful music, beautiful people. Beautiful experience all around.

On the metro home Robbie and I decided not to switch lines, which meant we'd have to walk five blocks home instead of two. No big deal. It was nice out, after all.

Welp, when we got out of the station it was POURING. But we're adventure folk, so we just looked at each other and laughed and started running down the dark city streets in the pounding rain, clutching our purses to our chests and trying not to slip out of our shoes. It was nothing short of awesome.

But after running five blocks we noticed that the street numbers were getting smaller, not bigger like they were supposed to. 

"That's strange. I swear we were going in the right direction."

Turns out that in all our excitement, we had accidentally run five blocks in the pouring rain in the wrong direction. 

So we turned around and dejectedly walked the five blocks back, and then another five to actually get home. 

And even though we walked in the door soaking wet, hungry, tired, and sore, I'm still putting this night down as one of the best nights I've had here. 

Because when am I going to get to do that again?

 

Happy things today

-My colleague stopping by to tell me, "Great job on the article! Very well done."
-Free tacos on the 20th floor!
-Fresh, warm cookies for Joey's birthday
-Proving my skills of deceit by luring Joey into the lobby to sing him Happy Birthday under the premise of needing help with the database
-The old black man on the street holding a sign that said "Today is my birthday. Let's take a selfie!"
-Discussing the finer points of Tindering
-Learning about all the cool apps I've been missing out on. I'm such a bad millennial.
 -Realizing that I don't have to go back to school in the fall and the possibilities for my life are ENDLESS
-Running 4 miles and not getting lost and/or kidnapped
-Playing a game of pick-up soccer at the park in the dark

Miriam's Kitchen

If you ever want a boost of self-esteem and a healthy dose of humility, volunteer at a food kitchen.

I showed up at 6 a.m. this morning. Rolando, the guy in charge, gave me a crash course of the drink station operation and then as he walked off he said, "We're short-staffed today. So it's gonna be trial by fire for you."

Challenge accepted.

A few years ago this kind of thing would have made me uncomfortable, but somewhere along the line I've figured out that people are just people--even if they're homeless. And living in DC has definitely helped quell my fear of strangers. For the most part, people are good. There's really nothing to be afraid of.

At 6:30, hundreds of people flooded through the doors. Men, for the most part. Middle-aged, disheveled, hungry and thirsty men. But so friendly!

"Can you get me a cup of ice please, sweetheart?"
"You're pretty. You married? Why aren't you married?!"
"How do you say your name? Jen-na? How you doin' today Jenna?"
"Jenna. You have beautiful eyes."
"Are you doing okay? You sure you're doing okay?"

I had a great time with it. I did a lot of coffee- and juice-pouring, ice-scooping, and laughing. It was nice to be busy and it was certainly humbling to see the underside of this city. Towards the end, after the initial mad rush was over, I looked out over everyone sitting at the tables and thought, "Wow. These are God's children."

It was a sweet moment for me. These are the people who the world judges and ignores, who are labeled "misfits" and "castoffs," who have bleak pasts and probably bleak futures--but God loves them all the same.

Annie Dillard

 

If you want to read me, read Annie Dillard.

She has this knack for scripting my thoughts into words. She always says exactly what I wanted to say, but better.

For work I'm supposed to write an article on refugees. I haven't written in awhile; I'm a little out of practice. But I've found that Annie Dillard cracks my mind open a little bit, helps me see inside myself. Last summer I read The Maytrees and I was thinking in poetry for weeks.

So when I'm stumped in my writing, I read Annie. Because if you're thinking in poetry, then anything you write is bound to be beautiful, right?

Here, let me share some of her charm with you:

“She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live. She read books as one would breathe ether, to sink in and die.”
― Annie Dillard, The Living

“The secret is not to write about what you love best, but about what you, alone, love at all.”
― Annie Dillard 

“After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagances, flinging intricacies and colossi down aeons of emptiness, heaping profusions on profligacies with ever-fresh vigor. The whole show has been on fire from the word go. I come down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire; that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek  

“You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.”
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk

“You can't test courage cautiously, so I ran hard and waved my arms hard, happy.”
― Annie Dillard, An American Childhood 

"There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage.

I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus.

Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock--more than a maple--a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek  

The one-time peanut butter shake

Yesterday evening, after four hours of paper writing, I asked my friend Rebecca if she wanted to take a little shake break and run over to Potbelly's. Last time we were there, the guy behind the counter revealed to us that there was a secret menu, a secret menu that involved peanut butter shakes.

So I walk up to the counter and order a peanut butter oreo shake.

Note: There's one guy who works at Potbelly's who is notorious for his strangeness. He's definitely got the Bob Marley vibe going on, and he always has this look on his face that says, "Does it look like I care?"

He says, "We don't have peanut butter."

I say, "Yes you do. It's right there." [pointing to the shelf with a row of peanut butter jars]

"Well we don't do peanut butter shakes."


"Yes you do! It's on your secret menu!"

"Who told you that?"

"That guy over there. Last time we were here he said you have a secret menu with peanut butter shakes." [pointing to the other guy behind the counter]

[turning to the other guy] "Ben, you told her about the peanut butter??"

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

At this point it was getting a little ridiculous so I said, "It's fine. I'll just have an oreo shake."

Ben: "No, no. I will make you a peanut butter shake." 

Me: "Well if it's going to complicate your life, then don't worry about it."

Ben: "No, I will make you a peanut butter shake. We  just don't like to cuz then we have to get out the peanut butter, we have to sanitize everything..."

Me: "If you don't want to make it then don't make it!"

But Ben insists on making the shake. It takes forever. And when I finally get it I can't even drink it because it's too thick.

Ben: "Is that too thick? Here, give it back to me and I'll remix it for you."

So I hand it back, Ben sets it on the counter, he rings up another customer, the register drawer pops out, the shake ends up on the floor, Ben looks like he's about to cry.

"It's fine, I'll still eat it!" I yell over the counter to Ben, who's kneeling on the floor with his hand over his face.

But ever-faithful Ben makes another "pain-in-the-ass" peanut butter shake, hands it to me, and says, "It better be good."

It was so good. But I'm never getting one again.

Thoughts from Thursday: On Being a Kid

I just got back from a conference about the conflict in Syria. I was sitting in a room with several rows of suited middle-aged men and women whose resumes utterly and embarrassingly dwarfed mine.

Director of the International Security Program at CSIS
Senior official in the Department of Defense
Member of the Board of Directors for the U.S. Institute of Peace
USAID Assistant Administrator for the Bureau of Democracy
President of Mercy Corps
Chair of the Health and Peacebuilding Working Group
President of Physicians for Human Rights
Vice President of the International Medical Corps
UNHCR's Regional Representative to the Gulf Cooperation Council Countries
Columnist for the Washington Post
Leader of IMC's Emergency Response Team in Iraq
UNHCR's Senior Emergency Coordinator in Southern Afghanistan

And there I sat, arms and legs crossed, trying to hide the fact that I would simply never measure up with only the humble promise of a bachelor's degree, three months in Thailand, and a less-than-prestigious internship with a non-profit organization that nobody has heard of.

I felt like a kid. I couldn't come up with any ideas that other people hadn't already submitted and I only understood like 70% of what was being said. What does de facto mean? What's a level-3 humanitarian crisis? I thought polio was eradicated!

This stuff is way above my level of experience and register of understanding.

What resources do I have at my disposal? None.

What do I have to offer? Nothing.

How am I supposed to start conversations with these people? How am I supposed to be able to relate? What questions do you ask the woman who spends most of her time in the Middle East conducting interviews with locals and advising the U.S. government on how to proceed with the greatest humanitarian crisis of our time?

I think these people have it under control. The world would be just fine without me.

Someday My Pain

The title has nothing to do with this post. Bon Iver lyrics are just the best.

So much has been going on lately.

BBQing, airplane-watching, jazz-concerting, innovation-expositioning, jeep-riding, pool-side-conversing, hip-hop-observing, zoo-going, kiss-tagging, balloon-popping. The list goes on.

Here's some photo evidence for your viewing pleasure:

This is the backyard of one of the members of the bishopric. He has that south-facing house at the end of a cul-de-sac with a big yard and a grove of trees that I've always wanted.

We found a pool. A free one.

Cruising in a jeep down the green Maryland roads.

Listening to jazz in the park. And by that I mean straining our ears to hear any hint of music over the chatter of the MASSIVE crowd of people.

Thoughts from Thursday: On Alcohol

Today I got my first-ever legitimate "Why don't you drink?" question.

I'm realizing how much of a bubble I grew up in because I hardly knew how to answer.

My initial thought was "I don't know."

Can you believe me? I'm embarrassed. But don't worry, I did come up with a better response.

"I'm allergic."

Just kidding.

My new intern friends and I were at a baseball game this afternoon--Nationals vs. Phillies. We all know I'm not a sports fan, but I must admit I enjoyed the atmosphere.The alcohol aspect was especially intriguing.

Most of the interns I work with are in the 20-22 range, but for some reason I feel older than them. I kind of feel like their mom because I've been here for four whole weeks longer than they have. So when one of the kids, Lance, reached out to the hawker to exchange a wad of cash for a can of beer, all I could think was, "That guy better card him."

And then when the hawker did card him and gave Lance the beer anyway, I thought, "What is he doing selling beer to a kid!? Can't he see that he's just a kid! He's not old enough to be drinking!"

But the thing is, Lance is old enough to be drinking. He's 21. It's legal.

And then everyone else starting downing ice cold Coors and Summer Shandy and I just couldn't wrap my head around it. I wanted to take it away from them and dump it out and tell their moms. I mean, I've been around young people drinking before, but it has always been clouded in the context of wrong-doing. These intern friends of mine were just having a good time with their beer and their sports gear at an afternoon baseball game--LEGALLY (well, most of them)--and nobody but me was giving it a second thought.

Even more interestingly, I realized that I could have bought a beer too and no one would have batted an eyelash. I was almost tempted. Almost. I've never really had to prove my testimony of the Word of Wisdom before because I grew up in Mormonville, but I'm realizing this is one area of the gospel that I need a more solid understanding of.

Anyway, before I sign off, let me share three things that made me smile today:

1. The man on the way to the metro station. He's probably about 50. He has dreadlocks and wears a police cap, a flowy white tunic, camo shorts, red socks, and tennis shoes. He's got two carts full of all sorts of strange junk. Normally he sits on the corner and tries to sell his stuff, but today I was late to work and I passed him as he was pushing and pulling his carts across the crosswalk. Not in a sad, homeless way, but in a very purposeful, business-like sort of way. It was hilarious. I couldn't help but chuckle at him and his ridiculous police hat and tennis shoes. Is that mean?

2. Today at the baseball game, one of the staffers at work, Dan, let me read his newspaper (I was obviously enthralled with what was happening on the field). I kept asking him if I could rip out certain pages, so eventually he just said, "Here, you keep the paper and I'll just grab another one on the way home." I held it up and responded, "But if I take this I don't want you to secretly resent me for it." To which he pragmatically replied, "I wouldn't secretly resent you. I would resent you out loud."

3. As I was riding the metro home from the game, my train was stopped and another train rolled in from the opposite direction. Through the window I glimpsed a gangster black man sitting at the edge of his seat holding a naked life-size female mannequin. It was the strangest thing. That's DC for you.