with love, megan

It’s been a full week. I’m not complaining – actually it feels good to come home on a Friday evening and collapse after a busy five days. I didn’t return to a home tonight, though. I returned to a disaster. Code Red. Five alarms. The works.

So, before settling in to go over notes for a training day I’m doing tomorrow, I had to do a blitz – a fast yet effective sweep of the place. Hang up jackets and sweaters, wash two days worth of dishes (which can easily look like two weeks’ worth in my itsy bitsy kitchen), wipe down the counter top, you know the drill.

As I got into work mode, I was scrolling through the old ipod for an appropriate playlist. For some reason, I landed on one that’s kind of a mish-mash of old stuff.

I stopped in my tracks when I heard this acapella song. I forgot how much I like it. Therefore, in honor of Friday and all that it stands for, enjoy these lyrics… and enjoy the weekend while you’re at it.

Faithful to Me by Jennifer Knapp

All the chistles I’ve dulled carving idols of stone
That have crumbled like sand ‘neath the waves.
I’ve recklessly built all my dreams in the sand just to watch, them all wash away.

Through another day, another trial, another chance to reconcile
To one who sees past all I see.
And reaching out my weary hand I pray that you’d understand
You’re the only one who’s faithful to me.

All the pennies I’ve wasted in my wishing well
I have thrown like stones to the sea.
I have cast my lots, dropped my guard, searched aimlessly for a faith
To be faithful to me.

Through another day, another trial, another chance to reconcile
To one who sees past all I see.
And reaching out my weary hand I pray that you’d understand
You’re the only one who’s faithful to me.
You’re the only one who’s faithful to me.

I present to you a cornucopia of thoughts – a virtual buffet, if you will…

1) My apartment smells really beefy. I made meatballs for lunch and they were nice, but I wasn’t planning on spending the evening with said meatballs.

2) I wrote a long post last week including my thoughts on several hot topics/current events. I didn’t post it. I could never decide if I wanted to go there, even though this is my blog and I should feel comfortable going anywhere I want. It wasn’t written in anger, but it was opinionated… thus my trepidation in posting. Basically I was observing that I see very little love in the attitude of many Christians when they are commenting on current events. I see a lot of fear, a lot of selfishness and loyalty to what seem to be more “American dream” ideals than Biblical values. Like I said, I never posted it. I know that I’m not perfect and I want to be sure to extract the large splinter from my own eye before pointing out someone else’s. Maybe I will post it someday. I never write and save. I always write and post. So maybe that’s telling me something… the fact that I wrote and saved… hmmmm.

3) Don’t forget that my brilliant sister and I have a sisterly blog. You don’t want to miss it. Believe me.

4) This Saturday I’m leading a training session at church. This will be my first gig teaching all in Spanish… as they used to say back in my sorority days (yes, I was) — “Get Excited!!”

5) I’m experimenting with making my own granola these days. It’s a delicious experiment.

6) My wallet was stolen out of my bookbag while sitting in a coffeeshop last week giving an English lesson to two ladies. I walk the streets of Santiago, I take the bus and subway everywhere, I do all sorts of things… yet I’m robbed while in a shop in one of the fanciest areas of town. I wasn’t happy, as you can imagine. I had unfortunately taken out some cash that day, so I had more on me than I would normally. They also used my debit card (from my US bank) but wouldn’t you know that the awesome customer service department has already returned those transactions? Glory, glory. It was frustrating, but I’m okay. Unexpected things happen, as we all know, yet fortunately I have lived to see another day. Aren’t you glad?

7) After a slew of springlike days, the winter has returned with a vengeance! Make up your mind, please, Mother Nature.

8 ) I don’t like odd numbers, thus adding a number eight to the list.

The weather here in Santiago has turned springlike and sunny; it’s the kind of weather that doesn’t allow for staying inside. I just got back from a superbly enjoyable Saturday morning walk (which included a Dunkin Donuts stop midway through – yum!)

As some of you readers know, back in Houston I had a Saturday morning tradition. It started as an attempt for Robyn and I to reconnect, as at this particular time in our history our schedules were so opposite that we would go days without seeing each other. Saturday morning brunch became our time and we quickly found a place that we loved. For nearly four years, we went to the same restaurant, ordered the same things, and even had the same (very favorite) waiter.

In college I used to start my week at the same Starbucks every Monday morning. I would sip a white chocolate mocha and plan for the week ahead. I got to know my barista and enjoyed seeing her every Monday as much as I enjoyed the coffee.

I like this a lot. As much of an adventurer/mover and shaker as I can be, I also love traditions (I’m talking here weekly, but we could also talk in terms of monthly or even annually). I love having a place to return to that’s familiar and warm. I love, also, for that moment not having to think about plans or decide anything – it’s decided for me. Ready and waiting.

Hello, old friend.

And so I find myself here in Chile on a quest for a Saturday morning tradition. For a while I was making pancakes every Saturday morning. That was delicious. Sometimes I really want to get out of the house, though, so I’ve tried a couple of places to have breakfast out, which has only been mildly successful (they’re tough to find, as it’s not too common here). All in all, I have yet to find a rhythm that sticks. Eventually I’ll hit on something that’s just right.

And (shock/gasp) perhaps I’ll never do the same thing every Saturday morning. Maybe I’ll keep on with this “wherever the wind blows me” routine. I hope to create traditions in other areas, though; things that I look forward to and hopefully some that I share with others.

Robyn and I used to laugh that our Saturday morning brunch money should come from the “tithe” portion of our respective budgets. Obviously a joke, but on some level I get it. Traditions, to me,  feed the soul. They are life-giving and good, so I want to seek them out and make space for them in my life.

I’ll have to report back as my quest continues. As for today, what am I doing inside on the computer with such lovely weather?!?

Later gators.

Speaking of homes…

There once was a cute little house in Houston. This house was nothing special on the outside, just bricks and mortar and overgrown sago palms. This house had a heart, though. This house had character.

Robyn and I moved into the house on the corner of 14th and Michaux in August of 2006. I remember exactly how I found the place – I typed in “Heights House” on Craigslist and it was the first listing. The rent had recently been reduced – it was exactly what we had been hoping to pay. My obvious first question was, “What’s wrong with it?!” I made an appointment to see it and loved it; it was just right for us. I took Robyn back and we peered through the mail slot. Yep. This was our house. We moved in shortly after and spent the first night on a pallet on the living room floor (our beds were arriving the next day). We were so excited as our hearts filled with hopes and dreams for our little place.

And it was a good little home. It’s funny… as I search through photographs I can’t find a single one of the whole house from the outside. Did no one ever stand on the corner and snap some shots?? Someone should…

Anyway

Although I don’t have any outside shots of the house, that wasn’t what made it special. If you really think about it, I have millions of photographs of the house – this place was the backdrop to so many of my fondest memories over the past several years:

Birthdays

LifeGroups (CCQ and Laundromat)

Christmases

Countless gatherings

…and very funny roommate times

You get the picture.

Around September of 2008 a new friend blew into our lives with Hurricane Ike. The girl who was going to stay for a week ended up as a permanent fixture and oh, are we so glad she came.

The funny thing is, right around that time something was also blowing me in an interesting direction… a southerly direction, if you know what I mean… We had a fun and full six months together as three in the house before I moved to Chile. And do you know what? There was something so comforting in knowing that Sarah was going to be there in the little brick house. So much was changing, but at least the house would still be there.

I had weekly skype dates with Sarah and Robyn for the first 7 or 8 months I was here. It was like visiting the living room of the little brick house every week. Sometimes it was the thing I looked forward to most in a time of intense transition.

When I went back for my first visit last December the little house became my home again for a couple of weeks. I moved back in and made myself at home. It was as if nothing had ever changed. Going to that little house was like going home.

Just a few weeks ago when I went back the little house was my first stop. Again, I moved right in and made myself at home. As we got ready for a good friend’s wedding, it was like so many other times getting ready in the pink tile bathroom. Home again.

Next time I go back, though, the little house won’t be there. Well, I suppose it will be there but with different inhabitants. Next month Robyn will be moving out of state and Sarah will be moving in with a friend. Next time I go to Houston, I won’t have my little brick house. Of course I’ll have multiple options of friends with whom I can stay (you may begin signing up in the comment section below) but it won’t be quite the same. For the first time, I’ll be a guest when I return to Houston.

Robyn and I had a little plan to honor the last night that we would both spend in the little house by camping out on the living room floor while sharing some chocolate cake and memories. After visiting my sister in New York, I was scheduled to return to Houston for one more night then leave for Chile the next day. Unfortunately, due to crazy circumstances that were completely frustrating and unexpected, I missed my flight back to Houston from New York, therefore spending that last night in the US in NY. I caught a morning flight back to Houston instead and had only a few hours to frantically repack my bags and catch my flight for Chile.  I was so disappointed. I wasn’t going to be able to give the little brick house a proper farewell!

I’m big on proper farewells, by the way.

And so as I got my suitcases out the door and did a final scan for any forgotten items, Robyn and I paused to take one final look at our house together from the front door. After about 25 seconds – just as we both felt the tears welling up in our eyes – it was time to hit the road. The airport doesn’t wait for anything or anyone (as I had tragically learned the night before).

And so I have chosen this blog as my way of giving the little house a proper farewell. Even though I haven’t lived there in nearly a year and a half, it’s still my house. It’s always been there waiting for me. Goodbye, little brick house. You were such a big part of my life. I loved the times I spent in you. I’ll try to pass by just to say hello next time I’m in town, although it may be a bit difficult. You see, what made you special was the things that happened in you. Your life was the people who passed through your door. I hope that the next people who live there know what a special place they’re getting.

Home is where the heart is. Or perhaps where your family is. Or your friends. Or is it where you grew up? Or where you currently live?

Home is where you hang your hat, or so they say…

Home, home on the range…

Home.

It’s an interesting concept that’s been on my mind as I’ve returned from my Stateside journey. When I go there, I feel at home. Let me clarify – I see the change that’s happened in the time I’ve been gone and I feel that life has “gone on” without me. When I arrive in Houston, though, from the moment my feet touch the ground I’m functioning as if I never left. I know the city, the language, the customs – spoken and unspoken – and I mesh seamlessly with the world around me. On this very natural and basic level, I feel very at home there.

Let’s contrast that with getting off the plane in Chile. I hear Spanish being spoken all around me and I immediately start functioning in that mode. Although I don’t blend in with all of my surroundings, I am accustomed and it feels normal to me. I return to my apartment where my things are hanging on the wall and my bed is waiting for me (oh happy day). I jump back into my routine and I’m home.

We could talk about visiting my sister in New York. I’m not from NYC and save a couple of short trips, I know very little of the city. I know my sister, though, and when we link arms and frolic (yes, frolic) through the streets of Brooklyn, I’m quite comfortable. Quite at home.

I could go on, but for the sake of space and your precious time, I won’t. You get the point, though.

So what now? Does this mean that I’m a nomad? Or homeless? Or wandering in circles?

I don’t think so. I hope not.

I think it means that I have a unique opportunity. I think it also means that I have an interesting challenge. I have the opportunity to be at home in many places. I have the opportunity to have a big world that’s colorful and interesting, that speaks more than one language, that eats falafel and empanadas and pancakes (oh, glorious pancakes). I get to pick the best of all worlds and put them together to make my world. That’s fun.

The challenge, I think, is making it all fit. Cohesion. Not feeling like a homeless, wandering nomad. The challenge is finding the place where all these parts fit together, and then living in that place.

It’ll never be perfect. There’s a natural tension that comes with all this, but I’m willing to have that. And after all, this world of oceans and continents and pancakes and frolicking is temporary. That’s why the fit will never really be perfect – we weren’t made for this old place. While we’re here, though – while I’m here, at least – may we each find a home somewhere (or somewheres in my case). After all, where else am I going to hang my hat?

I’m sitting in the airport at the beginning of a day which is going to be a marathon of travel. Although I haven’t had much time yet to think through my trip, I can already say that despite the exhaustion and running about, I’m so very glad I came. Despite the summer heat and re-learning how to sweat at 8 a.m., I’m so very glad I came. Despite the missed flight in New York and crabby attitude that followed (sorry sister), I’m so very glad I came.

It was a mid-year refueling, although I can honestly say that my tank didn’t feel empty before I came. Perhaps that means it was more of a topping-off. Whatever it was, it’s been good. And after three flights and a bit more running about, I’ll be back in my dear little Chile. And I’m so very glad to be going back.

Thanks for everything, USA. You’re always so very good to me. Wait for me, Chile. I’m on my way…

The last class has been taught.

The final student evaluation has been sent.

The semester is over.

Time to take a little break.

Time to dig those summer clothes out of storage.

Does anyone have some sunscreen I could borrow?

Even as I begin to write this, I feel a little silly. But isn’t it silly that we feel silly sharing something because someone else might think it’s just… silly? So I’m not going to let that stop me – I want to share something that profoundly impacted me last night.

Warning: it might sound silly.

After my Home Group meeting, we were all sitting around chatting. We were taking it easy knowing that today – Friday – is yet another RCH (random Chilean holiday) so no work and sleeping late were in all of our futures. We began chatting about the upcoming vacation time – not only am I heading out of town soon but most folks around here are taking a bit of time off since schools are out for the mid-winter-end-of-first-semester-two-week-break. Someone asked about my trip – when I was leaving and when I would return – and I gave them the stats. From there, the conversation landed on my return date. I mentioned that the flight would be arriving suuuuper early in the morning on that day and someone in the group asked how I would get home from the airport. I told them that I supposed I would take an airport transfer since that’s what I had done in the past (the van from the airport – super efficient, economically priced.) Immediately someone piped in:

No! I’m going to pick you up!

Well, it’s really early, and on a weekday, and…. I fumbled.

Are you crazy? Who cares about that? I’ve got it in my planner. I’m coming. Don’t care what time.

I

almost

cried.

Why??? Because picking someone up from the airport is inconvenient. Because it’s something that I could have taken care of for myself but now I don’t have to. Because someone saw a need and went out of their way to meet it. Even when they didn’t have to. Because that made one curly-haired Megan feel extremely loved. Because there’s going to be someone waiting for me when I come back.

Who picks you up from the airport? Family or friends.

Family.

Friends.

That’s why it almost made me cry. Because at this time and in this place, that’s what I need most.

And that’s what it’s all about, folks.

You know, I’ve been thinking. We don’t often get to do the big things – the giant change-the-world type of things – very often. Even when one moves to, I don’t know, say… South America… life becomes surprisingly normal. And I don’t know about you, but for me it can be somewhat of a bummer to look back at the past weeks/months that have flown by and wonder where they went and what exactly it was that I did with them. Sure, things are coming along with some of the projects that I came here to do with my local church, but those things aren’t changing the world (yet). In fact, they’re often moving at such a snail’s pace that I wonder if I shouldn’t be giving that snail some roller blades so as to move a bit faster…

But then I think about something else.

I think about the gathering that I went to tonight with a bunch of random people (most of whom I did not know) and how by the end of the evening I had been recruited for a girl’s soccer team. I think about my little 7 and 9-year-old students with whom I’m having class in the morning (we’re making muffins tomorrow) and I think about the walk I went on this morning with a very pregnant friend who’s waiting for baby to arrive…

And I remember that there is a very fine line between ordinary and extraordinary. Perhaps the sum of these days which include muffins and walks and soccer (still getting over that one) is one of great value. Perhaps I’m living life here, and perhaps that was the whole point.

So, it’s interesting. This started out as a blog to chronicle my new journey to Chile. In the beginning I wrote quite a bit about new cultural experiences (can you believe they put avocado, tomato and mayo on a hot dog?!?) and various other musings. Although I still muse on occasion about these interesting bits and pieces, I’m finding that 1) my daily musings are far less Chile-related as they are just life-related… because my life is here now and that’s just that. Of course I’m still learning new things ALL the time, but it’s not typically at the forefront of my mind. And 2) because of technology, I know down to the city (don’t let that scare you) where my readers are located, and would you guess that last month I had considerably more Chileans visit the blog that you folks north of the Equator? Hmmm… interesting.

Note to those north of the Equator: pick up the pace!

And back to our regularly scheduled blog. For now, there are no massive changes in the works. Meganbreed.com will remain as is, and I do hereby declare that I will continue to post whatever musings happen to hop into this (very jumbled at times) brain of mine. I’m going to keep writing in English, as my spoken Spanish is passable (though still lacking much) but to write is an entirely different ball of wax.

Note to Spanish-speaking readers using google translator: “ball of wax” is an expression that I don’t really know how to explain. I’d be intrigued to know what google said it meant.

What then, you may ask, is the moral of this story? The point of this posting? The reason that you’re still reading? I’m honestly not sure that there is one, other than to say please keep reading and commenting. I’m so happy to have you along on the journey as we figure out not only my life, but this silly blog.