The Move

Yes, I have spent these past few weeks moving, packing, sorting and saying good-byes..

And in the process I also have moved my blog!

Update your reader feeds and check it out at:

http://simplycomplicated.me/

The Aftermath of Agatha

Guatemala has been on my heart these past seven days. Maybe partly because I have friends who live there and people dear to me who lost loved ones in the mudslides. Maybe partly because I am moving there in two short weeks and these photos frighten me. Or maybe because disasters like this remind me just how fragile life is.


Besides the gigantic sinkhole in Guatemala City much of the aftermath of Agatha has not received much attention on the evening news. It always amazes me how quickly our sensationalized media moves on to something bigger and better. We tune in for the first breaking news coverage of Katrina or the earthquake in Haiti or the sinkhole in Guatemala, and then just as quickly we tune out and move on. But these families and people in the photos cannot just tune out. They're living in it.


I read recently that the tropical storm Agatha has caused more damages in Guatemala than Hurricane Stan in 2005 or Hurricane Mitch in 1998. They are still getting more accurate information as the days go by, but currently the figures are 120 dead, 111,964 evacuees, 29,245 in shelters, 13 bridges collapsed, and many roads blocked by landslides or floods. One of my friends, who works building water filtration systems in the villages near Antigua, lost 4 of his relatives in a mudslide on Sunday.


I am not sure if the Red Cross has set up anything or if there is any international aide going there yet. I will let you know if there is a way to help. My friend emailed me on Tuesday and said right now they need volunteers to dig and move mud. Maybe I'll spend my first weeks doing just that.


The photos are taken from a sobering sideshow found here.

Flora Vista

Yesterday we moved out of our Flora Vista House. I said good-bye to walks to mesa lane, late night roommate talks, and game nights in the living room. I might even miss our infestation of spiders, the subtle skunk smell that lingers in the living room, and the memories of finding a dead rat in the laundry room.

We've shared countless glasses of wine, hours of conversation, and two-and-half years of memories. Here's to microwave beeps, the chore chart and the on-going saga of the internet. I'm going to miss you Flora Vista.

P.S. For the next three weeks I am lucky enough to reside in the Mumm household, where poor Jeff has had been inundated with a host of rapid-fire girl questions and conversation topics that generally center around finding jeans that fit, fashion trends and nail techniques (and not the hammer and nail kind). Read more about it here

The Final Wednesday

For the past three years my Wednesdays have included these three lovely ladies. Our small group typically involves food including, but not limited to chips and salsa, strawberries (for me), gluten free brownies (for Hayden) and anything else chocolate. We have conversations covering an array of topics: family, boys and dating, friendships, God, self-image, smushes, church, youth group, social justice, the world, quarter stories, prayer, scripture, listening, culture and music. Sometimes these conversations are interrupted by urgent bathroom breaks (Katie), occasional text messaging (all of them) and frequent bouts of laughter. We make room for questions, tears, sadness, celebrations, dreams, hopes, doubts, cuddling and good hugs!

I see part of my high school-self in each of these young women and there are countless times I'm left thinking, eh, I'm 27 and I still struggle with that. Being a leader doesn't constitute having all the answers, but it does involve a certain level of commitment. And for the past three years I have been committed to these girls--it has by far been one of the best commitments I've ever made.

I love them. Hayden, Katie and Jenna, you reminded me that sometimes love is simply showing up and saying, "I'm here for you." It is choosing to be together and admitting that I can't do life on my own.

Today was the final Wednesday, our final small group. And I'm going to miss them dearly!

Buried Under the Shoes

Somewhere between the boxes and the piles and the packing I lost a little bit of my excitement. I'm hoping its temporarily buried under my mountain of shoes (yes, I know, guilty as charged: so, I may have a slight shoe fetish. And no, I will not be bringing any of these to Guatemala. When you're 5'8 and already tower over most Guatemalans no need to add another 3 inches to the mix)

I wish I felt bounds of joy about my upcoming move, but instead I'm sitting on my bed surrounded by stuff--and with that stuff comes stress and fear and this wave of questions. The main one being, "ahhh, what the heck am I doing?"

Moving and Packing

I am moving this weekend-- leaving my home of the past 2 1/2 years, saying good-bye to two incredible roommates and packing up my hodgepodge of belongings-- to go live with two of my favorite people in Santa Barbara who have offered me their guest bedroom for three weeks until I leave. So, now is the time to start packing.

Packing has a way of bringing up and sorting out what's important. Old CD's, letters from ex-boyfriends, and articles from grad school (many still unread) are intermixed with camera batteries and saved receipts organized in envelopes with black writing that says "2007-2008." I have a costume box with feather boas and hot pink sunglasses and 80's crop tops because you-never-know-when-you might-just-need-a-costume, right? These things don't quite make it to the important side.

What's important are people. Friends and roommates. My parents and sisters and brother. And then there are the kids from kids club and my students. And these are the things I can't pack. I get sad about leaving these people. Sad that I am going to be missing out on part of their lives. And I get sad that sometimes it feels like I am leaving alone, while everyone else gets to stay here together.

Not Alone

Maybe that's part of the catch-22 about sending out support letters. I'll be honest it's a humbling process mailing out a letter to family and friends not only admitting that I need your help, but also admitting that I actually can't go through this next year without your support and care. I realize I have gotten pretty darn good at doing most things in life on my own and as a result this confident, self-reliant, independent spirit has been fostered deep inside. But I am learning that maybe I also need to leave room for the humble, meek side that admits, "I can't do this alone. Will you help?"

dance. sing. floss. travel.

I would say I do 3 out of the 4 quite well. My dancing, flossing, and traveling skills are adequate. My singing on the other hand-- is lets just say, not one of my finer qualities. (Imagine Cameron Diaz at the karaoke bar in My Best Friends Wedding- and that's me on a good day.)

I went to a FREE yoga class at Lululemon on Sunday morning. Sitting on my purple mat, with my legs folded and arms gently resting on my knees, I tried to appear relaxed as I waited for class to start. After some long, droning, always slightly uncomfortable breathing, the instructor started the class with a question, what is your intention for your practice? (which in non-yogi language simply means, what are you focused on right now?)

But I like the word intention. It implies something about purpose, focus and well, intent.

I started asking myself, what is my intention right now?

My intention has been letting go.
Preparing to leave.
Getting excited for a new opportunity.
And feeling scared to death of the unknown.

Letting Go

I'm going to Guatemala-again! But this time I'm actually taking a year off of teaching. My school district approved a one-year leave of absence. So, I am letting go of a job that I love, friends that I cherish and a community that feels like home because I believe in taking risks, being bold and listening to that still, small voice inside that says "go" even when you don't know where you're going.

It's been a year or so of processing, thinking and praying. I've justified and allowed myself to make every excuse in the book about why this move doesn't make sense. This was by no means in my 5-year plan. But I am learning that life isn’t necessarily about 5-year plans. A life of convenience, comfort and control is not a life that I want to live.

Intention

I have been to Guatemala four times and every time I want to stay longer. Something in my heart longs to be a part of the culture and the language and the people. And I am finally listening to that. I leave June 21st. I'll be serving with an organization, Mission Impact, that I have worked with before. And I'll also get to study more Spanish. You can find out more about what I'll be doing here.

Until then, this next month is dedicated to three of my most time consuming enemies: packing, organizing, and moving.

Maybe my intention this next month shouldn't be to dance. sing. floss. travel...but rather, to change. balance. enjoy. trust. Maybe Lululemon will put my motto on their next reusable bag, hmm? Maybe.

Writing a Better Story

I write almost everyday. Usually it's nothing eloquent or profound; actually more often than not it's nothing more than muddled words and loosely strung together thoughts and prayers. But I still write it down.

I started writing in a journal when I was in the 6th grade. It was my mom's suggestion (and probably desperation) to help her high-strung-stressed-out-daughter who couldn't really express what she was feeling. I filled pages and pages of journals.* The pages were safe to express my growing worry and insecurity. And those pages also kindly held my hopes and dreams without passing judgment or disbelief. Writing allowed me room to be me without having to filter through my own or others expectations of who I should be.

I know that a lot of what I write is not new. Someone else has probably already said it better and/or sooner, but I am learning that writing is not about impressing people or being the first to discover some great thought. Writing is about creating space to tell a story. To tell my story. Writing gives room for ideas and feelings to take meaning and shape, when they might have otherwise sayed buried somewhere deep within.

Henri Nouwen said, "We have to trust that our stories deserve to be told. We may discover that the better we tell our stories the better we will want to live them."

This makes me want to write and live a better story. What about you? Do you like to write? What story to tell yourself?

(*yes, somewhere in some over-sized box at my parents house I still have these journals. And yes, I know one day I'll have to throw them away)