Art Heist!

“Let me ask you something, what is not art?”

 

Though the author of this quote goes unknown, it is a general idea that has been stated and restated by artists throughout history. How can one possibly define art? New art develops from the continual bucking of old styles, becoming something new and radical.  This then leaves us in an awkward place, for how can we define something that is in continual motion, evolving from itself and countering its own arguments? 


 “As to what the picture represents that depends upon
who looks at it. To some persons it may represent all
that is intended; to others it may represent nothing.”
                                    -James McNeill Whistler (“The Gentle Art of Making Enemies”)


Here at college, I sit in the atrium of Wyatt Hall, hashing out an essay… Though my mind is far away and focused, I am vaguely aware of something dangling high above my head, looming there.  Whenever I emerge from my computer screen I take the time to glance upwards at the gigantic glass sculpture hanging in the window above my head.

“Chihuly’s Window”

This is art.

This is art because it strikes wonder and curiosity within me and makes me think about it.  Initially, I first think that it looks like a smack of jellyfish; but it also looks like a field of wildflowers.  Though it seems that the green, yellow, red and orange are evenly dispersed, green seems to come forward as dominant; likely because of the green outdoors playing background to the piece from the other side of the window.  Thus, it seems to pull the outside world in through that window and then adds to it; a closeness to nature and the sense of Life and Youth that comes with it. 

Art is always changing though, and the more I look at this glass sculpture, the more abstract it becomes and the less it looks like jellyfish or flowers; perhaps just randomness, something less tangible, one hundred and fifty separate pieces of blown glass that, together, make a beautiful whole.

Random bits of thought that together form a masterfully created idea.

This sculpture is considered art rather than “decoration,” because it is something that creates emotion in those that observe it.  It is also valuable.  Maybe not to everyone; the artist is popular, but not famous. Besides, he is still alive.  But it does have some value, especially to the University crowd.  It has graced the halls of this school for many years, and there is also the fact that the inspiration for the artwork came from the Ivy vines that hug the walls of the University buildings around campus. The knowledge also, that Dale Chihuly (the artist), is a University of Puget Sound alumnus also adds a certain cult value attributed to school spirit and those involved with the University.


 As it gets later, the colors fade as darkness ensues outside. No more light to make it shine.  The atrium is now mostly uninhabited save for a lone student or two stumbling doggedly and glassy-eyed out of their late class.  None looked up, none cared, and none saw the beautiful sculpture.  To them, it is not art; not here anyway, not at this moment in time.  Even with their glassy eyes, they cannot see the sculpture and it evokes no emotion. It is not art. Not here, not now anyway.


“But do you think now that you
could make me see the beauty of that picture?'"


"No! Do you know I fear it would be as hopeless
as for the musician to pour his notes into the ear of
a deaf man.”

-James McNeill Whistler (“The Gentle Art of Making Enemies”)

The recognition of something as art is a conscious choice. Unless one sees the art and recognizes it as art then it is not art. Due to different perspectives and different opinions of what is art, various beliefs as to what is considered art arise; and new styles.  As Whistler alludes to, art is different for every person. If one considers it art; then it is art.


And no one can force anyone to see something as art unless they themselves see it as art also.


Even though the sculpture may go unnoticed by many others wandering through the atrium; I notice it. I see it as art, therefore it is art. I respect its painstaking creation and love the interplay of the colors, even in the fading light it is still beautiful to me and I consider it:

I wonder what would happen if it fell?

                Chaos.

I wonder how it was made?

                Only the artist knows.

I wonder how they got it up there?

                Carefully.

How would someone steal that?

                A good plan.

Well, I suppose one could use a large ladder.

                Where would you get that?

I don’t know. Maybe piece by piece. Or one could just take the whole wall. A crane would probably work. You might also be able to rig up some rock climbing gear....

                 You’d have to be Wile E. Coyote.

I suppose it just wouldn’t work.  Even a hungry college student who is in desperate need of money with which to buy more Top Roman would have a difficult time getting that masterpiece down from there; especially all one hundred and fifty pieces.


However, if one were to perhaps split up the piece, sell them all individually, then there could be much to be made from this art heist; it’d also be less recognizable. 


But by taking the artwork out of its original context as an addition and tribute to the school, one would undoubtedly diminish the value of the piece. Also, since the artist is still living, a replacement would likely be made; taking away from the “one and only” value.

So perhaps it stays where it is.

 But then again, when considering that the prompting of an emotional response signifies that art is art, then is language and literature art? A good book provokes emotion does it not?  A good book can make one weep so bitterly, arouse one to action, teach, and produce amazement or even disappointment. Then, Is literature more powerful than art since it can describe a picture?  Is there some hierarchy here between words and images?  But then again, how could one describe and do justice with words, even the smallest, simplest, most subtle interplay of color that makes a masterpiece? Art is a natural state of human nature. Ever since cave paintings and even before, humanity has been obsessed with this concept of creation and beauty.  In fact, children often learn to draw long before they are able to fully express themselves in words.  For this reason, drawing is sometimes considered a child's first means of communication and is often used in therapy as such. What a child cannot describe, they are asked to draw.

“When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college – that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared at me, incredulous, and said, ‘You mean they forget?’ ”

– Howard Ikemoto

But then we learn our language and most forget completely about drawing. Rather, we use words to describe everything, even art; and we make art out of words and language instead of paint.


Eventually, some come back in touch with that inner child though and become artists.

And then they create art that words cannot describe.

“The domains of word and image are like two countries that speak different languages but that have a long history of mutual migration, cultural exchange, and other forms of intercourse.”

                                                                                                -W.J.T. Mitchell (“Word and Image”)

There is no hierarchy between word and image, for they are two separate entities.  Similarly, there are so many ways in which to define art that it seems that there is no definition at all.  Art is, essentially, anything that creates an emotional response and/or anything that one so wishes to consider “art” and has a value as such.  Regardless of anything though, art is a moving and evolving entity.  It will always be changing and defying its own boundaries; and therein lies the beauty.



Works Cited:

"Dale Chihuly Glasswork." University of Puget Sound. Web. 11 Dec. 2011. http://www.pugetsound.edu/about/offices--services/university-relations/donor-relations/named-sites-on-campus/dale-chihuly-glasswork/.

"Google Images." Google. Web. 11 Dec. 2011. <http://www.google.com/imgres?um=1>.

Whistler, James McNeil. The Gentle Art of Making Enemies PDF document (via Moodle).

~ HONDURAS ~ part two ~

It’s been kind of busy here at college lately.  Studying for midterms, classes, work, you know, just campus life.  Yesterday though, while at work I was speaking with my coworker, an older lady, and the topic somehow took a turn toward mission work.  I began telling her about my Honduras trip and its impact on me.  I ended up leaving work late because I was so busy telling her about the experience that I did not realize my shift had ended.  Walking back toward the dorm, I remembered that I had not worked on my blog for a while.  So on a rainy, cold and grey Saturday, here I sit, cuddled up in a comfy chair in the SUB with laptop on my lap and a coffee in hand, thinking about waking up to that first morning in Honduras. . .



* * *

Upon opening my eyes, I was surprised to find that I was not as disoriented as I thought I would be.  I knew exactly where I was, and was immediately curious.  Through the window I had a limited view, but I could see miles worth of sugar cane and huge mountains in the distance.  Diving into my clothes, I stepped out into the thick, sticky morning air. The compound was surrounded on all sides by miles upon miles of sugar cane that if I had been standing next to would have towered over my head.  Large, emerald mountains loomed in the distance, looking wild and untamable.  For once in my life, I couldn’t even tell which way was North; in itself a rare occurrence for me to lose my sense of direction, I had absolutely no reference point and was completely lost within this new world. Cast away from everything I once knew. Vulnerable. But I welcomed it with a spirit of adventure and an energy I’ve never known before. With what I had lost, I immediately discovered something anew.

As I stood on the second story deck of our dorm building, I also got my first look at the compound itself.  Directly out in front of me was a large field, dotted with trees, which made up the center of the compound.  The compound itself was about an acre and surrounded by a thick, cinderblock wall topped with barbed-wire.   Heavy iron gates were the only civil way in and out and were kept locked during the night and when no one was home. 

In the corner, to the extreme left of the dorm building where I was standing was the gate that we used the most and backed into the corner was the small house of the yard-keeper.  Along the adjacent wall, somewhat offset so that it was not parallel with the protective barrier was the white building that Tom and Amy stayed in and which also included the dining room where we would often all congregate.  To the right of this building was the chapel building.  Unlike the other building though, this chapel was indeed parallel to the wall so that a little corner was created between the two buildings; in this corner was a large mango tree. 

In the far corner of the compound, tucked neatly into the corner itself and mostly hidden by a small tree or two sat a small cinderblock building, scarcely bigger than a shed.  Here lived a mother, her two sons, her niece, her father, her husband (when he was home from work) and their family dog, Osso.  We came to know this family well and even had the opportunity to help them out a bit, which I will narrate later on. Romellia was a very nice lady with a kind heart and a ready smile.  Her young son of four years old, Alessandro, was one of the most adorable little kids I’ve ever had the privilege of playing with, and her niece, Sarah, was equally irresistibly cute.  We never had the chance to meet either her older son, who was always away at school, or her husband, who was working six days a week, and even though we saw him often, sitting outside, I don’t think any of us had the chance to speak with the older man who was her father.

Along the wall to the right lay the other large dorm building that stretched nearly the length of the wall and touched corners with ours. This created a little square pocket in the corner that one could look down upon if they walked to the very end of the deck. This little space was used as a small garden. In the far corner to the right, against the other, unused dorm, laid a small shed, some wooden pallets, and a place for the large moving van that Nathan and I had ridden in the previous night. 



The grass was bright green in the center except underneath the trees where there was more dirt, chickens roamed throughout.  Most of the trees were fairly large, and offered some amount of shade, but could not protect one from the humidity. Not even any of the buildings could do that since the only air conditioning we had were fans.  The dogs though, had decided that the small amount of shade was better than no shade at all and would often be found underneath the trees, under some porch, car or other. Though intimidating, the large Doberman guard dogs were rather friendly, particularly the one that was still part puppy.  One dare not pet them though for fear of the fleas and other insects caught up in their fur. The Dobermans were far healthier though than poor little Oso (means “bear” in Spanish), the mutt owned by Romellia’s family. Who, aside from being malnourished, crawling with bugs, and irritated by a sore on one of his haunches, was often plagued by the children themselves who thought it fun to pull his poor, scrawny little tail.



our dorm building



* * *

I have now spent most of the day here in the SUB, but I dare not step outside. As soon as I do, I know I will be soaked to the bone by the torrent of coastal rain.  It is a strange contrast, because in Honduras, we were literally praying for weather like this. . .

* * *

In Honduras, it is HOT.  Early in the morning, you are immediately wet and you stay that way. Never dry. 106 degrees and 100% humidity ensures that.  Quickly, you learn that your favorite part of the day is that ice cold shower you take at any opportunity you can; sometimes two or three within a day because they feel so good!  As the hellish sun disappears to the west, thunderheads roll in and make the sky dark ebony. Lightning splits the darkness as thunder severs the silence, dancing through the clouds, getting closer and closer. Suddenly, the heavens are pierced and a wall of heavy, coin-sized raindrops comes from the darkness.  Soaking the earth within seconds.  The sound of the rain on the roof is music to the ears and the stickiness of the nightly storm’s electrically charged air is welcomed over the sluggish, thick air of midday.  Every night, the storm and every day, the heat.  I only saw the stars one night and there were thousands, burning brightly in the ebony. Wild and foreign.



Alessandro and Sarah

 

That first morning though, after assessing our current location, we tumbled into the dining hall for a quick breakfast and the day’s schedule; church, possibly shopping, lunch, more church.

Dressed in our Sunday clothes (the best out of the few we brought), bibles in hand, we piled into the two vehicles. Nathan and I, along with a few others decided to take up our vantage point in the bed of the truck, hoping to get a better view of the area that way and also hoping to find some relief from the heat by taking advantage of the breeze created by the moving vehicle.  First destination: Primera Iglesia del Nazareno, San Pedro Sula. 

From the back of the truck, we definitely got to see a lot. Dilapidated houses, miles upon miles of sugar cane, mangled guard rails, the Pepsi logo on every other sign, mountains encircling the entire valley, horse drawn fruit carts (that Diana was desperately trying to get a picture of but couldn’t), people mowing their lawns with machetes, kids playing soccer, animals lounging in the scarce shade.  As we got closer to town, naturally, there was significantly more traffic, stores and people.  Though it was not uncommon for people to ride in the back of trucks, our vehicle attracted quite a few looks, people gawking at the foreigners with the pasty skin and the girl with the pale hair.  But we were too absorbed in looking around that we didn’t give a ton of thought to the stares we were getting. Rather, we were taking in the buildings, the tangled power-lines, the “car wash” where a person was washing a car with a bucket of soapy water and a hose, the market place, the strange palm trees with the yellow coconuts, the walled and barred window houses and the stores guarded by men with shotguns.

Eventually we pulled up to the church and I gratefully jumped out of the back of the truck to let the blood flow back into my legs which had fallen asleep during the course of the drive.  We went into the church building, receiving more stares as we went, and took our seats in the back. The sermon began with the band, playing songs that we all knew by heart, translated to Spanish.  It was then that it first kind of hit me that, here we were, all one in the same, worshiping the same God together, despite being from entirely different countries. Though we couldn’t speak Spanish (okay, well, most, Nathan and Lindsay ;) lol) and they couldn’t speak English, we all understood each other; because we had come together with one heart to worship the same God together. The sermon was really great, I couldn’t tell you that I remember every detail that was said, but it certainly spoke to our hearts. They even had a translator for us. We shook hands with a lot of the other members and spoke via translator with a few.  The kids were particularly cute and would boldly come up to you pat you to get your attention and then confidently shake your hand. One very young girl, maybe three years old, who was sitting directly in front of Nathan and I took a particular interest in us. She had turned completely around and had her little legs hanging through the space in the back of the pew where the backboard and seat nearly touched. Back to the pastor, small hands sitting on top of the back rest, big brown eyes peering just barely over the top and legs dangling through the back.  She was adorable. I wanted to get a picture of her, but her mom eventually nudged her and whispered something that I’m sure would have been the English equivalent to “stop staring.”

After church, we again loaded into the truck, drove by the marketplace to see if it was open (it wasn’t), and then headed to El Progresso. We backtracked along the highway from where we came, drove past the compound, past a giant banana tree field, over the river and into the smaller town of El Progresso.  In El Progresso we stopped in a promising souvenir shop and were let shop for a while.  I found a piece of pottery that I thought would make a great gift for someone in my family and a wooden necklace that I thought was really pretty.  The pottery that I found was made in the style known as Lenca. It is native to Honduras and has a signature black and off white pattern to it painted over red clay.  The necklace I bought was made right there in that shop, the shop which we were in doubled as a wood carving shop and there were hundreds of souvenirs made from carved wood, large, beautiful trunks, toys, necklaces, wall decorations, etc.  For those of us who finished shopping before the others, we stepped outside because it was cooler out there than in the stuffy building that had poor air circulation. So we gathered out in the shade and admired the caged parrot displayed by the front door who, to our amusement, we discovered was able to say “hola.” 

Back in the truck, on our way to the compound for lunch.

Several hours later, once again on our way to El Progresso. This time though, we were on our way to Efrain’s church, to attend his service and to see the project for our group.  Though a significantly smaller congregation and a much more bare building, what the church lacked in funds they made up for in sincerity and enthusiasm.  Efrain’s message was even better than the one we heard earlier in the day. Too small to have a band of their own, instead, they cranked the volume way up on an old stereo set hooked up to some giant speakers and blasted their favorite worship music loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.  Meanwhile, they prayed and cried, sang and shouted out to the Lord with all the passion that was in their hearts. Holding nothing back.  Efrain prayed and preached (Lindsay translated), another wonderful message that spoke to our hearts, he thanked us for being there and then he concluded in a way that I’ll never forget: “I have something in this cardboard box right here [motions toward large box sitting on floor]. Anyone who feels called or lead by the Lord, you can come and see what is inside and thank the Lord for what you see.”  Called, and lead by curiosity, most of the congregation made its way toward the box.  Eventually our team was able to make our way toward the front and I quickly peeked my head between several others and got a quick look. Surprised, because in the box there was a face staring back at me.

Inside the box was a mirror.



first look at our project :)



Upon finding out what was in the box, rather than returning to their seats the congregation dropped to their knees right then and there at the foot of the alter, the stairs packed with praying people, those who couldn’t fit on the steps stood behind also in prayer. Our team joined them and we prayed for a long time. Prayed that we could do good, that we wouldn’t disappoint them, that we could have a good influence, but also that we would be changed and transformed by these people just as much.

All our hearts cried out in unison, nations joined together, worlds united.



Major Prayer Requests

Hey everyone,

Sorry, this is an interuption to the Honduras narrative; but I have some major prayer requests.

First of all, the saludictorian of our high school, Brenden Nichols, was in a horrible car accident just a few days ago and is currently at St. Patricks Hospital in Missoula, Montana. He is in a coma and in critical condition.  I've been in many of his classes all throughout high school, including German. So I know that he is a kind, caring and smart person and a passionate Christian as well.  I encourage everyone to join the facebook group "Brenden's Angels" to stay updated on how he is doing. ( http://www.facebook.com/groups/263802876995142/ )

For those who know Brenden, our hearts go out to him and our prayers are for a speedy and full recovery.

http://www.kpax.com/news/man-hurt-in-highway-12-crash/

Second, during our trip to Honduras we spent half a day at the Nazareno Escuela playing with the kids and helping out.  Our team is even sponsering a child at this school now named Alex.  (will describe that whole day later in my blog).  But lately, Honduras has been hit by a series of large storms and without warning the river near the school has flooded.  The school and much of the surrounding neighborhood has been hit by this flooding and many families have lost what little they originally had.  Thirteen people have been killed by the flooding so far.  Please keep them in your prayers and if anyone feels called to help out, one can send a check made out to True Disciples and mailed to: MARCIA CYR AT 5808 W 8TH AVE. KENNEWICK, WASHINGTON 99336. A note should be included with the check with "For Calan School emergency", True Disciples will be sure to get the money to Honduras via teams going there to help out since there is no postal services in the country.  Anything anyone can do, even if it's just prayers, would be greatly appreciated by all.  Also in Honduras, a section of the north-south highway going to Guatemala has collapsed; stranding people in both Honduras and Guatemala.  Prayers for that as well.  http://english.sina.com/world/p/2011/1017/405933.html#.Tp42aK-ySYk.facebook

Third, a friend of a friend's family has just gone through a horrible ordeal. The worst.  My prayers go out to them all, I hope there can be healing with time.  No one should have to go through that.

http://www.kxly.com/news/29503047/detail.html

Lastly, this prayer request is for a soldier, Sam Helmer.  I knew Sam when I was a little kid living in Montana, he was neighbors to my best friend and friends with her brother.  Often when I would go to Jacki's house, Sam would be there hanging out with her brother.  Naturally, the older guys would tease us little girls or play around with us occasionally.   Sam rode the same bus as me in elementary school and since we knew him, my friends and I would tease him for standing up during the ride and getting in trouble and also for rather than going through a gate like a normal person, he would always jump the fence in his yard after the bus had dropped him off.  In later years, Sam joined the Army. He was recently married and then soon after sent to Afghanistan.  Sunday, Sam took the brunt of an explosion from some sort of IED and was gravely wounded.  He is in critical condition in a German hospital, and it's really bad.  Please, please pray for a miracle. http://ravallirepublic.com/news/state-and-regional/article_b215a249-143d-557d-92e2-47b65b4581bf.html

My heart aches for all the pain and suffering that is happening right now.  I am praying for everyone who is hurt and everyone whose heart is hurting.  Stay strong everyone, God is with us.  Random things happen but God can work good from every one; even if the only good is that He helps them find their way home to Him.  He'll take care of them all. It hurts though, that is for sure, so please keep praying.

God Bless you all, and please stay safe.

~ HONDURAS ~ part one ~

Originally, my plan was to follow up my last post with the decisions and the changes I went through after Honduras.  Although I left you all with a cliff hanger and I know you're itching to know what was supposed to come next, sorry, it'll be a little while before I get to that.  For now, I need to talk about Honduras itself. For weeks I've been debating how to approach this post and I have finally decided that Honduras was so full of significant details and experiences that there is no way I could contain it into one post; I cannot even divide it into halves.  So I'm going to undertake this narrative painstakingly slow and describe it in the most extreme detail.  I will walk you through it just as it happened to me; one day at a time . . .

 

                                                     

Check. Double check. Triple check. Finally, when I was satisfied that I had everything, I brought my suitcase downstairs, bouncing along behind me, and took it out to the garage where I set it carefully into the trunk of the car. I ran through everything in my head again and was finally content that I was as prepared as I could be.  But even though I was thorough and confident in my packing abilities, I still was walking around in a state of surrealism. As much as I thought about it, I could not get myself to believe that in slightly over 24 hours, I would be in an entirely different country, and a third world country at that. There was nothing I could do to prepare myself mentally, and I had no idea what to expect.  I was eager to get there and actually see this mysterious new world I'd been planning for all summer.  My mom was definitely not as excited as I was though and she kept looking at me with a funny expression as if she were about to cry. I told her jokingly not to.  But I understood what she was feeling; it was bad enough that I was going to a third world country, let alone that I would have only one day at home upon my return and then it would be off to college for me.  To me though, college still seemed like weeks away and at the moment I couldn't even get myself to believe I was going to Honduras, let alone college; I couldn't be going to college yet, the summer hadn't been nearly long enough.

Even though I had told mom not to cry when she dropped me off at True North; she did.  Eventually, everyone from the True North team showed up (Nathan Barber, Carol Bell, Rick Barton, Vince Bjorlin, Diana Baker, Taylor, Logan and Scott Jimmerson, and myself) and Chuck came to pray with us for the safety and for God's plan and His works to be done during our trip.  During prayer though, I couldn't help but think that I really didn't mind if things didn't go exactly to plan, if anything, I hoped they wouldn't.  Not in a bad way, I just kinda had a feeling that maybe we were going into this with too much of our own plan and not enough flexibility to go wherever it was that God needed us, I hoped that once we got there that we'd be going by His plan only.  I was hoping for an experience that would completely shake the foundations of who I was, whether it was a good experience or a bad one, safe or not; that was up to God.  I wanted to make a difference in the people's lives down there, but I wanted them to completely change mine as well. That was my prayer.

After a few pictures and the goodbyes, we loaded into the cars.  I still couldn't believe it.  The drive to Medical Lake seemed completely ordinary and I had to continually remind myself that we were going to gather with the rest of our team and then we'd be on our way out of the country.  This was actually happening! All that work and worry over the summer had suddenly become reality.  In a way, I always wondered in the back of my mind if it would even happen; if I would be able to make the payments, if I would be allowed to, if we'd make enough during the fundraising, if something came up that would make it so I couldn't go, if, if, if; too many "ifs."  But it all worked out, months later, here I was, ready to go on the greatest adventure of my life thus far!!

At Medical Lake we waited for a while until the Richland part of the team showed up (Todd Thomas our team leader, Hasan Bytyqi, Tim Stevens, Lindsay Hageman Cortina, Kay and Kathy Koglin).  Though I had not been able to meet them before this, I instantly took a liking to them all.  I wondered a bit how long it would take me to get to know them; mostly because I have always been rather shy and reserved when it comes to meeting new people, a concept which has always frightened me.  But during the time that we were loading everything into their van, I decided within myself that I would try my hardest to get to know them and not spend time worrying about it.  I wanted to share a strong connection with the team so that maybe God could work through us in ways that none of us dreamed possible, and that none of us certainly could have done alone.

The van ride to Seattle was surprisingly comfortable.  I attempted to sleep once or twice but never really could stay asleep for more than a few minutes and soon gave up on the idea. My attention eventually turned to those in the van, we spent most of the ride looking out the windows or getting to know each other.  There were random conversations and also a game designed by the Richland congregation as a device for getting familiar with one another, which we had some fun playing.

Driving through Seattle I encountered something that I did not expect on this trip.  As we made our way to Sea-Tac and the lights of the city and the brief Seattle skyline came into view, the thought struck me; in approximately eleven days, I would be living there.  I thought about my mom's tears as I left and understood them, I thought about home and I looked at Nathan out of the corner of my eye and suddenly realized that meant I would be leaving him as well. This was our last adventure before we went our separate ways for college and I was struck by fear and the pain of what was to come.  I couldn't help crying silently to myself a little bit as I looked out the window. At the same time that I was most excited for anything I have ever been before; I was also terrified.

      We finally reached Sea-Tac, thankful to be out of the van and that the longest leg of our journey was over. But we were not long in realizing that we had three more "legs" to go and that our day was just beginning.  After check in and all that fun airport "stuff" and then waiting for a couple hours, we boarded our first plane bound for O'Hare, Chicago at 11:59 pm.  All was quiet on the dark plane and it seemed as if most, if not all the passengers were sleeping or trying to sleep. I even surprised myself by falling asleep for an hour or two, something that rarely happens on planes.  As we began our decent, the sun was rising in the distance ahead of us and was reflecting red off of a lake to the left.  We dove into the clouds and landed in a rainy, foggy Chicago at dawn.  There was only a whiff of humidity as we transferred from the pressurized airplane into the air-conditioned O'Hare. We grabbed breakfast and Starbucks and settled down to keeping ourselves entertained for the four hour layover.  Nathan and I alternated between sleeping a little, reading, writing and exploring the vast airport.  I couldn't help thinking about my Left Behind books as we explored, since the first book pretty much begins at O'Hare.  I allowed myself to feel a little nerdy and entertained myself by looking for people in the airport who could have been the characters in my book.  At one point during our expedition  we happened to stop by the bathrooms, as I was standing before the mirror, it seemed, at first, like any normal mirror but suddenly, it came alive.  Though one could still see oneself in it, it was also doubling as a sort of TV screen, playing only advertisements. I watched it for a minute and couldn't believe that any country could stoop so low as to make even bathroom mirrors not only a place for fussing over our own appearance, but also now apparently a field for brainless advertising as well.  I felt grateful at that moment that I was leaving the country. I wanted to escape America all together and I prayed that upon my return from a third world country, my eyes would be forever opened and that I would never fall for tricks like these.

Eventually, we found ourselves on a plane again, this time bound for Miami.  I saw the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in my life as we flew along the Florida coast toward Miami International!  I enjoyed the light blue water and the circle we did over the everglades as we came in for final decent.  Though there was sun over the rest of Florida, Miami was wrapped in a rainstorm.  Another whiff of humidity as we exited the plane and another four hour layover; then, we began our flight to Honduras!!

We took off over the Gulf of Mexico. Both the sky and the water were so blue that you couldn't even tell where one ended and the other began.  We flew over a Cuba that was mostly concealed by clouds, but the long beaches and some of the thickly treed shorelines were visible, also many atolls and various small islands.  About an hour or two into our flight, the sky turned pink and we were soon flying through clouds that were aflame with the bright pink color of the setting sun, out of the windows facing East one could even see the shadows of the clouds stretch for miles horizontally behind them.  As the sun disappeared and darkness began to settle, the clouds went from pink to iron grey and lightning flashed ahead of us.  Soon we found ourselves right in the middle of a nasty thunderstorm. Lightning tore apart the sky and the plane bounced along on the turbulence. Soon, it was pitch black and aside from the bolts of jagged, white electricity, all was dark.  It wasn't until we were below the clouds and could see small lights here and there along a river that we realized we were over land.  The lights seemed far dimmer and the mysterious landscape that we couldn't see made them seem wild and untamed.  I couldn't help thinking, while coming in for landing, that, at one time San Pedro Sula was home to the world's second most dangerous airport, a statistic that is currently outdated but still causes one to be a little nervous.  Though the runway has been lengthened and modern technology is far better, i still had a pretty good grip on the arm rest of my seat as we approached the runway.  Decent is unusually quick, and when you're landing in the middle of a severe thunderstorm, in the pitch black of night it definitely raises your heart rate.  Apparently everyone else was thinking the same thing that I was for as soon as the wheels made contact with the ground; everyone on the plane cheered.

Though we'd been traveling for over twenty-four hours, I was wide awake.  I was in a foreign country and was straining to see any hint of my surroundings.  It was slightly frustrating arriving at night, I desperately wanted to see the landscape, but that would have to wait 'til morning.  For now, we had to get through customs and find Amy and Tom Hanes, our trip coordinators.  Nathan and I were the first ones through customs and it didn't take us too long to find Amy, Tom and Efrain (the pastor of the church we would later be working at).  While we were waiting I helped Amy find the rest of our team while Nathan chatted with Efrain in Spanish. It took a while, but eventually the rest of the group caught up with us and we made our way outside to the cars.  The humidity literally punched us in the face.  Even late at night, it was hot and the air was sticky.

The van quickly filled up so they needed two people to ride with Efrain in the big moving van that was being used to transport our luggage; Nathan and I immediately voulunteered.  Sitting between Nathan and Efrain in the van was a bit awkward at first; I could only understand a few of the Spanish phrases, and when it seemed like they had said something interesting, I had to ask for a translation from Nathan. At one point I could understand that Nathan had made a comment to Efrain about how hot it was; Efrian laughed in response. But most of the time I didn't even bother and simply entertained myself by trying to make out what I could see in the darkness, which wasn't much.

On the way to the compound, Efrain decided to try and fill the gas tank so he pulled into a station.  The line was too long though so he changed his mind and as we pulled out of the parking lot we drove by the store owner who was standing in the middle of the parking lot with a shot gun; standing guard over his store and ensuring that no theft took place.  We pulled out of the station and the van slid a bit on the gravel toward the ditch.  For a second I thought we might slide off, but Efrain got the van under control and we continued along the highway, pulled a U-turn and headed toward the compound.  One of the things one soon finds out about Honduras is that there are few driving laws that are actually followed, in fact, most of them are regarded simply as suggestions.  As we were driving toward the compound we drove by an accident where a car had hit two bicyclists.  The two men were lying in the road.  A few others had gathered around them, attempting to help, but there were no ambulances.  One moved his arm as we went by so I wondered if he would be alright. But as we drove by Efrain gravely stated, "muertos."  We saw in the newspaper the next day that both the men had died.



Lindsay and my bunk beds



Eventually we turned off the highway onto a severely rutted dirt road that lead to the compound, in the middle of a giant sugar cane field.  We met in the dining area and Amy and Tom filled us in on some things we needed to know while we ate dinner.  Frustratingly, I wasn't able to pay much attention to what was being said because I suddenly didn't feel real well (probably from traveling all day and all the junk food I had when we were on the road).  We all went to bed shortly after though so it was alright.  Lindsay and I shared a room and I claimed one of the top bunks of the two bunk beds in the small dorm room; I was trying to get as close to the fan as I could.  Despite the heat, I slept well that night.  And the next morning I awoke to my first Sunday in Honduras . . .

 Oh yea, and this henious crime was caught in the act by Todd at the Sea-Tac airport.  Rick didn't want to pay to have his phone charged to he decided to simply plug it behind the machine...

Me in a Nutshell

Here it goes, my life in a nutshell:

*deep breath*

I was born in St. Helena, California in the Napa Valley. when I was a few months old my family moved to Missoula, Montana where my sister, Haley, was born. As I was about to attend Kindergarten, my family again moved to a small town about 45 minutes outside of Missoula called Stevensville and that is where I spent the majority of my growing years.  I have two best friends with whom I still keep in contact from those years: Jacki Simmert and Kyrie Campbell.  I know we will forever be "the three amigos" and I look back very fondly upon the days we spent together.  During those years, my passions consisted of: horses, collecting Breyer horses and TY beanie babies, gymnastics and dreams of wanting to be a veternarian (Kyrie, Jacki and I even had plans for our own clinic that we were going to all own together).

At the end of fourth grade I had to leave the best friends of my youth when my family moved to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. The move was rather rough on the whole family, but we managed, and Coeur d'Alene turned out to be a wonderful place to live; my family lives there still today.  Though at times I missed Montana, Coeur d'Alene quickly became my true home.  I met some of my best friends there (Crystal Butt, Melissa Barkow, Celena Allen, Rachel Bryan and Mallory Gregson) and have had some of my greatest and most memorable experiences there.  There are countless days spent swimming, boating and fishing on the lakes,  days spent hiking, camping and hunting in the woods, while living there I came to know Christ and to experience love.  It's along the lakeshore that prom took place and I loved those walks on the beach and along the boardwalk in every season, including winter.  I skiied almost every slope in the area and we considered Spokane to be the "big city". In fifth grade I began to play the viola and now, nine years later, it still remains one of my great passions. So almost needless to say there were innumerable concerts both attended and performed in.  And of course, Coeur d'Alene is where I met my very best friend, Nathan Barber.

Nathan and I were friends since Freshman year and didn't even begin dating until Junior year.  It's been an amazing two years with him and I consider myself to be the luckiest girl in the world.  He is both a talented cellist and an all around amazing person.  Together we have had countless adventures: movies (including several midnight premiers), hiking Canfield mountain, meeting Sarah Palin, floating the river, painting, jumping into the lake fully dressed just for the heck of it, many classes together and concerts, school classes, a day trip to Seattle, swimming at our favorite spot on the lake, days in Spokane, supporting eachother in various ways, school dances and football games, just hanging out at eachother's houses, trying new resturaunts, kayaking around Tubbs hill, prom, church, youth group, Honduras and growing together spiritually in an amazing, faith centered relationship.  In fact, if it was not for him, I would never have come to know Christ.

There were hard times to be sure, everyone has them.  But I got through them and now believe I am better for it.  For certain though if it was not for family, friends and loved ones I don't think I'd have made it.  Likewise, I've been able to grow in myself and then turn around and provide help to others in their times of need; in itself very difficult, but completely worth it.  It's been a journey to be sure; one that's brought me to my current position, sitting in a college dorm after a week of rigorous classes.

My hard work in academics my whole life allowed me to be accepted into the University of Puget Sound where I am now, here in Tacoma.  I came here with the intention of majoring in Art since for all my life I've considered myself to be a self taught artist, my talent even earned me a scholarship; so it seemed like a natural choice. I've always loved art and believe I could be sucessful.  Also able to write well, experienced in many extracurricular activities, having good common sense and worldly knowledge, my ability to work hard, get things done, work under pressure, knowledge of another language, experience in both music and art, my excellent academics, determination and ambition; I know I could be successful in today's America.

 But then I decided to go on a mission trip to Honduras. . .

AND NOW EVERYTHING IS ABOUT TO CHANGE. . . . .
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