Thursday, June 27, 2013

the moment it clicked

It finally clicked, what Shelbi had been saying to me these past couple months in our small group. I was standing in the Albertsons Building on the university campus when it hit me, looking out over the plants in all their summer glory. 

This place is home to me. I fell in love with my school a couple semesters before I had to leave it. And by that time, moving away wasn't something I looked forward to, but instead dreaded with my whole heart. Every time I come back here though I still feel like I belong here. Contrarily, when I visit my old high school even though everything there is familiar, I am different. It feels different. That's not the case, though, as I stood in my flip flops staring at the greenery out the giant windows. 

If I had it all to do over again the only thing I'd change is just to have enjoyed it a little bit more. Reveled in the ability to ditch class and stay out until four in the morning with minimal bodily consequences. I wouldn't take for granted the experiences or the friendships or the use of a gym every day. I would have spent more time playing volleyball and frisbee and loving the dorm life. 

It took me four years to really appreciate my college experience and then it was time to go. It is a fact that I have had a hard time coming to terms with. I had just really started to find myself when it was time to change again. 

And that moment right there, when I realized that this place still felt like home, was where everything clicked. I am too busy trying to be somewhere I'm not, to be some person that it's not time for me to be yet or anymore. 

In school I was too busy trying to be done with everything that I didn't fully enjoy where I already was and who I was at that time. Lately, I have been too consumed with what the future means to really just relax and be myself. I need to just be still. We may not be where we want to be or who we want to be, but God uses every moment for good and He can use us in our current states. I don't need to try and be somewhere I'm not, the future isn't going to come any faster just because I'm sitting here wishing for it. The time will pass anyway, so why not enjoy it? 

So I'm choosing to just be myself. Where I am. Who I am. With the people that are around me now. God will take care of the rest. He will take care of me. Everything will be okay. 

Thursday, June 20, 2013

i made it big, yo

I interviewed for the full time teaching position the Monday before the school year was over. There were two positions open, one full time and one part time, and there were only two applicants. I knew for sure I would get a spot, I just didn't know which one they would offer me. I mean, I had a pretty good idea that I would get the full time position. That's the one I really wanted. But there was just enough uncertainty that made me nervous.

The only "interviews" I've ever been to were ones where I had already got the job and just needed to walk through the formalities. My first real 'adult' interview was for the library position, and I was so nervous I just tugged on my shirt sleeves the whole time and tried to steady my voice before I answered each question.

So I walked into this teaching interview, portfolio in hand, nervous and excited.

I sat before a panel of three people. My principal, one of the assistant principals, and a head administrator from the district office. My nerves were in a ball on top of my stomach and I felt like all my brain parts had been discombobulated and rearranged in my skull.

They asked their questions, starting with the most hated question in the history of the universe "So, Natalie, tell me a little bit about yourself..."

And then the classroom questions started pouring in. How would students describe you? How would you like your co-workers to describe you? What is your basic education philosophy? What things would you change in the art room, what would you keep the same? My brain was in hyperdrive trying to remember the right words and put sentences in the correct order while still remaining outwardly calm and taking the time to organize my thoughts before I opened my mouth.

I left the 20 minute interview unsure of which way they would go. On one hand, I had been working at the school for a year. I knew the art program, the staff, the students, how the school ran. But on the other hand I lacked serious experience in the teaching department. I taught at the university as a TA for Art 100 and I did my student teaching, but other than that I come up short. How do you get experience though, if no one will give you a chance? So I crossed my fingers and said my prayers and tried not to worry too much.

My principal told me they would have their decision by early the next week. I knew I would be gone, so I asked him to email me. Those first couple of days in Honduras, every time I would connect to the wifi I would obsessively check my email like a fourteen year old girl waiting to see if her crush actually responded.

Finally I got an email from my principal asking me to call him, since he had tried calling me and my number wasn't working. My heart sank a little as I wondered whether or not being out of the country had slimmed my chances for the full time position, but I emailed back telling him where I was and that I could call him once I returned home. He said that wasn't a problem and I finished out my week in Honduras curious about what the results were.

Monday afternoon I was texting TheBoy about my day, telling him that I still needed to call my principal about my job. A little while later he responds "did you call yet??" My heart started beating wildly in my chest, oh no I haven't! I don't want to! It's too scary! Inwardly I recoiled, both wanting desperately to find out and also to live in ignorant bliss at the same time.

So I picked up the phone. And I dialed the number. And I got his voicemail without the phone having rung first. I hung up, unsure of whether or not to call back. Sometimes when I call my mother and I get her voicemail right away something wonky happened with the connection and so I decided to redial the number and try again. Same thing, voicemail with no rings. This time I left a message for him to call me whenever since I was back in the country now.

And then I put my phone on Pandora and played it through the speakers while I hopped in the shower.

By the time I had soaped up and slathered on my face wash, my Chris Tomlin jam sesh was cut short. I peaked my head out of the shower and saw my principal's number calling my phone. I shut off the water, grabbed my towel and only dried off the part of my face that would touch my phone as I pressed the button to connect.

"Hello, this is Natalie," I said. The voice on the other line greeted me excitedly, he asked me about my trip, what did I do, how long was I gone, who did I go with, etc. And then he says what I have been dying to hear.

"We've decided to offer you the full time position..."

Before he can say anything else a little "yaaaay" escaped my lips and all of a sudden I wanted to laugh and cry and scream and hug someone all at the same time while standing in the middle of my steamy bathroom dripping with water and soap and wrapped in a towel.

And that is how I became the new full time art teacher at the ripe old age of twenty two.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

a heart for Honduras

It's hard to write about Honduras. Not because I had an awful time and not because something bad happened there, but just because words don't do the time I spent in that beautiful country justice. A blog post does not accurately describe emotions felt, people known, and experiences completed.

We flew into the airport full of anticipation and excitement for things to come. Some of us knew each other fairly well and some only had the exposure of seeing one another at the various meetings this past year leading up to right now. But by the end of the trip, we were all connected in a way that cannot be explained.

Giddily we made our way through customs and ultimately outside, crowded with spanish speaking Hondurans. We were quickly the minority.


Our first full day in Honduras started with a visit to AFE. A tour from Pastor Jeonny which included lots of time with the students (te veo en la Universidad!!) and delicious baked goods from their new micro business, a bakery run by two extremely talented professional bakers (read best sweet rolls of your life). In the afternoon we brought food and water to the workers in the trash dump.




Here in America our dumps are private. Private in that we don't let just anyone walk up there and scavenge through our refuse to find recyclables (and food). But there are Hondurans who's only source of any income is to find things of worth in other people's trash and turn them in for a small profit. Some are there by choice and some are there by circumstance, but all of them do not have very much in the way of material goods.

The first time I was ever at the dump was an experience that I can't put into words. This time, however, was even more powerful. I feel like this trip, because I was able to actually interact with the people who worked there, impacted me a lot more.

You are not handing out food to a drone in a factory, there are eyes staring back at you. There is a story there, there is a person who has hopes and dreams and thoughts and opinions about stuff and things and life. That person looking at you, holding out their hand for two tortillas filled with eggs and meat, has a background and a destiny. They were created with a purpose, just like me.

It's pure circumstance that I am not a trash dump worker. I didn't choose to be born in America to an upper middle class family in North Idaho just as much as that person didn't choose to be born in Honduras to a family who has been in the dump since their great grandfather was alive. And once I realized that, something in me kind of clicked.

Why did God put me here? What is my purpose? Those are questions I often ask myself daily, especially in the seemingly relentless grind of my everyday life. I may never fully comprehend what I'm here for, but I know it has to do with helping people.

And that's an interesting thing for me, since I don't really like people that much. I would rather be a wallflower in a busy situation and just slip in and out unnoticed. I can't tell you why I am that way, but just that I've been that way all my life. I like to share my opinion, but mostly only when someone asks me about it. I suppose that's because when someone asks they have to be interested and if they are interested then I am important and I like to be important.



I didn't feel like I needed to be the center of attention this last week though. I was important to others in the way that I nailed together countless boards. I hammered until my biceps hurt. I screwed hinges on doors. I grabbed tools for others. I played jokes on one of the workers who played jokes on me first. I hugged kid after kid after kid and communicated through my severely broken Spanish and their small grasp on the English language.

I was genuinely sad and slightly depressed at the fact that I had to leave Honduras.


The night before we flew back to America we had a pow wow of sorts in the lobby of our hotel. I was not interested in being there. I felt like I had talked all the things I needed to talk and I didn't want to sit down there in that chair and cry again about how much this trip had changed my life. I was kind of over it. I don't like crying and I don't like listening to other people cry and the little introvert inside of me just wanted to crawl in my own little bubble up in my bedroom and have some alone time. But instead I stayed in the lobby and listened to what Adam had to say.

He told us that we do a lot of preparation for the going to a third world country part of our trip, but that we often forget about the going back to the first world country part after it's all over. Everything at home is familiar to us, our house, our car, our door, our chairs and our beds. Our showers, towels, sinks, kitchens, rooms, and curtains. We know these things will be there for us when we get back, but what we often forget to realize is that even though those things are the same, the people we know are the same, we are different.

I am different.

He gave examples from his own life where the things he was warning us about had been evident. He told us not to feel guilty that we had been given more in life, because we didn't choose to be born American. There is nothing we can do about that. He told us that instead of feelings guilty, we should instead feel burdened. Going back home and selling everything you own because you feel guilty for having more stuff than you need isn't going to help anyone, it will just make you miserable. So go home and let your burden fuel you to do more. To help more. To appreciate what you have more.

In this life I have been given so much, and often I am not thankful for it. I take for granted the fact that I can wash my hands in a sink and not need to sanitize them afterwards because the water isn't pure. I take for granted the fact that I can drink that same water and it won't make me sick. I take for granted the ability to flush my toilet paper down the pipes and not worry that it will clog something somewhere and back up everyone's system. I take for granted the simple fact that I even have a toilet.

But the first time I arrived home from Honduras, I did realize those things I was grateful for but I never really felt any additional culture shock. So when Adam was talking about that, even though I was listening, I wasn't really hearing.

Until I got home and I went to a barbecue at my cousin's house for the college age kids at our church. I shouldn't have gone, I felt so out of place. I had just come from such a poor country with people who don't have very many material possessions, but a faith that is so incredibly rich. They know that God is there providing for them and the He is faithful in answering their prayers. They know who it is that they serve.

And there I was surrounded by people, a lot of whom I was unfamiliar with, and I just felt so alienated from them. There was the stereotypical "how was your trip?" question that I was asked only once and the rest of the time was spent listening to others talk about their lives and their concerns and their problems. It was starting to get old fast and I just wanted to go home to my family. I wanted to go snuggle my dogs and talk to people who had just been through the same emotional roller coaster I had been on. People who "got it" without me having to really say anything.

That's when it hit me, that this trip changed me. That I came home a different person and everything that Adam had warned me about I was experiencing. Culture shock. I was not really prepared for it, to be honest.

But I don't want to ever lose sight of how blessed I am. I don't ever want to forget how faithful God is. How much He loves me and how much He provides for me. If those people in that dump can know God cares about them beyond a shadow of a doubt, then I can too.

We are blessed beyond measure. We are loved beyond words. We are cared for beyond our wildest expectations and we have a purpose that is beyond anything we could imagine for ourselves.














Friday, June 7, 2013

no more pencils no more books no more teachers dirty looks

Yesterday was the last day of school. It was totes crazy sauce, as the children say. Also, I spend way too much time around high schoolers.

The last day of school was incredibly bittersweet. The boys were absolutely nuts in the gym, pushing each other like little girls. I had to be mean to them! On the last day of classes! I mean, what the heck! But I think they were just overly ready to be out of there and headed into the land of no homework filled with days at the beach in the sunshine - and who can blame them? I mean really. Shoot.

So today I went back to school for the last time this school year to help clean up and organize that jungle of an art room. In the midst of the chaos the floor was covered in colored construction paper and tissue paper. It looked like a rainbow threw up, I am not kidding. And I ended up throwing away massive amounts of garbage including but not limited to magazines from 1975, wrinkled and ripped up paper, art project examples that were older than dirt, and broken ceramic projects.

At 2:10 I needed to leave so I could pick up TheSeester from her last day of school and it was the weirdest to say good bye. I don't like good byes. They are sad and a little awkward and do I hug you or do I not? And I never feel like I really express good byes well. Especially if I'm really never going to see that person again - I don't know how to handle it. But I managed and I made my rounds and I walked out of that building excited about next year but oh so ready for summer vacation.

Tomorrow we leave for Honduras. We'll be gone eight days back in Tegucigalpa building a house for a family who works in the trash dump. We're starting off the trip with a visit to AFE and the trash dump and some sight seeing to buy souvenirs I think? And then the rest of the trip will be all about nailing boards together in the shape of a house, bonding with our Honduran work buddies and eating delicious food. Big things are gonna happen, folks. I can feel it.

I haven't even started packing yet, though. I mean, I am a last minute packer lately. I used to get so excited about taking trips that I would pack way before I needed to, but as I've gotten older I've also gotten lazier. No one was shocked. Packing usually takes place around midnight the day before I leave. That's also sometimes when I start the laundry too. I like to live on the edge.

And I'll try to blog every once in a while from the hotel, but mostly just follow me on Instagram (@natakeit90) for picture updates! Yessssss.




I leave you with this picture of one of our dogs. He likes to lay under the dining room table. 




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