A Life Worth Living.

We want our lives to have purpose. Some of us want to change the world and others want to simply change the channel. We live for happiness, affection, admiration, money, power, love, revenge, relief, adventure, addiction, and passion. We live for a combination of those things, and more, throughout our journey called life. One of my favorite quotes is, "Life is what happens when you are busy living." How peculiar of a notion. Does that mean we are missing out when we let the days pass by- waiting, wanting, longing for the meaning of life to hit us, to remind us why life is worth living.

When I was six, I lived for the suckers from the lady at the bank drive-through and bedtime stories. When I was eleven I lived for a calm in the storm of divorce. When I was seventeen I lived for the love of a boy and tailgate circles on a Friday night. Now, at nineteen, I've decided there is so much left to live for.

The woman I met in South Africa lives for the grant money that doesn't come. She lives for hope. Hope that she can pay her son's tuition, pay for her home, and pay for the AIDS medicine that gives her the chance to live. 

The kids in Honduras and India live for missionaries and volunteers to teach them to read and tie their shoes. They live for the chance to use broken crayons and to eat hard candy. They live for love for a short time. 

The farmers in Thailand live for one more year to the work the land that the government refuses to give them the rights to. The land they've occupied for years. They live for the chance to hold something that is theirs.

The boy I befriended in Haiti lives for the chance to earn a University degree. He lives for a better life, a life he's never known. 

The families in Ecuador live for the opportunity to rebuild. They live for years down the road, when a legacy will live on in the rain-forests for generations to come. 

The gentleman in Cambodia I bought roses from, lives for a generous heart passing by. 

I've lived for a boy, a sport, a good time, and a God. But never have I ever even thought about living for food, medicine, shelter, rights, hugs, or even just hope.

I'm sure one day I'll live for much more than parties and finales. I'll live for things like a career, kids, and a husband. But here I am at nineteen wondering if that's really enough to live for. I want to live for crazy dreams and real change. I want to live for those who can't seem to find something worth living for. I'll live for a prayer of hope and ray of happiness. I'll live for much more than I ever thought of before.

This Farming Thing; It's An Agtual Issue.

One out of sixteen kids are from an agriculture community, according to TBB statistics. Making me the go to expert with any questions of corn, tractors, or country music. Which was a lot of pressure if I do say so myself. Especially when we prepared to study sustainable agriculture in Thailand. I suppose I was able to give useful perspective and educated insight during our discussions on GMOs, Syngenta, and Monsanto (Many thanks to my ag teachers, Mrs. Julie Gilliam & Mr. Bradley McKinney). However, while the rest of the group was eager to gain knowledge around agriculture issues from the curriculum, I was struggling with my own issues.

            First of all, I am no expert and I am no farmer. I was simply blessed to have grown up in the community I did, and given the opportunity to find my passion in agriculture as well. I was most excited about TBB because of the focus on agriculture as a global issue, but as we jumped right in to our home stays and work sites I was taken back. On a personal level I was pro-industrial agriculture. I’m talking genetically modified seeds, GPS directed tractors, chemical fertilizers, and rows, and rows, and rows, of cash crops. This is the agriculture I was raised in, monoculture coated in liquid nitrogen. I was certain that the answer to feeding this hungry world was industrialized agriculture. Which is why I had a hard time taking the organic farming techniques of my family in Thailand, seriously.

I was quick to express my opinion in our first seminar, “Organic farming simply isn’t going to the feed the world.” I was understanding non-the-less. Good for my Pati, his rice fields were one hundred percent organic. No chemicals needed to feed his family. But, I refused to think that a globally based agriculture system like the one we have in the US could compete with our rapidly growing population if we suddenly switched to strict organic methods. On the contrary, throughout our studies I found that organic farming is working on an industrial scale in several places along the West coast.

So there I was, mid-way through the unit caught in the middle of what I knew and what I was learning. Sure, industrial ag certainly is not sustainable, but I doubt reverting back to the eighteen hundreds is going to be beneficial for farming in this century. Where is the happy medium? Even more, is there a medium between Round-Up Ready seeds and Swidden farming? How can sustainable practices be implemented in order to not only increase production but also protect the environment? These were the questions I was asking.

Let me remind you, I was considered the expert…now lacking the expertise.

           

When it came time to prepare media projects to wrap up our unit, I wanted to depict my personal growth throughout my time in Thailand. I had learned to look at the simple similarities, rather than the stark differences between industrial and organic farming. I wanted to express the passion behind agriculture, and the personal relationship between the farmer and the farm. So here is my artsy burst of creativity….

An Accumulation of AG-Knowledgments

At the root of the issue you'd find,

Sustainable Ag is what's lagging behind.

There they are, under all the dirt and rust,

Practices of the past covered in dust.

The light in the sky, calls on a hero.

Another day's try to defeat hunger at zero.

The masses are increasing, along with their stowing.

The solution it seems calls for much more growing.

From seedling to plant, all in a row,

Surely come November, there'll be tons of grain in tow.

What a stress this is, it seems. 

Couldn't an industry just genetically modify millions of beans?

How innovative of a solution to choose.

However, I think I'd suggest taking a walk in the farmer's shoes.

I've come to find, that indeed;

I would rather know the face behind the crop,

Than the one smiling at the front of the shop. 

Call Me A Crazy Christian.

My mother had two fears when I left home in September. The first being that I would never actually go to college. The second was that I would stop going to church. Both were legitimate concerns I suppose,  given the combination of my wandering soul and opinionated personality. However, I am pleased to assure her, and you, that is not, and certainly will not be, the case. I haven't been to church since the Sunday before I left, but I have never felt so in touch with my faith in Christ than during the past four months. Which has recently led me to question how I really feel about my relationship with "church".

A few weeks ago our group was taking a stroll to dinner and my friend, who does not identify as Christian, began to inquire about my faith. In short, I shared with them the callings I have experienced regarding not only to take a gap year, but also the career I feel led towards as well. The conversation continued on to what I suppose you could consider my testimony. I expressed not only my personal experience with Christianity and why I love it but also the things, quite frankly, I hate about it. Over the past few years I have been a regular not only at Sunday morning service, but Wednesday night as well. I've been on several mission trips and attended countless youth retreats and conferences. I have adequate experience with what is considered church. I've realized, nonetheless, that the expectations we Christians try to live up to and the rules we strive to live by, are far from parallel with the personal relationship I have with Christ. I'm a take me or leave kind of gal with all my flaws and issues, but see, I know that Jesus is the type to take me just the way I am. I consider Jesus and I pretty close friends and if you could ask Him I think He'd say the same. I'm confident in this statement because we talk a few times a day and I can trust Him with my life. Which is more than I can say for most of my friends. Our relationship has gotten me pretty far if I do say so myself. There are few things I am certain of, but knowing He loves me unconditionally is one of them.  He loves me every time I curse, He loves my pierced nose, He loves me when I have a Coors Light in my hand, He loves my loud mouth, He loves every piece of me. Just like He loves you, and you, and you, and you. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm tired of playing church. I've realized that my relationship with Christ isn't about how many Sundays I am sitting in a pew or how I present myself in front of the church ladies. It's about the conversations we have on a daily basis and the influence He has on the steps I take every day.

Now, after I spilled all of these feelings to my friend, they had one last question. "Where would you take me to feel the fire of Christ, then?" And without a second thought I replied, "Well, I certainly wouldn't take you to church on Sunday."

Did that hit you like it hit me? The single most thought of thing that comes to mind when you think Christianity, is church. And I wouldn't take someone who was looking to feel the Spirit there with me. What does that say about me? That I get up on Sunday and get dolled up to go sit in a pew for an hour? I can't recall the last time Sunday I got up with the hope of experiencing the presence of Jesus. What does that say about my relationship with church?  That it's just this thing I do once or twice a week because it's where I'm expected to be? I want church to be something I feel, rather than something I do.

I'm tired of playing church folks, and I have a hunch that I'm not the only one. So I'll leave you with my  most recent question: What would my walk with Christ be like if I felt the fire every Sunday?


Oh, and for those still wondering about my mother's first fear, I'll be going to Murray in the fall. No worries.

~Short & Sweet~

I'm at a lose for words after my time in India. A month ago I experienced culture shock like never before. I was utterly terrified, that's the only way I know to describe it. But thankfully, the fear was short lived. After settling in with my host family I soon became relaxed. However, I was unaware of the cultural struggles ahead. I would learn to haggle with tuk-tuk drivers, control a classroom of thirty restless children, and train my taste-buds to withstand the heat of curry. I came to India with chaotic and dusty expectations but, I left with so much more.

I prepared (and ate) Thanksgiving dinner with my Indian host family. I crashed one dance party of an Indian wedding. I taught children how to spell simple words and to solve simple addition problems. I became a daughter to the Agrawals and a teacher to the children of SSN school. And even though our studies in India were focused on education, and our project involved becoming the teacher rather than the student, I feel like I was really the one learning all along.

I came to love the hustle and bustle of life in a culture bound by tradition, and I can honestly say that my heart is full after just five short, sweet, weeks in the Pink City. 

& Now I Know Them.

Sometimes it's hard to write down how I feel because my emotions change so frequently. I know that how I feel right now may be the polar opposite within the hour. From the time my day starts at seven every morning, until I close my eyes around ten at night, I've experienced so many emotions that I wonder if I could ever sleep enough to ride myself of exhaustion. What choice do I have but to get up and do it all over again? Better yet, would I even choose anything else? Naww.

I down a cup of chai and then I'm off to catch a tuk-tuk. If I wasn't already awake I soon will be from the completely unnecessary, ever persistent, honking on the pot-hole ridden roads to school. SSN school is an informal building tucked away down a dirt path just outside Jaipur. The students swarm through the gate, eager to spend the next three hours copying down vocabulary words, which are accompanied by my lovely drawings of course. My airplane probably wouldn't stay in flight for long and my camel could easily be mistaken for a longneck dinosaur with a hunchback. But, nevertheless they are happy to copy anything we place on the board. We have to be extremely careful not to mention C-O-L-O-R, because a frenzy will undoubtedly break out. I'm often screamed at in Hindi for not having the appropriate shade of green or purple their little hearts desire. I feel for them though, growing up with Crayola's macaroni orange and azul blue. We do our very best to satisfy them with what we have though. They're grateful for all the attention we have to offer, and many of them truly are intelligent. Which is exactly what breaks my heart.

I was so fortunate, and often took for granted my education in the States. I had teachers who fluently spoke my language, I had at least one text book for every subject, and all the crayons and colored pencils I would ever need. I was often challenged and encouraged to perform well, even when I neglected to present my very best effort. I was often lazy and mindless toward my assignments. However, I was still able to thrive and prosper in my environment because of the value placed on education from both my parents. I was spoiled really, and extremely lucky. I was always taught that school was a privilege denied to many; formal, structured education that is. But until now I hadn't known personally who those "many" were. 

Insert Tangent Here.

Two days of teaching and I've already realized that education is much more of a complex issue than I had originally assumed. Development being my main focus as a TBB student, I have already concluded that education is in fact the driving force of development. However, in addition to this focus I have made it a personal goal of mine to "think beyond the borders" of the western world. The idea of development from the standpoint of an American is so simple. Give poverty stricken countries aid and they will eventually get their shit together. Send volunteers into rural villages to "better the community" and one by one we Americans can change the world. From a recliner back in the States, this issue with development is quite simple.

Think again.

Aid can very easily create dependence, in turn ultimately preventing sustainability. Going into any project or program with the intention of "helping"---because we Westerners obviously know how to do everything right---will be detrimental to one or more parties involved. Growing up in America I had always had the common aspiration of changing the world. You must know that I was by no means naive about the entirety of global issues. I had seen poverty on large scale, I had seen injustice, I had witnessed oppression, and I had felt guilt, sympathy, and depression because of these worldly experiences. Although, I realize now how under qualified I was, and still am, to change the world.

I am a little over two months into a seven month program revolving around development. I have only been immersed in two of the four issues we will be studying. (Correct me if I am wrong, Robin.) Our structure of curriculum is designed with the intention to understand that these four issues -public health, education, sustainable agriculture, and natural resources- all funnel into development. I have already perceived that there are so many small issues that at length do effect the realm of development. It is utterly mind-blowing to attempt at understanding, much less act upon, how I could ever actually come to change the world. Nevertheless, even during all this daunting frustration, I know I am at the very least gaining knowledge. Knowledge I would most certainly not possess had I not taken this gap year with TBB. I am eternally grateful to have been able to seise the opportunity to think about the world beyond the Western borders. 

Contrary To My Speculation, Culture Shock Is Real.

Jaipur was supposedly painted pink by a king to impress his guest of honor some time ago. Quite frankly, I don't recall all the details, I was rather fatigued on the bus ride after traveling for a solid twenty four hours. However, after being here for almost a week, I realize that this "said king" was clearly color blind. The buildings are definitely more a shade of peach, rather than pink. But that is mainly "the old city", where we did quite a bit of cite seeing. Playing tourist has its perks but catching a tuk-tuk with my two roommates has most certainly been my cultural highlight thus far.

"So, when we see an empty one do we just wave like hell??"
Emily's approach seemed to be sufficiently effective because in no time at all we were bouncing along in the backseat of the little three-wheeled contraption. To say the streets of Jaipur are bustling would be an understatement. I've come to a fairly certain conclusion that there is no safe form of transit here, so I suppose the tuk-tuk will have to suffice. It's quite energizing to have your life flash before your eyes a few times a day anyhow.

Shockingly, even to myself, I am already becoming adjusted to Indian life. Most of my fear had been of the mass amounts of curry I was sure to be consuming. However, I have found the food to be extremely appetizing. It's a good thing I don't miss hamburgers all that much though, because there are more of them walking the streets than on the dinner tables. Which in a strange way makes me feel at home.

I find myself torn between anxiety and excitement about starting work here. Come to find out, I will literally be teaching English in a small village school. I guess a high school diploma is credit enough to be an Indian teacher.

All in all I'm finding city life in Jaipur absolutely fabulous...



Stay tuned for more thrilling tales from the wonderful world of TBB.