going barefoot.

nomadic wanderings.

2009-02-08T21:05:00.000-08:00

so going barefoot isn't exactly appropriate in nome, alaksa.

and i didn't want to change this grenadian blog name.

so a new blog has been established.

as these feet have wandered on to a new place.

so as this interconnected journey continues,

you can follow my new reflections at:

http://abbyinalaska.blogspot.com

thank you.

most kindly.

snowflakes.

2008-12-05T07:15:00.000-08:00

rhonda keeps singing leaving on a jet plane.

one week from now i will be floating amidst the clouds. somewhere in between grenada and north carolina. somewhere in between homes. grenada has been my home for over fifteen months. my life. my reality. and now i'm leaving. and i don't know when i'll be back again.

don't know when i'll get to wash in the river. don't know when i'll get to twirl in the caribbean sea. don't know when i'll get to eat fresh mangoes and fried jacks and oil down. don't know when i'll get to sit in the moonlight on paulita's steps. don't know when i'll get a next hair plait. don't know when i'll feel the mt plaisir breeze. don't know when i'll get to listen to mayfirst's wisdom. don't know when i'll have fourteen kids coloring and playing marbles and doing homework and cutting snowflakes at my house. snowflakes. recently i showed a couple of kids how to fold paper and make snowflakes. and the trend has caught on. and now my kitchen wall is decorated with them.

snowflakes. and my mind wanders to snowflakes. melting on my tongue. decorating my eyelashes. falling softly and quietly. showers of blessings. blanketing the earth. welcoming snow angels. and sledding. and snow ball skirmishes. each one a unique creation. merging together to make something beautiful. snowflakes. a challenge to conceive in the caribbean. yet they will be my reality soon. as i leave behind the paper ones for the real thing.

and my mind wanders to what i will leave behind besides the paper snowflakes. these people. these beautiful people. that are a part of me now. and i can't believe this is all ending. but maybe it isn't really. just changing. because i can't forget. all of this is too meaningful. too beautiful. and the memories i've gathered, the lessons i've learned will go with me. wherever my feet go next. my feet. my barefeet. soon to be covered by layers of thick socks and boots. as i embark on new adventures.

which means i'll have to change the name of my blog. or maybe start a new one. either way there will be a link from this one to the next. as these experiences are interconnected. as extreme as this shift will be. i believe there are connections. one place leading us to the next. a continual journey.

we can't done learning. mayfirst reminds me continually. life is a school house, he says. so we live with openness and humility. giving thanks for the wisdom that life is speaking. and listening carefully so that our hearts might hear.

and i hope that my soul might learn all it needs to understand in these last few days. and that it might embrace all the new discoveries to be made. guide my feet. whether bare or covered. as you remind me that all ground, whether sandy or frozen, is holy.

and thank you for where i've been. and where i am. and where i'm going. its all too wonderful.

island hopping.

2008-11-04T10:06:00.000-08:00

"i have seen many things in my travels, and i understand more than i can express. "
ecclesiasticus 34:12

so thankful for the opportunity to travel. to see new places. new people. my wise friend back in boone, mrs. mitchell, used to say that "travel is broadening, in more was than one" with her jubilant laugh. she has lived a well traveled life. and naturally acquired much wisdom along the way.

and i look at maps and wonder where else i might end up in life. where else my feet might journey.

recently my feet ventured to dominica. the nature island of the caribbean. to experience a different island. traveled during their creole festival. so the trip offered an abundance of nature and culture.

methodists are known for their connections. and through caribbean-methodist connections, i found a host family. romo, my host mom, was amazingly hospitable. welcomed me with tremendous love. like one of her own children. even though i had never met her before. i stayed for the week with romo and her husband steve and their daughter gisselle. other folks passing by for the festival from antigua and grenada also enjoyed the hyacinth hospitality.

i've learned that the way to travel is to have local folks to stay with. it means so much to be a part of a family. and gives so much insight into everyday life. my goal is to make friends all over the world with couches or at least floor space to stay on. there's so much more world to see...

to get to dominica, i landed in st. vincent. changed planes in antigua. landed in guadalupe. and finally arrived in waitukubuli. that's the name the kaliningo/carib indians gave to this breathtaking land. their name meant "tall is her body." describing the overwhelming mountains. and supposedly the depths of the sea around the island are just as vast as her heights. waitukubuli. land of boundless height and depth and beauty. and flying over her was amazing. she's different from the other islands i flew over. so much unspoiled, mountainous forest. much more sparsely populated. and just flying in i was anticipating falling in love.

the ride from the airport was long but inexpressibly scenic. enjoyed the commentary from delwyn the taxi guy. about dominican culture. and carnival. and creole festival. and food. and all sorts of things. romo greeted me warmly when i arrived. she was in the midst of cooking sunday lunch. and she let me hang out with her while she cooked. those are some of my most favourite moments. talking with women while cooking. women like mom. and glenda. and maureen. and amanda. and now romo. she prepared a ridiculous amount of food. but it was leftovers for the balance of the busy week. baked chicken. baked fish. stuffed fish. stewed pork. mixed vegetables. macaroni pie. mashed breadfruit. avacado balls. guava juice. cherry juice. and as she cooked, she wouldn't really let me help, we chatted and began getting to know each other. she's quite the host. thrives on entertaining people. so it seemed i had arrived at the right place. the methodist minister and his family enjoyed us to share in the meal. and we ate there in the living room as the pre-independence day festivities played on the tv. and it felt good to be a part of a family sunday lunch. to be taken care of.

eventually went to a harvest service at church and then a fashion show with romo and gisselle. not exactly my thing. but i went along with it.

monday morning, found my tea and breakfast on the table. as i would every morning. romo rising earlier than everyone else to take care of her family. we took gisselle to school in town. and then romo helped me get a ride down south to grand bay. the cultural centre of dominica. i was to meet tamara, romo's niece who is a secondary math teacher. tagged along with tamara to her classes. she even had me teach her youngest group, form one, word problems. it was neat to see tamara's camaraderie with the other staff. a sense of fellowship and friendship. and nice to get to chat with her throughout the day.

monday afternoon was traveling back to town with tamara to collect her five year old son zheim. the three of us ventured to creole in the park. sampling creole food and listening to live music. i tried sanconche, a broth made with codfish and coconut milk and provision. discovered that creole food means a lot of codfish. we eventually met up with some of tamara's teacher friends. and then found romo for the ride home.

tuesday woke up without a plan. everyone was working. and romo in her protective motherly way wasn't crazy about me navigating public transport. so she encouraged me to find some sort of tour or hire a taxi to take me around or something. the most reasonable adventure i found was to take a tour to the indian river and the beach. it sounded fun. before the tour, i walked around roseau with a brochure about historical sights. then met up with my fellow traveling companions for the day. a family from france living in martinique. who spoke some english. but elvis, our tour guide, spoke bilingually the entire day. i laughed on the inside at my random company. but appreciated the chance to explore. elvis expressed his extensive knowledge of plants and animals and all things dominican along the way. stopping to pick lemon grass. and ferns that made tattoos. and watch the iguanas. we eventually made it to portsmouth where we caught a boat up the indian river. a quiet, peaceful chance to be amidst creation. we saw a view from fort shirley. and bathed at the purple turtle beach. and caught the sunset there. a random day. but i was thankful for it.

wednesday, elvis invited me to go on a hiking excursion. he does botanical research and had to set up some weather stations anyways. so i tagged along on his adventure. met him in laudat, his village, and we journeyed to freshwater lake, titou gorge, and middlehem falls. amidst utter beauty. and the conversation was highly interesting. as elvis continued to share his insights about nature and politics and history and life. it was probably one of my favourite days. just felt happy. we met meryl, the lady from new zealand/england hiking near the falls. so i had another traveling companion back to roseau. and the liquid sunshine fell in abundance. but we didn't mind. it cooled things off. and we even caught a little creole in the park when we got back to town. and i awkwardly enjoyed some callilou and crab soup.

thursday, caught a ride to town with romo without much of a plan again. ended up catching a bus up to the carib territory. i find it fascinating that people of carib ancestory still live in dominica. there aren't any people of carib descent still living in grenada. and it was a pretty touristy thing to do. but it was something that interested me. so i saw a cultural performance. and toured the model carib homes. and saw amazing views of the atlantic ocean. and most of my favourite moments were riding the public transport. amidst everyday folks. diverse folks. and everyday conversations. taking in the scenery. i seemed to see more obvious poverty out in that part of the country than the town side.

also ventured to champagne beach to check out the hot spring bubbling sea. and passed by the last evening of creole in the park. found my way to the wob dwiyet pageant. in which romo was one of the main organizers. a contest of young women from each parish that involved traditional wear and talent performances with other interspersed cultural performances. it was interesting to see. and neat that there is such effort toward continuing traditions.

thursday evening helped me to understand friday's events. went to school again with tamara for creole day. everyone dressed in their plaid madras. including me in my creole skirt i found in a hole in the wall fabric shop in town. and there was a mini-wob dwiyet pageant at the school with singing and dancing and acting by the students. so much creativity and culture. much of the program was spoken in patois/creole. a language of broken french that evolved during slavery and is still used in dominica today. so i had little clue about what was being spoken, but the student beside me translated. patios has nearly died out in grenada. only a few elderly still know it. it was used more of a secret language among adults and failed to be passed on to many children. so the fact that it has survived and is still used today, especially among the young is fascinating to me. and of course, they had the traditional creole foods at school. smoked herring and breadfruit. callilou and crab. bakes and codfish.

friday afternoon was hurried souvineer shopping at the old market in roseau with tamara. and then getting ready for the creole festival that night. went with romo and gisselle and her cousin and romo's friend brenda to the festivities. lots of bands, local and regional, that played reggae and calypso and soca and creole music until the wee hours of the morning. enjoyed the chance to dance without inhibition. everyone just doing their own thing. however, i was quite exhausted by the end. i'm a music festival kind of girl. but a daytime music festival kind of girl.

saturday was lovely. slept very little. but met up with tamara to go see the trafalgar waterfalls and sulfur springs near where zheim's grandmother lives. enjoyed the moments with her. in conversation. in silence. and of course enjoyed the natural beauty all around.

relaxed back at tamara's in goodwill. and got ready for another night of creole music. like the night before, ended up sleeping with most of the crowd in the truck before it was over. i guess i'm not as hard core as the typical world creole festival goer. but i tried.

returning home was packing and catching the taxi back to melville hall. spending more time than preferred in the antiguan airport. but i was able to catch up on journaling and post card writing and things. and of course people watch. as airports are perfect for.

and there's always much more to say. so much more than words or pictures can convey. but dominica is a part of me now. and i will never forget her beauty. the sign at the airport said "thanks for visiting our nature isle. please come again."or something like that. and i wondered if i would see her again. but i was entirely thankful for our encounter at least this once. and i know if i ever find a way again, romo would gladly offer me a place to stay.

and something that struck me as i returned to grenada. especially to my community of grand roy. that i was happy to see people again. familiar people. people who know me. people who welcomed me back. people who had missed me. and my dominican adventure was lovely. but was just a taste. here in grenada, i've become a part of things. and for these adventures on the isle of spice, i am also immensely thankful.

as i went down by the river to pray...

2008-09-16T09:44:00.000-07:00

my soul seems to be drawn to the river quite often these days. because of its beauty. because of its simplicity. because there is solitude. because there is community. and nature. and everyday life. it's where people wash. and bathe. and clean fish. and splash. and play. and live.

saturday was a washing day. so i gathered my clothes and bucket and headed down to the river. don't anticipate river washing wherever i end up next. so trying to cherish these occasions. stephon was there washing a two piece of clothes. soon deandra and her two little brothers arrived. deandra helped her mother wash. and the boys joyfully played for what must have been hours. i admired thier innocense. and imagination. soon paulita joined us. my washing companion. she settled down in her usual place in the shade. and we smiled at the boys playing. and i offered thanks for the simple moments alongside her. kedra came. and we chatted a bit. but there were also times of silence. times to listen to the music of the river. times to watch the raindrops dance as clouds passed by.

and i thought of the rivers in my life. the new river at elk shoals. the river along the trail at price park. the yadkin river by the greenway. as well as countless streams and tributaries along the way. and i gave thanks for the rivers i've been able to sit beside. and i wondered what rivers my soul will encounter in journeys to come. and in all my wandering thoughts, i sought mindfulness of the river flowing right before me.

somewhere i read that you can't stand in the same river twice. water continuously moving. changing. time moving. changing. right before our eyes. without us even realizing it.

so i washed and rinsed. and i softly sung, "as i went down by the river to pray..." and i finished just as showers of blessings began to fall in abundance. and i spread my clothes on the line when the sunshine returned.

then sunday morning, as i got back from church, a group of folks were gathered in the river down near mr. black's shop. clearing bush. picking up garbage. covered in mud. "good morning abby. we're here cleaning the river. go change your clothes and come back and help." they were half kidding. but i didn't have any pressing plans, so i took them up on the offer. and barefoot, i journeyed up the river with miss gloria, miss clessie, and mr. james and kenrick and kobe and a host of others.

and i picked up trash where i could. and cleaned the river of the bush being cut down. piece by piece. helping in the ways i knew how. and i was overjoyed to be actively caring for creation alongside people in my community. and i was excited to be a part of something positive. and i was glad to see people taking initiative and putting words into action. it was all quite refreshing.

we made it up to where i usually go in the river. there behind daisy's house. the plan is to continue from there next week sunday. so i cleaned up my muddy self in the river. and made my way up the hill near miss gloria's. they cooked a big pot of oil down to share among those who worked. and the food took its sweet time. so we waited. amidst hair plaiting. and chatting. and liming. and finally they shared out the food. breadfruit and callilou and carrots and meat and dumplings and coconut milk and saffron all mixed together. and kenrick said that the dumplings were a little dry. but i didn't mind. i was simply thankful for the shared experience. for community. for something to be a part of. especially something that involved the river.

there's something unique and ordinary about the grand roy river. and i pray that i might embrace it. that i might be a part of its beauty. and listen to its wisdom. as it sings sweet songs of melodies pure and true.

during all our river adventures, miss gloria said multiple times with a chuckle: "abby, you could write a book when you go back." maybe i will, miss gloria. maybe i will. after all, there are so many stories to tell.

ordinary beauty.

2008-09-02T08:11:00.000-07:00

i tend to be a continually reflective person. but i've felt even more reflective lately.

last friday, 29th august, marked a year since my arrival in grenada. so i've found myself pondering what life was like a year ago. and what life is like now. and i've been escaping to waterfalls. and sitting by the sea. as i've read old journal entries. and entered new ones.

i discovered these words written on the plane ride. somewhere between jamaica and barbados...

"i think how ridiculous this all is. i just left everything i've ever known to go to some random place. with a vague job description. having communicated with only one person. primarily through email. and i'm staying for sixteen months. no one's going to look like me. talk like me. what the hell am i getting myself into? some might say i'm going on faith. i've got more courage than most. i think i'm naieve and foolish myself. but for some reason, or set of reasons, this is how life is working out. on my own, i'm bound to screw this up. it is you, God, that can make this beautiful. take all that i am - broken, awkward, anxious, unsure. and make me into an instrument of your peace. an instrument of your love. overcome my imperfection. not my self-ambitious will. but your pure and good will be done. on earth as it is in heaven. make me one with your spirit. as you guide my feet. might i joyfully follow you. right now i feel pretty alone. and i long for some sort of community to be a part of. to live alongside people. serve alongside people. pray and worship alongside people. where there is suffering. where there is poverty. where there is injustice. and not that i can overcome these things by any means on my own. restoration comes from you. it is my prayer that i might be a part of what you're doing. that through you, i might do 'small things with great love.'"

and following these words, on fresh pages of a new journal, i began to record this grenadian life. and i'm amazed at the newness in my voice. the idealism. the wide open eyes. and i give thanks for those first experiences. learning to wash in the river. learning to cook grenadian food. sitting by the road with glenda. walking around barefoot. playing in the sea with kids. hiking to waterfalls. visiting st. george's. figuring things out. missing home. discovering home.

and i really didn't know what i was getting myself into. but i prayed for a community to be a part of. and i found it.

and i feel like the newness has certainly worn off. and life has become ordinary. but there is beauty in the ordinary. as i still wash in the river. these days beside paulita. as i bathe in the sea. and admire the sunset. as i take in the cool evening breeze with bloatie. and wait for the bread van with daisy. as i make a morning stroll through a neighborhood where everyone knows my name.

and my perspective is certainly different than those first days. beyond ways i can express in words. because of all i've seen. and heard. and lived. and these days, it is my prayer that i might continue to live with openness. to everyday life here. to be mindful of the gift that all this is. to seek guidance from the holiness dwelling in me. to honor the holiness in others. and all around me. to give thanks for where i've come from. to appreciate where i am. to trust in where i'm going.

so thank you to all. who have offered your love and support and prayers on this ridiculous journey i've found myself on. may God guide our feet on these paths. as we seek to do small things. with great love. wherever we are. amidst whatever ordinary beauty we find ourselves.

the carnival experience.

2008-08-19T09:46:00.000-07:00

sometimes in life you just have to give yourself permission to be ridiculous. that's what was swimming around in my head during much of last weeks carnival. as i danced throughout the streets of gouyave. as i danced. and danced. and danced some more.

there's much excitement leading up to carnival. but the official holiday was celebrated last monday and tuesday. the 11th and 12th of august. i attended a few weekend events before the festivities.

at panorama our little steel pan band performed after months of practice. we came in last again in the competition. but only lost to the top band by 23ish points. i didn't mind so much. i was in it more for the experience and the experience was quite fun. playing a challenging song up on stage in front of so many people. amidst balloons and fellow pan players i've come to really appreciate.

sunday evening i got the opportunity to go to dimanche gras. in which some of the elaborate queen and king costumes were paraded. and then the calypso finals were held. i've developed so much admiration for the art form of calypso. its a musical genre that is centered around social and political commentary. an avenue for artists to speak out about local and global issues. a beautiful means of expression. each artist shared two songs. about such subjects as political division and corruption. poverty. youth violence. child abuse. environmentalism. hiv-aids. embracing heritage. revitalizing calypso. etc. etc. although the concert was rather lengthy, it was quite insightful and refreshing to hear music used as an instrument of social change. the voices of the people being freely expressed. being heard.

dimanche gras spilled over into monday morning j'ouvert. pronounced joo-vay. its a french term meaning day open. street festivities beginning in the wee hours of the morning. i decided to try j'ouvert in gouyave as most people i knew that were going would be there. met up with glenda's daughters and caught a bus with them. people had already been fetting for quite some time by our arrival. folks were dancing up and down the road behind dj's playing the season's popular carnival songs. many people were already covered with black oil or different colors of paint. which is tradition known as jab jab. monday morning i mostly observed from the side. taking in the crazy participants. i danced a little. and in the amount of time i danced down the street i did manage to get a little oil smeared on me. no worries. i had worn old clothes and put baby oil on my skin. i had been forewarned. one of my favorite parts was recognizing people from grand roy and gouyave amidst the crowds. carnival seems to be one of those things that brings out a different side of people. a ridiculous side. but a side that's in them, waiting for the right occasion to emerge.

bathed in the sea to wash off the oil with some dishwashing liquid that ednora gave me when i reached back to grand roy. which has become tradition for the jab jabbers. and then headed home for a much needed nap. that afternoon, we played a little steel pan there by the junction in grand roy. and then i got ready for monday night mas.

monday night mas was back in gouyave. similar street dancing. but none of the paint or oil from the morning. more organized as people gathered in specific bands. i had purchased a red jersey to "play mas" with a band of folks. the streets were glowing with light up swords and resounding with whistles and carnival music. it was freeing to dance up and down the street. to laugh. and allow myself to just be silly.

by tuesday morning i was feeling quite tired. but i saw lornette. the wild murray daughter from across the street as she was leaving for a next morning of j'ouvert. she encouraged me to join her. so i decided to try to soak in another j'ouvert morning. and did i soak it in. literally as i was covered with oil and paint early on in the festivities. it was an exercise in letting go. and accepting my own ridiculousness. and having fun with it.

lornette and i and her friends bathed our oil off in the sea and the river after all the excitement. my apologies to mama earth. it was probably not a friendly gesture. but carnival seems to be one of those things where grace is sought afterwards anyways.

tuesday evening there were parades with different colorful costumes through gouyave. had i ventured to st. george's more, i would have seen more costumes probably. but i'm thankful to experienced things from the gouyave side. after the parades, there was more pan playing. as people pushed us up and down the road on our chassie and we developed a small band of followers. it always brings me joy to see the pan music bringing someone else joy. to know you contributed just a little bit to the inspiration of their dance or smile or head bobbing.

"you well enjoyed your carnival, abby." i hear that a lot these days. and i did enjoy it. it wasn't my most meaningful set of moments in grenada. but there's a time and season for everything. even for dancing through the streets dressed in oil and clothed in ridiculousness.

blessed are the peacemakers. for they shall be called children of God.

2008-06-30T09:02:00.000-07:00

somehow in life, i end up being surrounded by children. whether i chose it or not. whether i avoid it or not. and there are moments of joy. and moments of frustration. and moments of beauty. and moments of chaos. but lately the moments have been good.

last thursday, i ventured on a "bus party" with a bunch of kids from grand roy government school. the school i've been helping out with after school and common entrance class. the school where most kids from my neighborhood attend. and there were certainly "party" moments. as we cruised around the island with caribbean music blaring and kids singing all the words. the kids expressed such excitement at all the sights along the way. with a certain innocence. with childlike joy. and we visited leaper's hill and saw sulfur springs. learned about cocoa processing and chatted with rainbow the parrot. enjoyed lunch at bathway beach and shivered in the wind at grand etang lake. and i don't know about the other "adults," but i actually had fun. hanging out with kids i knew. getting to know some i hadn't spent much time with. it was a tiring day though. for everybody. as evidenced by little antonio falling asleep on my shoulder on the way home.

friday, i journeyed to hartford village on the eastern side. for a closing ceremony with the peace and art programme i've been helping with. back in january, i randomly met my canadian-hippy-artist- social activist-friend maureen at a sailing festival where i was playing pan and she was selling art. she had done youth empowerment sessions with kids in her village, but was hoping to do something more organized and interconnected. after emailing and chatting over tea on her veranda, we created a series of sessions on peace and art to do with the kids. we partnered with older youth from the village that took great initiative in facilitating the sessions. once a week for six weeks, the kids assembled to make art and make peace. they wrote peace poems. made peace boxes. created puppets. did creative drama. made a peace mural. sang songs. created dances. and the programme wasn't perfect. there were a lot of times when we questioned what concepts were being learned. what good was really being accomplished. but we saw kids play together from different parts of the village that usually don't interact. we saw children shine in small groups that tend to be withdrawn. we saw youth take pride in their creations.

and it was a beautiful thing to see parents and other youth come out as the kids showed off their work at the closing ceremony. the songs and dances and drama and poems and art displays. it was all a joy to be a part of. maureen's holidaying back in canada for a few months starting tomorrow. so, i'm not sure how involved i'll be in the village for a while. but good things have started. it seems as if a dance troupe could evolve. as the older youth have discovered an empowerment to lead.

since i've been here, i've been realizing that with kids, and big people too, i'm at my best in small groups or one on one. when i can fully focus on honoring people. on honoring the holiness that dwells within them. so i cherish those moments. with kids: cleaning fish with aj. listening to nicka. cooking with azaria. chatting on our way to the pan house with kaydell. so thankful for opportunities to love. always praying for those opportunities. with open eyes. with a receptive heart. that my spirit might be guided by that which is Divine. on these journeys. and on those to follow.

miss hilda.

2008-05-30T09:17:00.001-07:00

"i so want to be a part, to have a place, in God's kingdom one day. and i want you to have a place too. and we will laugh. and we will chat. and we will rejoice."

miss hilda said this to me on one of our morning visits back in march. thought it was profound enough to write in my journal then. she said a lot of profound things during our visits. about God. about life. and i learned more from her than i realize. and i will continue to process our moments together. as they have become a part of me. as she has become a part of me.

a couple tuesdays ago i was writing in my journal on the veranda. waiting for amanda to wake up. and sheldon passed by. let me know that miss hilda had passed on. and tears spilled out. and i thanked him for telling me. and i went and woke amanda up with the news. amanda had been blessed with two visits to see miss hilda during her stay. Something had inspired us to venture up there the day before, the day she died. and i was so thankful to have seen her that day. it was a day when margaret and oslyn were there. cleaning. and taking care of things. i felt relieved after our visit. that miss hilda was being cared for. and looking back, i'm thankful that at least there were people loving her on her last day.

that wednesday, we went to a praise service up at miss hilda's. we arrived late. the prayers had been offered. and now it was just lots of old hymns being sung. and it was strange to be in her house. clean. and filled with people gathered to honor her. as there were many days that passed in her life when she wasn't honored.

and this past wednesday, i went to her funeral. the first funeral i've been to in grenada where i actually knew the person. and it was short. and the sermon was general. but the songs made me cry as i considered them from miss hilda's perspective. one of the little hat-wearing church ladies invited me to sing "how great thou art" with her at the graveside. as a final tribute to miss hilda. and amidst sobs and a broken voice, i offered my song. there was a happy hour, as with all grenadian funerals. but there was something that bothered me about it. so much food and drink and extravagance to supposedly honor hilda. but wouldn't it have made more sense to have honored her while she was alive.

when she passed on, miss hilda couldn't walk. and her sight was failing. she had diabetes and a host of other health problems. she was merely sixty-one. but could have easily passed for eighty-one. she depended on the generosity of her neighbors to survive. her family members offered sporadic care. but were often neglectful. especially in offering compassion.

i would pass by miss hilda on my morning walks up to mount plaisir. my visits grew to be longer and more frequent during recent months. as i would stay and help out with whatever she asked. because i didn't know if she'd get tea or a bath or her insulin otherwise. and in return, she offered me wisdom. and love. she said she couldn't pray for herself alone, but must pray for us. she told me God would bless me on my journeys to continue the work he was calling me to do. she spoke of praising God continually. in all circumstances. she believed with all her heart that she would see and walk again. she shared her papaya and cabbage and beans with me. she taught me about generosity. and faith. and trust. and joy.

and i don't know how heaven works. but miss hilda makes me want to believe in heaven. makes me want to believe that she is laughing. and chatting. and rejoicing now. that she is dancing. and singing. and celebrating now. that she has discovered healing. and freedom. and peace.

and i thank God that our paths crossed. thank God for the moments we shared. for the ways our souls connected. and part of my purpose feels gone with miss hilda. but maybe not. maybe my purpose now is to find new ways to live out the things she taught me. to pass on who she was. to continue her story. prayers for openness to new ways to love. to serve. to honor. guide my feet on these journeys. on the paths you are calling me to walk.

sand beneath our feet. big blue sky above our heads.

2008-05-29T08:14:00.000-07:00

abby is that your sister? no. just my friend. she's here on holiday. oh. ok. well, i thought she was your sister.

if i only had a mango for every time i had that conversation in the last couple weeks. then, well, i'd have a whole lot of mangoes.

during the last half of may, i had the irreplaceable gift of having miss amanda carolyn pratt share life with me in grenada. a blessing beyond words.

the days ran together in a wonderful way. a continual flow of beautiful moments. we bathed in the sea. washed in the river. fished from a row boat. admired the sunset. hiked to waterfalls. played with kids. cooked grenadian dishes. ate lots of fruit. went for walks. visited the neighbors. worshiped with tambourines. got avett brothers songs stuck in our heads. rode the crazy buses. embraced the community. experienced everyday grenadian life.

amanda discovered/rediscovered a love for pumpkin. and snow ice. and fry bakes. and children. and swings on the beach. and floating in the sea. the visit was healing for both of our souls. we both admire so much about each other. we both bring out a certain beauty in each other. a beauty we can often forget. and we realized that we're different. with different lives. and choices. and passions. and gifts. and that's ok.

and i'm so thankful for our conversations. for the way amanda sees things. for the perspective and insight she offers. and i wished she could have stayed longer. but she has other adventures ahead of her. other places, other people to share her gifts, her passions, her love with. and i'm so thankful that she would come all this way. to see. to experience. to understand. and i'm so thankful she has become a part of grenada. and grenada has become a part of her.

we didn't take an abundance of pictures. but tended to appreciate the moments for what they were. however, you can check out a few images here if you wish.

and now its back to everyday grenadian life for me. with prayers that i might embrace all of this. appreciate all of this. with fresh eyes. with a renewed spirit. trusting in where i am. discovering who i am. that days run together in a wonderful way. a continual flow of beautiful moments. a continual flow of love.

thanks for the visit, my sister. it meant more than you know. more than words can say.

one day at a time.

2008-04-23T07:26:00.000-07:00

saturday morning i found myself by the river once again. washing a few clothes. not plenty. just enough to get by. before the sun got too hot. enjoying the peace of the river. but my mind also wandering to things to come. considering my next placement. and the discernment process that's starting. reflecting on challenges. and passions. and calling. and such things.

then comes glenda. my neighbor who has moved to the next village. but still returns on occasion for things like washing. and church. and i have missed her being right across the street. so the moments to just rinse clothes alongside her were precious.

in harmony with the music of the river, glenda started singing an old hymn. that kind of sincere singing. coming from deep inside.

one day at a time.
sweet Jesus.
that's all i'm asking from you.
just give me the strength.
to do everyday. what i've got to do.
yesterday's gone.
sweet Jesus.
and tomorrow may never be mine.
Lord, help me each day.
show me the way.
one day at a time.

and although i didn't know the verses, i had heard this chours before. and i was able to sing with glenda. there in the river. and the words were a comfort. amidst this anticipation of future journeys. one day at a time. that's all we're given. that's how we're called to live. embracing the moments we have. for tomorrow has enough worries of its own. and glenda's wisdom amazed me. as she shared right what i needed to hear. without even realizing it.

the rest of the day was baking banana bread. and visiting glenda by her new home. and practicing steel pan. and i was thankful for that day.

the following morning was church. encouragement not to let our hearts be troubled. but to simply trust. and focus on the things that are eternal. spent the rest of the morning and afternoon at ednora's, with a few methodist women in their sixties and seventies, as we cooked a potluck sunday breakfast and lunch together. and chatted. and laughed. and looked at pictures. and rested. and fellowshiped. and i was thankful for this time. for women that love me. and take care of me. and give me glimpses into their lives. and i went home in time to take my laundry down from the clothes line. and dance and pray in the sea at sunset.

i'm realizing that i'm about halfway through my stay here. about eight months have passed. about eight more to go, praise God. and i don't know if i've embraced each moment as i should have. and i don't know if i've loved enough. contributed enough. been patient enough. but i pray that whatever time is remaining will be spent in ways that are good. that honor God. that honor people. that i can trust in where i am. in where i will be. and simply live. and live simply. one day at a time.

a shady spot by the river.

2008-04-08T11:50:00.001-07:00

abby. you going by de sea?
oh. no. i'm going to go sit by the river. find a nice shady spot and read.
what? abby's a madwoman. likes to sit by the river. likes to watch the sunset.
yeah. i guess i am mad.
abby, go on. go sit by your river.

a quiet saturday afternoon inspired me to venture up the river a ways. to read. and journal. and reflect. despite the fact that my neighbors think i'm crazy. i mean, i guess i am. but that's another story.

and as usual by the river, there were moments of solitude. the harmonious music of the water and the birds the only sounds. and there were moments of community. folks coming by the river to wash. to bathe. visiting the river for practical reasons. unlike me.

the time was healing for me. able to get out words and thoughts about my own restlessness. my own wandering. my own wondering. on the next to last page of the leafy journal amanda gave me.

i was also able to take in words. to listen to words much more profound than mine. words of rachel corrie in her journal entries. and all of her writing is tragically beautiful. but my pen found itself making note of a couple of quotes:

"i've always crushed the flowers while staring at migratory birds. now i am learning to notice the smell of the trees." p. 69

"thinking it over, i realized that the most powerful actions i can take towards societal improvement will have to start very close to home, arising not from the need to leave a mark on history, but from empathy and sincere understanding of the places in my life where neglect exists." p. 78

one day i will migrate. one day i will fly away. and i wonder where the wind will blow me. but until then, i am planted here. until then, this is home. may i embrace the trees. the flowers. the things rooted here. instead of being so distracted by the birds. may i accept that i cannot solve everything. but may i find the inspiration. the gifts. the opportunities. to contribute however i can. to love. to give. to honor. open my eyes. my soul. to those places where neglect exists. right where i am. amidst the river. amidst the sunset. amidst the people.

beyond the easter bunny.

2008-03-25T08:15:00.000-07:00

more than one person has said they hoped i would convey a bit about easter in grenada. so here's a bit about my recent experiences. from my "grenadian" perspective...

holy thursday. found a spot in the pew beside miss daphne. one of those sweet hat wearing church ladies who shares her prayer book with me. readings of passover. and footwashing. twelve men were invited to the front to have their feet washed by the priest. a reenactment of jesus profound example of servanthood at the passover meal with his disciples. and i've never connected maundy thursday service with footwashing before. only communion. so i appreciated the combination. i was wondering the whole time if the twelve were going to wash the congregation's feet. since jesus did command his disciples to continue to serve each other. but no one else's feet were washed. which is ok. maybe it would have taken too long. or made people uncomfortable. (church should never make people uncomfortable, should it?) the ceremony was nice. but i longed to participate too. same with communion. still not sure if i'm really allowed to receive the eucharist. since i'm not catholic. since i can't seem to grasp the literal transformation of the elements into jesus. so i didn't participate in communion either. and the service was nice. and i could join in the songs and the readings and the prayers. but somehow felt limited in full worship. and how often in life is our worship limited. through circumstances, distractions, reluctance.

good friday. an early service with the tiny methodist crowd. simple. didn't change my life. but a reminder of the cross. of the death that is necessary for resurrection to follow. literally hopped out of the car into the procession through the stations of the cross with the catholic church. walked and sang and prayed alongside of folks all the way from grand roy to concord. half the time i couldn't hear the readings. but i appreciated the songs. the time for reflection. the time to simply follow the way of the cross. alongside of jesus. alongside of people. it very much resembled a typical funeral procession in grenada. everyone in their black and white. mournful hymns sung. and it was my prayer that i might come to understand what it truly means to follow the way of the cross. to share in christ's life. suffering. death. but also in the hope of resurrection. that it isn't just a ceremony. but a way of life. once we got to concord, we took a water break. and then had good friday mass. there was a interesting crucifix painted at the front. another white jesus. and i wished he was painted black. or at least somewhere in between. scripture. and song. and sermon. and communion. there was also an additional ceremony. a wooden crucifix was held up by the acolytes. and the congregation was invited to come to the front, bow before the dying jesus. and even kiss it if so led. i didn't feel so led. so i watched. observed. participated through prayer.

back i grand roy, cooked what i had been told is the traditional grenadian good friday meal: salt mackeral and provision. my friend kimo came over to help. the meal would have turned out a lot more awkward had i attempted it myself. we boiled the salt mackeral, which had been soaking since the night before. tore it up, removed the bones as best we could, then cooked it with cabbage, carrots, peppers, onions, and oil. also boiled sweet potatoes. plantains. dasheen. and yam. for the side. actually turned out nice. and looked presentable enough for me to confidently share a sampling with the neighbors.

kids flying kites around the neighborhood. homemade kites from reeds and plastic and thread. trying their best to catch the easter breeze. reminding me of God's spirit. moving us. guiding us. giving us meaning. and direction. and purpose. without whom we are merely reeds and plastic and thread.

visted with chester up the street. chester amazes me. he has a recording business for local musicians. a profound understanding of technology and music. plays bob marley on an out of tune guitar. and quotes scripture like a biblical scholar. has been in a wheelchair since he was a teenager. but transcends the limits life has given him. somehow conversation with him always ends up being spiritual. always makes me think about God and scripture and things in a different way. and i cherish those visits. where words have depth. and meaning.

holy saturday. a typical long walk through the neighborhood. taking my time to visit folks along the way. washed and rinsed my clothes in the river. embracing moments of solitude. where the only sounds are the running of the river. and the old timey hymns that spill out of my mouth. enjoying the people that pass by. dwayne volunteering to help me wash my socks. glenda and kedra bathing as mother and daughter. olin washing xorian's ridiculously long hair. neighborhood boys playing and splashing when they're supposed to be bathing. a perfect people watching spot. and washing and rinsing takes me so long. that even with shade and sunscreen, i managed to get my back terribly sunburned. then had chances to read. and catch the sunset. and learn how to make sweet potato pudding with glenda.

easter sunday. gathered wildflowers on my morning walk to bring to church. thinking about sunrise services and church breakfasts and easter traditions back home. got ready and went down the street for mass. sat by stephon from my after school class. he shared some of his flowers with me when he saw how mine were slightly mashed and wilted. one of my favorite parts of the service was when everyone brought their flowers forward and placed them in five gallon buckets at the front of the church. a beautiful, colorful, diverse arrangement. and it didn't matter how simple or elaborate your flowers were. the point was the beauty they held when placed altogether. and father martin talked about the beauty that each person inherently holds. and the added beauty when we come together in community. and there were songs of praise. and resurrection. we even sang "up from the grave he arose" during the passing of the peace. complete with tambourine and bongos. and we sang "i am the resurrection and the life," a song that brings back memories of early church back home and how our minister sydnor could never get us to clap on beat... just at stephon shared his flowers, he shared his candle with me during the renewal of baptism. beyond that he shared his joy. and love. as he naturally does.

got to talk with the fam on the phone. and help glenda with the last preparations for easter lunch. she let me eat with them so i had a family to eat with on easter. they made numerous dishes. macaroni pie. potato salad. cabbage and carrot salad. baked chicken wings. stewed pumpkin. provision. it was different though. meals are shared. but not around a common table. people come and go. eat when they feel like it. so i was surrounded by people, but it was different than everyone eating together at once. i had just enough time to eat before i had to head up the hill to meet the pan truck. we got everything loaded up and headed to tanteen, past town, for an easter concert alongside other steel bands. it was fun to play again. a treat to listen to other groups. certainly a unique easter evening.

easter monday. another neighborhood walk. lots of folks around. kids out of school people out of work. a group cooking oil down in a huge pot up in mon plasir. love the idea of people coming together to cook as a community. the oil down was actually for harvest later. spent a little time with miss hilda. who seems quite neglected. even by family that lives next door.

got to have a nice easter chat with grandma and grandpa. who seem to be doing better and better, praise God. grandma talks about the spring flowers. and the beauty of rebirth that they remind her of.

back at home, decided some easter cleaning was in store. so i started sweeping and dusting and mopping and straightening as the neighbor's radio blared across the street. the cleaning process always seems to entail more than initially anticipated. one cleaning project leads to another. until i start cleaning, i don't realize how truly dirty the whole place is. and if i don't clean as i go, the cleaning duties build up. and i thought about our souls being cleansed. and how things can build up. and how when we start to look within ourselves, we come to realize there's more and more cleaning to be done. and it made me thankful for a God than does cleanse us thoroughly. cobwebs and dust and dirt and all.

eventually made it to harvest. a celebration the day after easter sponsored annually by the catholic church. lots of local food. and treats. games for the kids. music. fellowship. enjoyed the oil down i had observed being prepared up the road this morning. walked around. visited the haunted house. talked with folks. played pan. a joyful experience to play for people from my own community. and to see the people dancing and smiling and enjoying themselves. stuck around a little while. tried to be a part of things. even when the dj music and dancing later weren't exactly my style.

(oh, and one easter tradition that i didn't experience was time on the beach. this year the waves were strangely rough. so no one really spent time in the sea)

and i love the way my little book of common prayer, we've entered into the first of many weeks of easter. that it isn't just a day. but a season. to live in hope. in joy. as a resurrected people. serving a resurrected Lord. and i pray its more than a season. but a way of life. that yes we die with Christ. but more importantly, we live.

palms.

2008-03-18T14:10:00.000-07:00

palm sunday brings about memories of children's choirs singing "hosanna, hosanna, hosanna to the king." palm branches waving. easter cantatas. afternoon easter egg hunts in the front yard of the parsonage. makes me think of last palm sunday. a simple worship service in alma matthews house in greenwich village. alongside some profound future mission interns during interview weekend. where we talked about jesus weeping amidst the praises. because people failed to recognize the things that make for peace. and i had no idea where in the world i would be the next palm sunday.

and all these recollections ran through my mind. as i experienced palm sunday grenada style.

went to the little methodist church in gouyave early. sister christopher brought three simple palms she had borrowed from the catholics in her neighborhood. and she laid them on the prayer altar. later on went to catholic mass back in grand roy. everyone had palm branches. which were blessed with holy water. before we processed around the church. inside, palm branches carpeted the floor. and decorated the pews. and hosannas were sung.

in both services it was palm sunday and passion sunday. so we recognized the triumphant entry of jesus on his humble borrowed donkey. as well as the arrest and trial and cruxifiction. and it was interesting to reflect on such contrasting events within the same worship service. praises and accusations. hosannas and condemnations. the beauty of worship. in juxtaposition with the reality of jesus' suffering. how its just as easy to offer praises as it is to deny jesus. alongside a crowd.

and i long to offer perpetual hosannas. not only with my lips but with my life. but i fail everyday at getting it right. and i'm thankful for the grace of each new day to try again.

and ever since those palm sunday services. i've noticed that there's an abundance of palms all over grenada. everywhere you look, you can't help but set your eyes upon a coconut tree. a fig (banana) tree. or another random plant with palm leaves. and as the trees blow in the easter breeze, they remind me of nature offering its own praises. waving its own palm branches. even if we are silent. even if we fail to honor the holiness around us. the trees are shouting out. and when we realize this, how beautiful it is to sing hosannas. in union with all of creation. in honor of our beautiful Creator.

you say tomato. i say tomato.

2008-02-21T06:28:00.000-08:00

"sister abby. we dere in the garden and two of us still in we church clothes."

sister christopher is one of my favorite parts of the little methodist church in gouyave. she knows the hynmal by heart. sings with abundant joy. even after the service has ended. prayers of thanks naturally flow out of her. and she always wears her best sunday hat.

she has a contagious joy. it warms my heart to be around her. so i told her one day i'd love to come visit her. to spend the day by her. and this past sunday, when the service was over, she said, "you coming by me today?"

so i journeyed with mrs. christopher up to her son albert's house where she spends many a sunday afternoon. and i was welcomed into their home, into their family, with genuine hospitality. they have a beautiful garden overlooking the sea. with more kinds of fruits and vegetables that i can name. callilou. pockchoy. peppers. sorell. coconut. yam. bluggoe. plantain. fig. peas. pumpkins. mangoes. cabbage. tomatoes. okra. cherries. and on. and on. they grow what they need. and share with their neighbors. and their neighbors do the same. mutually taking care of one another.

mrs. christopher takes some of her produce to the market to sell. to earn her dollar for the offering plate, she says.

and i watched mrs. christopher. and her son albert. and her grandson tyrell. work in the garden together. me and sister christopher still in our church clothes. and it was a beautiful image of family. three generations together. and of the abundance that the earth provides.

and it made me want to have a garden. and live off the land. and share with my family. share with my neighbors.

mickey (mrs. christopher's daughter in law, who she calls mrs. christopher too) created a delicious sunday lunch. and i thanked her for her generous hospitiality. and she simply replied, its who i am.

sister christopher, the elder, loaded up a bag of fresh vegetables for me to take home. i thanked her as well. she said not to thank her, but to thank God. she says she is given, therefore, she must also give.

she placed three green tomatoes in my bag. said to put them to ripen. wait until they turn a nice juicy red.

so i placed the three tomatoes in my window sill. and one is just about ready. and the other two need more time.

and i feel like those unriped tomatoes these days. desperately depending on a Light to transform me. into who i am created to be. not something i can do on my own. but i must wait. the process seems to be slow. and i get impatient. and restless. feeling limited in my own greenness. longing to be more. to contribute more. frustrated when my days seem fruitless. when i fail to give. to love. to serve. like i know i have potential to.

but that little red tomato in my window sill gives me hope. proof that things ripen in their own time. the challenge is trusting and waiting. with faith. with patience.

in an unrelated yet related experience, i've been making special efforts to watch the sunset over the sea these days. to take a few moments to reflect on the day. to offer thanks. so whenever i'm home around 6:15 and its not all rainy. i make a little stroll down to the bay. and last night as i arrived, the sunset was subtle. a lightly tinted pink sky. the sun hiding behind a blanket of distant clouds. and i wasn't disappointed. i appreciated the little bit of color. and the faithful rhythm of the sea. and i watched a mother play with her daughter. and i prayed.

and as i sat on a stone. and waited. the sunset grew more and more colorful. and i watched the sky transform into something beautifully vibrant. and i nearly cried. at this lesson in waiting. in the beauty that inevitably comes when we can simply be still. and hope.

Loving Creator. thank you for the lessons you teach us. through tomatoes. and sunsets. and the random parables of life. transform us in your good and perfect timing. into juicy reds. and vibrant pinks. into the beautiful Image you created us to be. still our hearts when we are restless. and may we simply trust in your spirit that surely dwells in and all around us.

for God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him. psalm 62:5.

colorful.

2008-02-08T07:12:00.000-08:00

arrived home tuesday evening to find the neighborhood looking a lot different. a lot brighter. a lot more red. green. and yellow. folks were out painting. sidewalks. and steps. and rocks. and walls. national colors everywhere. an annual tradition. in celebration of grenada's independence. which happened a mere thirty-four years ago. (just yesterday in the grand scheme of historical things. it continues to fascinate me how much middle aged grenadians have seen this nation change in their lifetime). and the tradition is probably an extravagant use of paint. but there is something neat about the community spirit that emerges from it.

so on the short walk from the bus stop to my house, i stopped to admire the new paint. and the painting that was still going on. change your clothes, abby. and you can come help us paint. who me? you mean i get to be a part of this? so i did. i changed. and headed back down the street. with glenda's comments guiding me. go on. abby. go paint with the boys on the block. abby has to experience everything.

i only painted a little bit of a wall and a step. before i handed my brush over to koby and tolo. who were also anxious to participate. but i was thankful. so thankful to be a part of things. to experience community people coming together.

the next day. independence eve. got to see a series of marches (parades) along the streets of gouyave. school children decked out in red. green. and yellow. grenada jerseys (t-shirts). fancy dresses. nutmeg hats. walking along to the grenada birthday song that you constantly hear on the radio these days. pretty adorable.

then thursday. the 7th. the actual independence day. threw together an outfit of the only red, green, and yellow i could find. put a grenada scarf on my head. looked slightly ridiculous. and hopped on a bus with a bunch of fellow grand royians down to the national stadium. joined a sea of national colors. to watch the ceremony. marches by police forces. military. school children. speeches by the prime minister and other "important people." cultural performances by local musicians. quite a show. it lasted quite a while. but i was thankful for the chance to experience it. to wave my grenada flag and be patriotic alongside grenadians.

back in grand roy. there was a small festivity up in the pasture at the school. a cricket match. oil down (the national dish). fellowship. so i spent the afternoon up there. mingling with folks. eating too much. playing barefoot in the field with a bunch of kids. a neat thing. the sort of thing the community should do more than just once a year.

nothing particularly insightful or profound to share further on the subject. just glad to be a part of things. glad to be a part of grenada. glad for grenada to be a part of me.

an abundance of mangoes.

2008-01-25T10:56:00.000-08:00

i can't pray for just me. i must pray for us.

that's what miss hilda told me this morning. miss hilda who believes God is going to restore her sight and allow her to walk again. who says her faith has kept her alive. miss hilda who is somewhat taken care of by her daughter, a struggling single mom. but ignored by much of her family.

her bible was laying on the floor, open to psalms this morning when i stopped by. and i know she can't see well enough to read. she said she leaves it open sometimes. just in case someone comes by and wants to read to her. i asked her if she wanted me to read. yes, thanks. asked her what she wanted to hear. anything. its all God's word she said. and i didn't know what to choose. somehow, sticking with the psalms, i found my way to psalm 139. the one that grandpa loves. the one that i know songs from. the one that speaks of a God who knows us intimately. whose spirit we cannot flee from. who is too wonderful for us to consider. and me and miss hilda agreed that it was a good one. comforting. and true.

passed by miss hilda on my morning walk through the neighborhood. stayed a little longer than usual. rejected the temptation to be in a hurry. its better to soak in moments. to honor people. rather than rush off to something that may or not be as meaningful.

was nice to take my time going through grand roy today. i feel as though i've been pretty absent from the neighborhood this week. but that's because i've been spending my days walking through other communities.

as grencoda staff, we've been visiting each of the communities we work alongside. walking around. making observations. talking with folks. listening to folks. our intention is to get an idea of what people know of grencoda. of how grencoda is doing. how we could improve. and what people see as needs in their community. we're doing all of this before we sit down and plan for the year. striving to let the voices in the communities guide what we do. being intentional about working with rather than working for. sometimes we deviate from our purpose, though. to spend a few extra moments with an elderly couple whose children hardly visit. to offer encouragement to young kids in secondary school. to de-mace nutmeg. to shell peas. to sit with people. to be with people. and though we do have ground to cover (some of these villages are quite large). its nice to soak in moments. to honor people. to be present.

and people keep giving us mangoes. and cashews. and figs. and manderines. and i've eaten enough fruit to last me through easter.

beyond the walk-throughs, we've also met with community representatives in the evenings to at least begin to dialogue the issues we heard raised. "idle youth on the block." unemployment. skills training. mentoring programs. housing issues. agricultural support. community centers. roads. neglect from the government. lack of unity. partisan politics dividing the country. dividing the communities. and somehow i got recruited to take notes. so i had to play close attention. and though i still don't understand the background and context of everything, i feel as though i learned so much. about what is going on in these communities. about the need to rise above division and come together. about the need to work for justice. for sustainability. for dignity. and although i haven't really contributed all that much i've been taking in more than i realize. and i'm thankful that there is plenty to learn. and i'm thankful to be a part of this. and i'm thankful to work with people who deeply believe in empowerment. who sincerly try to listen. and its all overwhelming. all that needs to be done. compared with what realistically will get done. especially on grenada time. but i continue to pray for a unity with God's spirit. that He is guiding all of this. that He is guiding all of us. we're in this together. not me alone. not you alone. but us.

i can't pray for just me. i must pray for us.

family.

2008-01-08T06:30:00.000-08:00

after last minute cleaning and baking and christmas preparation i hopped a bus to town to meet lester the taxi driver. we had plans to pick up some very special christmas guests at the airport. st. george's was the busiest i've ever seen. everyone out shopping. just like most places, commercialism has invaded christmas here in grenada too. we arrived at the airport early. with plenty of time to sit in anticipation. last time i was here was when i arrived four months ago. it was night then too. the difference now was the christmas lights strung all around. welcoming everyone to a grenadian christmas. shortly after eight o'clock, folks started emerging off the plane. eventually, three folks that look a lot like me came through the doors. mom. dad. and andrew. met them with hugs and kisses. hardly believing these two worlds were merging. so happy my family had finally arrived. the only thing missing was andrew's suitcase. circling around some conveyor belt in puerto rico. turns out that was maybe a good thing as lester's little trunk was overflowing from just mom and dad's stuff. we hopped in the taxi. dad in the front. mom, andrew, and i squeezed in the back. everyone wide eyed. taking in the christmas lights. the huggins business signs (yes there are other huggins in grenada. pretty crazy). admiring lester's grenadian accent as he pointed out places along the way. we arrived safely in grand roy. greeted by a few of the neighbors. settled in upstairs. ate peanut butter sandwiches with homemade guava jelly and drank the peppermint tea mom had sent in a care package weeks ago. as i laid down to sleep beside mom, i offered thanks for the chance to share this grenadian life with them. a prayer that became habitual during their stay here.

homemade bread, ham, and sorrel for breakfast. followed by christmas mass. beautiful, spirit filled music. people went out of their way to welcome my family. grenadian christmas lunch. baked fish. callilou. pumpkin. boiled corn. fruit cake. an afternoon of bathing in the sea. visiting with the neighbors. playing in the street with the kids. exchanging a few christmas gifts. andrew's suitcase came about ten o'clock at night. now he could finally change out of that key club t-shirt. a christmas day unlike any before. one that mom said we would always remember.

boxing day involved street cricket. and walks through the neighborhood. and a rough swim in the sea. another day to simply be a part of grand roy. other days we rode around the island with mary-theresa, took in the concord waterfalls with elisha, viewed the western coast from a motorboat with kimo and jacko, swam in the clear waters at grand anse beach, enjoyed fish kabobs and fishcakes at fish friday, walked around st. george's, heard steel pan music, ate grendian's national dish of oil down, realized a week isn't long enough to take in all of grenada.

some of my favorite moments were simple things. like chatting in the mornings with dad before mom and andrew were awake. seeing him give fatherly attention to the kids that would hang around. listening to the avett brothers and 90's rock cds with my brother. watching him naturally play football or cricket or with the neighborhood kids. teaching mom to make passion fruit juice and grenadian dishes. falling asleep talking to her, waking up beside her. sharing these moments, this place, this life, with all three of them.

the last day they were in grand roy, we went on a spontaneous hike through the bush, up to the top of a hill that overlooks grand roy. me and kimo and andrew and more kids than i can count. it was a wonderful last minute adventure. a change in perspective. to look down and see all that is grand roy. now when i talk of grand roy. of grenada. of the people here. my family will understand. their perspective has changed. they came to see. came to live as grenadians. at least for a week. and everyone here bets they'll be back again.

as for me, i'm striving to appreciate this place, these moments, this family here. wondering what this new year will hold. praying for openness. for guidance. for patience. for union with that divine spirit so mysteriously incarnate within us. and among us.

can't seem to escape this theme of fish.

2007-12-13T06:12:00.000-08:00

gouyave is known as the town that never sleeps. as well as the fishing capital of grenada. so a street festival centered around fish is perfect for this little sea town. grencoda, the organization i'm working with, helps coordinate the guoyave fish friday festival every week. people from all over come to check it out. its becoming a source of income and pride for local folks in gouyave. and recently i have had the joy of being involved with it in a couple of different ways.

one way is through music. i've managed to learn a little steel pan while i've been down here. joined the grand roy pan angels. during the christmas season - november and december - we've been playing at fish friday every other week. last week was one of my most favorite performances. despite the rain, crowds came out. joyful christmas songs. lots of dancing and energy. a delight to simply be a part of it all. danley, my co-worker at grencoda made sure to snap a few pictures of me playing...

as i typically do, during a break from playing pan, i walked around the small festival - i love this part too - greeting the different vendors selling fish. during the last couple months, i've gotten to know many of the fish vendors through a basic computer class i've been helping with. the computer class was just one component of a vendor training course that grencoda sponsored. for about eight weeks, i taught a small class and assisted with another one. i think i like teaching adults. especially adults that are interested. and motivated to learn. these vendors came a long way in their understanding of computers. and it was a joy to be a part of their learning.

as i was passing by miss eslyn's booth last friday, she beamed and motioned for me to wait on her. she came out of her booth and embraced me with the most sincere, beautiful hug. she had been sick. hadn't been to class in the last week. told her i had missed her. often times eslyn required much patience. needing words spelled. needing things pointed out. and i got to work with her one on one a lot during the course. and in that moment - that hug - i knew the course had meant something to her. she gave me a necklace made of local spices. she was selling them. but gave me one as a gift. i put it on and wore it the rest of the night. taking in the scent of grenada. thankful for the chance to know eslyn. i bought some fried fish and bakes from her and made my rounds visiting the other vendors.

our computer classes were officially over this past tuesday. the end of the training course was celebrated with a small graduation ceremony. the vendors got all dressed up. they were so proud. and i was so proud of them. the metaphor of teaching a person to fish, rather than giving a person a fish was emphasized throughout the program. always heard that as a chinese proverb. but it certainly has grenadian relevance. especially in gouyave. especially in fish friday. and although somedays i wonder how i am contributing to justice, i realized that grencoda is an organization that seeks to empower, that seeks to equip, that seeks to uphold dignity. and i was thankful to be a part of an organization with that vision. and we don't get it perfect. and progress is slow. but we keep trying. keep seeking justice. and i pray that we might be apart of the justice that God is doing. and i'm thankful that we don't have to do justice on our own.

after the ceremony, the vendors had eats and drinks and fellowship. it was a joyous celebration. i'll miss these folks. especially that faithful trio from my class - binta, anna, and mr. benjamin. but i know where to find them on friday nights. next week we're playing pan again. and then the next, my family will get to experience the magic of fish friday for themselves.

that's right. the huggins will be having a grenadian christmas.

the right place at the right time.

2007-12-07T06:50:00.000-08:00

i keep seeing rainbows. as the sunshine and rain so often coexist these grenadian days. sunshine and rain in perfect harmony. creating this image of fleeting beauty. revealing the hidden colors that are always present, but not always visible. and my soul rejoices in the moment. in the light that illuminates. the rain that restores. and the beauty that immerges from their union.

i try to take pictures. yet they fail to fully capture the beauty. lessons that life must be embraced. experienced. firsthand. in the moments we are given. in the places where we are.

and i give thanks to be at the right place at the right time. to catch the rainbow. before it fades away. and i wonder if there is such a thing as the right place at the right time. why do moments in our lives fall into place as they do? do things just happen? or is there Something guiding all of this? why do our souls awake to particular moments of beauty? are there certain things we must inevitably experience on this journey?

a couple of times recently i found myself at the right place at the right time. after a day of learning to bake cake and bread from scratch with my dear neighbor glenda, i decided to venture down the road for a sea bath. i had barely reached the shore when excitement commenced. fish were obviously jumping around in an area not far from shore. those on the shore were shouting out to the fishermen in their boats. the fishermen quickly circled the area. dropping their nets. some from the shore swam out to help. others started pulling in the nets. i asked if i could help too. and they let me.

as always, word spread. more and more people gathered in hopes of acquiring fish. i pulled with all i could. in rhythm with the others. hands stinging from the rope and salt water. nearly a week later, the blisters on my hands are still healing.

it was quite a catch. much different from the last time i helped haul nets. an abundance of large fish. and apparently the rule is if you help haul, you get fish. which wasn't my intention. i was just thrilled to get to participate. but a lady named judy made sure i got my fish. she made sure i got two. and we're not talking one-serving-sized-fish. we're talking at least five or six pounds of fish. each.

so judy and i headed up the road. with my heavy fish in hand. she recruited some of my neighbors to help clean it. then she returned to the sea to claim her own. tolo and aj cleaned my giant fish. although i've adapted to many grenadian ways. my stomach hasn't quite adapted to the idea of cleaning out the yucky fish insides. my neighbors cut up the fish. helped me season some. freeze some. it was too late to start cooking. and they said i would have fish to feed my family at christmas now.

i felt as if i was the recipient of undeserved generosity. sure i pulled nets. but i was given abundantly more than i needed. i felt loved. and taken care of. the sea had provided for the people once again. and there was more than enough for everyone. and there was much celebration.

the next morning, i went to church. first sunday in advent. no advent wreath this year. a simple service. six of us. prayers. and hymns. and scripture. and the congregation reflecting together on the lectionary. discussions of peace. of being awake to what God is doing.

glenda and daisy had asked me to go with them to a special gathering of all the baptist congregations the same morning. i had made a commitment to help with the service at the methodist church. but they assured me that they would be passing through gouyave on the way to sauteurs and could pick me up after the seven o clock service was over. it sounded like fun. so i decided if i happened to be on the street when the bus passed by, i just might hop on and go.

sure enough, i was at the right place at the right time again. waiting for a bus to go back home, a large bus heading north, the opposite direction, came flying through. i saw familiar faces on the bus and someone called out, "abby!" i realized it was the bus full of baptists. they stopped for me. and i jumped on the bus. knowing more people on the bus than i realized i would. stephon. glenda. daisy. aj. tolo. kedra. oslyn. shakira. judy. and i went to sauteurs to a day of singing. and eating. and preaching. and it was a long day. but a joy to worship alongside people from my community. and though i'm not theoloically aligned with everything that was said, i appreciated the time to just worship. and the message centered around going beyond the walls of the church. an idea i think about a lot.

again, i felt loved. and included. and a part of things. and maybe my day spent back in grand roy would have also yielded moments of beauty. but the bus and i crossed paths at just the right time for me to hop on and go.

God of wisdom. guide our moments. guide our days. you know what our souls need. teach us what you are wanting us to learn. awake our spirits to your presence. to your beauty. and may we trust in you. trust in where we are. trust in who we are. trust that you are transforming us into who you have created us to be. through these moments. on this journey.

and thank you for the rainbows.

names.

2007-11-23T10:29:00.000-08:00

there's something meaningful about knowing a person's name. it recognizes their identity. honors their exisitence. as much as i remember to, i try to ask people their names when i meet them. sometimes i immediately forget people's names. and have to ask again. but after a while i get it.

in grenada its common to yell out someone's name as you pass by their house. regardless if you're planning on visiting or not. and though i'm not much of a yeller, i love to be able to greet people as i walk through my community. love to be able to say good morning daisy as she sits on the veranda across the street. good morning sherman as he starts his welding project for the day. good morning veronica as she gently waves. good morning joey as he heads to the bay in hopes of jacks. good morning dodoo as she admires her flowers. good morning kenneth as he ventures up into the bush. good morning leila as she promises to walk with me next time. good morning lena as she washes her dishes by the pipe. good morning desalyn as she gets her kids ready for school and takes care of her mom. good morning hilda as she thanks God for another day....

and more people know my name than i know their's. i guess i kind of stand out. and might be easier to remember. but it means a lot to be greeted by name. to be recognized as a person. as a part of the community.

i've been going to a little methodist church outside my community. in guoyave, a town where i don't know everyone's name yet. and there have been moments of worship. there have been moments of questioning. i've taken some sundays off. yet something in me doesn't want to give up on the greater Church. so i found myself trying church again on sunday.

as we were waiting on folks to gather, a man showed up at the door. go on. get away from here. go home. we don't want you around. that's paraphrasing, but that's pretty much what one of what one of the church ladies told the man. i asked what was going on. she said don't study him. he's a vagrant. a troublemaker. he smells. and he would steel our purses if we let him in.

but wait, i thought that's who jesus told us to love.

the man showed up at the other door. and another church lady dealt with him similarly. the lay minister, an american who doesn't always strive to understand grenadian culture, intervened. he welcomed the man in. told him jesus loved him. or something like that. the church ladies grumbled. the man stayed outside a while. wandered off.

hemingway, the minister, said we should pray for the man. the man had obviously been around before. so hemingway asked if anybody knew his name. no one knew his name. no one had ever bothered to ask.

so the preacher man prayed a nameless prayer with faith that God knew who he was referring to.

amidst an offering that would probably go to a church building. amidst songs that seemed empty and hypocritical. amidst a sermon i knew i would disagree with. i became restless. i couldn't stay in church. not with the man right there at our doorstep.

so i left church. actually the second service i'd left in the past two weeks. but that's another story.

and i went and asked the man what his name was. mitchell. easy to remember. its the surname of my neighbors in grand roy. mitchell was soft spoken. with mismatched shoes. i could barely hear what he said. we established that he was hungry. so we decided to go to the shop down the street.

mitchell hesitated to express what he wanted to eat. a lady named ruby jean stepped in. ordered mitchell a coke, some crackers, and vienna sausages. then asked him to step on outside. but encouraged me to stay. she was medium intimidating. so i obeyed. talked a bit to the shop owner. floyd. a cousin of folks i know in grand roy. eventually left. saw mitchell who asked for a dollar to buy cigarettes. this time i said no. conversation was limited. we parted ways and i ended up talking to a few other people liming on the street.

back at the church communion was over. the table we methodists open to everyone had already fed those allowed inside.

everyone knew what i had done. hemmingway commended my compassion. on the way to catch a ride home, another man, clarence, asked for bread. i hopped in the supermarket and paid a dollar for bread. he said thank you. but i don't think the church ladies approved.

the thing is. clarence is always on the street begging. and most people don't give to him. there's another man, whose name i regretably don't know, who begs around the same area. and people run him out of their shops.

i don't think always giving handouts is the answer. i don't think it solves anything. i don't think it contributes to long term justice. but how can i deny people when i have plenty in my pocket?plenty in my fridge? i want to believe in a kingdom where there is enough room for all at the table. enough food for all at the table. but i don't see the Church striving towards that. at least not the church i went to sunday.

and i still don't know how to respond in a way that is truly just.

in a different context to be written about on a different day, ms. williams said we must pray for God's spirit to guide all that we do. we must seek to live out the gospel. and jesus said, when i was hungry, you gave me something do eat.

God of compassion and mercy. may you bring your justice. and may you guide us as to how we might be a part of it. as to how their might be enough for all.

a fishing sequel.

2007-11-16T06:36:00.000-08:00

as a sequel to the previous fishing story: i actually got to go fishing in a little boat last weekend. caught, or "held," seven fish. between kimo and i, we held around twenty. snapper. mirian. butterfish. etc. some areas of the sea were flourshing with fish. some were vacant. very few people use fishing rods in grenada. we used iron weights with fishing line and hooks tied to them. jacks for bait. lessons in patience. in waiting. in timing. in letting go. in trusting. in abundance. in scarcity. in grace. managed to get my fishing line ridiculously tangled up on several occasions. and the fish flopping around in the boat with their big eyes looking at me medium freaked me out. got caught in the rain. chatted with other fisherpeople out on the water. overall a joyful adventure.

abby held seven fish. what? returned with congratulations from the neighbors for our catch. helped clean the fish in the river. but i didn't have to do the gross part of cleaning. of course kids wandered over at the prospect of cooking. we seasoned and fried much of the fish. served them alongside some fried bakes. a houseful of kids. but enough for everyone. afterwards the dishes were cleaned, the kids stayed a little while. telling their family stories as they often do. making fun of each other in love. sharing laughter. and joy.

glenda keeps asking me when my next fishing adventure will be. with a laugh she says i must experience everything grenadian while i'm here. i don't know when the next fishing adventure will be. but i trust that many more grenadian adventures are in store. and i greet each new day with a certain openness and wonder. as to how life will beautifully fall into place.

afternoon by the sea.

2007-11-09T07:18:00.000-08:00

miss. miss. lets swim out to the boat one more time. kellon's gotten accustomed to calling me miss both in and out of after school class. ok. one more time.

one of the boats in the bay had drifted quite close to shore. close enough for kellon and kobi and i to swim to and climb up on. the boys assured me it was allowed. we wouldn't get in trouble. we floated on the vacant boat. amidst the nets and oars. decided we could float there forever. kellon said his back was burning from the afternoon sun. splashed sea water on his back to cool off. that's what you do, miss, when your back is burning. that's the grenadian way. so i too splashed water on my back.

miss. miss. they're coming to get jacks. we have to swim to shore. so we jumped off the little boat. headed back to the beach. trading places with the fishermen swimming out to the boats. trying our best to stay out of their way. i was medium confused about what was going on. but tried to follow the boys lead.

miss. miss. start pulling the rope in. who me? you mean i can help too? people on the beach started hauling in the nets. and i was allowed to join in. easy at first. then the nets got heavy. word spreading that jacks were coming. more people showing up to help out. tried my best to mimic the motion of the others in line. pull with right. lean back. pull with left. lean back. something you have to put your whole body into. something that takes everyone working together. in rhythm with each other. a community effort.

blisters forming on my hands. burning from the salt water. arms getting weak. back aching. but it didn't matter. i was a part of things. hauling in the nets like a regular grand roy person. not just observing life. but participating in it. allowed to be a member of the community. amidst everyday life. feeling overjoyed at the idea of it all.

we hauled and hauled. eventually realizing there were no fish in the nets. the sea had not provided this time. so we let go. let the nets return. with hopes of abundance in time.

show us where to cast our nets. help us to let go. to trust.

stayed around the bay a bit longer. eating sea grapes that kids picked and shared. watched the sun begin to set. then headed back home. incredibly thankful for the chance to be a part of the community. to be a part of the family that is grand roy.

communion of souls.

2007-11-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

although the sunsets in grenada are beautiful. they are fleeting. and night comes quickly. so it was dark when i arrived home from visiting the after school classes with mr. langaigne (a twenty year staff member of grencoda that deeply cares for the people in the communties we work with). and when i arrived in grand roy, the stars were the brightest i've seen in quite a while. like millions of candles glowing in the sky.

neighborhood kids were gathered near my steps. hovering over the candles they were lighting. they had placed candles inside tin cans. the cans were punctured with holes to let the light shine out. aj showed me his glowing can. he had made a face on it. reminded me of a jack-o-lantern. but this wasn't halloween. it was the following day: all saints day. kids went up and down the street. carrying their candles. some people were placing candles on their steps. lighting them in memory of people who had passed away. traditionally, mischievous kids "thief" people's candles and run up the street with them. although i didn't witness this.

azaria remembered that i had a lone candle in my house. the housewarming candle that amanda gave me before i left. so we went to get it. and i too placed a candle on my steps. luckily no one thiefed it.

we went up the road in search of asham, the local treat for this time of year. basically corn ground up with sugar. but alas, the asham had sold out. tomorrow, praise God, we'll have some more, the young man by the shop told me. loud noises were coming from up the street. i was informed people were "busting bamboo." pretty much homemade firecrackers. using hollow bamboo pieces. kerosene. and a little fire. young people gathering to listen. hearts jumping at every boom.

back down the road, lisia was getting ready to visit her father's grave to place candles there. invited me to go along. so we went, a few kids tagging along, down across the bridge to a humble burial place. no head stone. but she knew where to go. she carefully placed a few candles in the ground. it was simple. and beautiful. that's my daddy, she said. the kids lit some candles that had extinguished on a grave nearby. lisia took a moment. then we were on our way back. from across the river, we could see the candles glowing.

lisia explained that this had been all saints day. tomorrow was all souls day. she said that all saints was to remember christians that had died. all souls was to remember everyone.

still trying to process the distinction. i'm thankful for the idea of communing with saints. of being a part of a greater body of the Church that goes beyond place and time. of learning from the traditions of those who have gone before us.

but recently, especially with amanda, the giver of the candle, questions have come up regarding the afterlife. and what that means. if anything. and i like the idea of a day to recognize all souls. to remember all people. regardless. because something in me wants to believe of an eternal union between the Creator and all the created. but i don't really understand how all of that works. and i don't really know if being a christian makes a difference. because the idea of afterlife isn't why i'm a christian.

i tend to believe in following jesus now. in the moments we're given. of studying the way he lived. of striving to be like him. following his compassion. his justice. his love. and ever thankful for grace. i tend to believe that God can restore this world as he originally created it to be. that glimpses of kingdom. of heaven. of whatever you call it. can be present on earth. when people live side by side in the spirit of christ. in the spirit of that same compassion and justice and love. when there is a place for everyone at the table. enough for everyone at the table. when there is communion with each other. communion with God.

but what happens to our souls in the mean time? i don't have answers. i don't know if we can. i think we can live the best we know how to in this moment. live as if this was it. and be overwhelmed with joy if there is more to it. and be satisfied with how we spent our days if there's not.

so tonight i'll light my candle again. and i'll hope for a display of candles in the sky. and i'll wonder about saints and souls. and i'll consider a God present from the beginning. now. and evermore. and i'll pray for restoration. for heaven come to earth. for communion of souls.

19 october.

2007-10-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

things have gotten a bit busier. most weekdays i'm bouncing between adult computer classes and after school programs at grencoda. practicing steel pan and spending time with the neighbors at home. so last week, when our office was closed on friday, i was thankful for a day to be. a day to approach without agenda.

decided since i had the time, to combine my morning walk with a swim in the sea. ventured up to palmiste beach with a towel and a book to spend the morning. now i've been enjoying my sea baths thus far. but i think i fell in love with the sea that morning. it was my first solitary swim. and i floated. and twirled. and danced. and prayed. i was in wonder of this sea before me. stretching further than i could see. deeper than i could fathom. and yet somehow, i was allowed the joy of being a part of it. made me think of God. of this something beyond what i can understand. that surrounds me. that i can be part of. that i can be one with. i would lean back with my arms wide and let go and float and let the water simply move me. i haven't always been the best at floating. i'll start worrying about waves coming or think i'm sinking and put my feet down. but lately, the letting go has been easier. and i've discovered a certain freedom.

eventually wandered back home. picked up some reading books for after school on the way. journaled. visited my eighty-nine year old neighbor tiey. purchased some of glenda's homemade soursup snow ice. and then it was time to go meet my methodist-catholic-english-grenadian friend mary theresa. we were going to a prayer service in st. george's.

the prayer service was in memory of prime minister maurice bishop and the other grenadians killed on that day - october 19th - 24 years ago. the violent event in grenada's history is not recognized as a holiday. but members of our staff at grencoda, who were directly involved in the revolution, consider it a solemn day to be remembered. its why our office was closed.

now i don't understand everything about the events of october 1983. i've gathered bits and pieces from what i've read. from what people have told me. the prayer service provided more glimpses into the mystery of it.

the prayer service was at fort george - formerly fort rupert - where the killings happened. pictures were up of the people who died. pictures were up of grenada in the 80's. images of workers and farmers and women assembling. finding empowerment. making their voices heard. schools being built. communities active. people working alongside people. it looked like a fascinating time to live in grenada. a time where social justice was not just talked about. but lived out.

but somehow things went bad. talk of "communism." fear. political upheaval. a prime minister, members of his cabinet, and other grenadians sought out and killed. ms. williams, my supervisor at grencoda was imprisoned during all the excitement. had she not been, she could have been killed too. one day when she's in the right frame of mind, she says she'll sit down and tell me the whole story. one day.

and i thought it so interesting to be living in a place where people had experienced revolution firsthand. had seen social progression. had worked for change. and then had seen the people they worked alongside killed. had seen violence. and chaos. and everything turned upside down. it was only 24 years ago. and there are scars still healing.

but tomorrow's the public holiday observed. where every office is closed. october 25th. the day the american's invaded grenada. the day the american's saved the day. the calendar calls it thanksgiving.

at the prayer service, people said 19 comes before 25. people said the day we should remember is the 19th. not the 25th. but here we are. celebrating the day that people from my big country felt the need to invade this tiny island. and i although i believe every day is an occasion for thanks, i find it a strange day set aside to be thankful.

so i continue to ponder the story of all this. continue to seek out more glimpses into it. continue to pray that justice might be restored. to grenada. to this world. a justice that comes not from guns and bombs. but a justice that comes from something greater than ourselves. from a faithful God that is our Hope. a merciful God that does not abandon his children.

lovely things.

2007-10-09T07:47:00.000-07:00

"cricket. lovely cricket."

a phrase repeated quite frequently by the announcer at the matches on saturday. every time she said it, i chuckled a little. i went to the set of matches at the national stadium with my friend kimo. saw grenada and antigua-barbuda each win a match against each other. they played two. also saw a classic english team beat a classic west indies team. learned about wickets. and overs. and bowling. and runs. and sixes. and fours. the games were sometimes exciting. sometimes monotonous. but i learned a great deal about this sport so popular in grenada.

from the stadium, you could see mountains. and it made me think of kidd brewer stadium. and the view from it. and it made me think of homecoming at appalachian. happening simultaneously with the cricket matches.

my understanding of the game, still incomplete, took time. at first, i tried to make sense of it in terms of baseball. the two sports have similarities. with batting. and runs. and things. so i would try to grasp the concepts of cricket based on the concepts of baseball. but the sports have a lot of differences too. and i eventually had to apply my understanding further. beyond baseball knowledge.

and i thought about constructivism. that educational theory. that someone talked about one day in a class that i may or may not have been paying attention in. how we construct our new realities based on our previous experiences. we build new understandings upon the foundations of the old.

and that's kind of how i've grasped grenada. i've come with my own experiences. my own memories. my own life up until this point. trying to make sense of this new place. from the perspective i've been given. trying to understand cricket from a baseball point of view.

and i am thankful for where i come from. most certainly. yet i hope i can begin to apply my understanding further. to value the beauty of this place for what it is. to appreciate the beauty of these people for who they are. to grow. and learn. and discover. the things i was sent here to understand.

on our way out of the stadium, there was a lovely sunset over the sea.

when i got home from cricket saturday, a game of one touch football (soccer) developed in the street outside my house. started out with a few kids. then it grew as more and more kids showed up. glenda even joined in. and she could kick the ball with the best of them. a grandma. a bunch of kids. and me. playing in the street. barefoot. joyful, unplanned, lovely moments.

the next morning, i got up and caught a ride with some grand roy methodist ladies to church in guoyave. a very small congregation. they have a rotation of ministers that come to lead service. so there's someone different every week. we waited a little while, but the assigned minister didn't come. so we went ahead and started singing. different people picking different songs to sing. and for some reason the singing made me cry. it was a capella. and probably out of tune. but it was heartfelt. and sincere. an offering praise in community. and it did my soul good.

we sang for a while and realized the minister probably wasn't going to make it. (it turned out that she couldn't get a ride, so she didn't come). so we went through the order of service in the prayer book. we read scripture from the lectionary that some ladies had brought with them. discussed it in instead of having a sermon. sang some more. shared praises. prayed together. closed with come thou fount, one of my favorites.

the church exisited beyond a minister. as a body. each taking part. and perhaps that's the blessing of this circuit system. that the congregation isn't dependent on one person to function. but that they function together. faithfully.

it was church. lovely church.

something fishy.

2007-09-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

morning is the best time for walking in grenada. the sun rises so early. and i'm already awake from the light and the chickens. yes. there are lots of noisy chickens. plus, the temperature is still cool and breezy.

the walks allow for solitude. for thinking. for praying. for greeting the new day. they also allow for companionship. as i often come across someone walking the same direction.

the other day, i was returning from my morning walk and i could see quite a gathering at the grand roy bay. the fishermen, who had probably been up earlier than the chickens, were pulling in their nets. chenelle was at the junction. waiting on a bus to go to work in town. told me her mom - glenda - was down by the bay with the others. getting some jacks.

i decided to deviate slightly from the rest of my morning routine and go check out the jack gathering. i quickly saw glenda. she had already acquired a bag of small fish. she was simply watching now. she welcomed me to the bay.

a large group of people had their hands on a huge net. not just the fishermen. but an assortment of people. in synchronized motion, they would pull the nets in. progress was slow. quite a net they were dealing with. a beautiful image of everyone working together.

and there was a rainbow.

the moment needed to be captured. so i hurried up the street and grabbed my camera. by the time i returned, the rainbow was fading. but the net was on shore. and the fish had arrived. people were filling their buckets and bags with tiny little jacks. there was an abundance. enough for everyone to share. and still some left over for the fishermen to sell.

and i thought of jesus saying to let down the nets, even after peter had had a frustrating, unsuccessful fishing expedition. and i thought of jesus calling the ordinary, everyday fishermen to follow him. to be like him. and i thought of jesus feeding the five thousand with fish and bread. how there was enough for everyone.

and i prayed that i might let down my nets where i'm being called to. and i offered thanks that God calls the ordinary folks. and i prayed that there might be enough for everyone.

what's my favorite part about grenada? the moments. of beauty. of sharing. of grace.

weekend adventures.

2007-09-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

glenda determined that saturday was going to be washing day. she checked out the washing machine in the apartment below mine. was skeptical of it. decided i would use hers. she's got a machine set up in the little alley between her house and the next door neighbor's. she hasn't had the machine long. it washes. but doesn't rinse. rinsing is reserved for the river behind her house. she told me to grab my dirty clothes. and as they washed, we went to rinse some of her family's clothes. it was entirely refreshing to wade in the water, rinsing the clothes piece by piece. i tried to mimic glenda. the way she moved the clothes about in the river. the way she rung out the excess water. between her clothes and mine, we made several trips down to the river. as the morning went on, more people gathered in the river. most of which were both washing and rinsing. it was certainly the most fun i had ever had doing laundry. there was something quite beautiful about being there in the river with people. doing our chores side by side. as if i was a regular grenadian.

after the clothes were rinsed. we hung them out to dry on the line behind my house. i took a picture. to remember the moment.

later on that afternoon, my friend kimo (also known as keli) arranged a trip to see the waterfalls in concord, a nearby town. we went with glenda's grandchildren, azaria and aj, and their cousin stephon. the first set of falls were absolutely gorgeous. there was a deep pool at their base, perfect for jumping in and swimming. now, jumping into bodies of water isn't necessarily one of my hobbies. however, the other kids were jumping in and having a blast. so when in grenada... i took a leap and it was yet another refreshing moment. we jumped and swam and played for quite some time at these falls. there was abundant joy.

a couple kids from concord that were also playing let us know that the next waterfalls were not too far. so we ventured up an overgrown hiking trail in search of more beauty. at some point, aj said, "bamboo singing." i wasn't quite sure what he meant. so, i asked for clarification. "when the wind moves through the bamboo trees," he explained, "it sounds like music."

and as i listened for it, i realized that the bamboo was only part of this symphony. the mountains were shouting. the river was clapping. the flowers were rejoicing. and here i was. amidst creation. amidst this natural offering of praise. and i was in awe to be a part of it.

we made it to the second falls. and of course, they were breathtaking.

on the way home, stephon said this had been the best day of his life. stephon, my spiritual thirteen year old friend, was also in awe of the beauty we had been immersed in.

we got back too late for glenda and i to cook oil down, one of grenada's most common dishes. so we saved the cooking for the next day. callilou. okra. breadfruit. green bananas. seasoned chicken. carrots. coconut and saffron. all thrown together. i'm quite awful at cooking. but glenda has patience. she says i'm learning. she says i'm becomig grenadian.

our first task.

2007-09-13T11:18:00.001-07:00

a beautifully relevant quote sent by miss alycia capone.
too beautifully relevant to keep to myself:

Our first task in approaching
another people,
another culture,
another religion,
is to take off our shoes.

For the place we are approaching is holy.
Else we find ourselves treading
on another's dream.

More serious still, we may forget that
God was present before our arrival.

Raymond Hammer

unexpected joy.

2007-09-13T06:37:00.000-07:00

a quiet, ordinary sunday afternoon. people hanging out, or "liming," around the corner store. others fixing their sunday afternoon meals. kids wandering around, perhaps headed for a swim in the sea. suddenly, the sound of a steel band takes us by surprise. a traveling steel band, one of the best of grenada i am told, has showed up at the junction in grand roy. they play on the back of a truck. and bring a host of others along with them. the street has been transformed into a party. music. dancing. the scene makes me laugh out loud.

and i get the feeling this is how life is going to be. the most beautiful moments unplanned and unexpected.

part of me wants a plan. wants clear expectations. wants a list of objectives to accomplish. but part of me is realizing the freedom in letting go. the joy in being open to whatever may come.

i kept thinking there must be some purpose to me being sent to grenada. of all places in the world i could have ended up. and i still think there is a reason. i just think it may be beyond a job description. beyond what i could have anticipated. beyond what i could have planned.

so i pray for an open spirit. to God's purpose in all of this. God. who can do immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine.

and i ask for open ears. to listen to God. to people. to the sound of steel band music coming up the road. or whatever other surprises are on their way.

when in grenada...

2007-09-03T14:16:00.001-07:00

"abby going barefoot. abby one of us now." - glenda

when i created this blog, i more or less meant the title figuratively. "going barefoot" simply meant recognizing an inherent holiness on all ground. in and among all people.

little did i know that in grand roy, my new community, a lot of people literally walk around barefoot. folks hang on on the side of the street. they cross the road to chat with neighbors. shoes aren't always necessary.

so when i showed up outside one day with no shoes on, my neighbor glenda determined that i too was grenadian. i took that as quite a compliment. and the phrase "going barefoot" took on a new depth of meaning.

glenda and her family have really taken me in. they live in a little house across the street: glenda her four daughters, and at least five grandchildren. people are perpetually coming and going. it took me a while to figure out who really lived there. they let me sit with them outside. they invite me in to sit with them inside. glenda has generously prepared grenadian food for me. she's taught me how to make passion fruit juice. how to cook green bananas. she's determined that i will return to north carolina knowing how to cook and live grenadian.

the other day, a few of us were chatting outside glenda's house. glenda was chillin' on a pile of rocks in the yard. someone asked if i'd like a chair to sit down in. oh no. i'll just sit down here on the rocks too.

lisia, one of glenda's daughters commented: "when in rome, do as the romans do."

then we established that a new phrase was fitting: "when in grenada, do as the grenadians do."

i've got along way to go before i'm fully grenadian. but i'm learning a little bit more everyday.

today was the first day of school for most students. people were busy gathering books, trying on uniforms, braiding hair.

and today was my first day at grencoda. it was a laid back day of introductions, questions, and staff meetings. and amidst the discussions, i sensed that this staff truly cared for their communities, and truly strove to honor the people within them.

hopefully soon i'll get started working with students afterschool at grand roy government school. and eventually teaching adult computer classes here at grencoda. it may be a little while before things get rolling. but i must be patient. grenadians are all about not being in a hurry. and when in grenada... well you know.

head in the clouds.

2007-08-21T06:33:00.000-07:00

one of my favorite parts about flying is looking out the window. the temporary change in perspective. what once seemed so big becomes so small. what once seemed so narrow becomes so broad. the world continues to function. but for a few moments, i am set apart from it. and as we ascend, my only reality becomes the clouds.

and i love watching the clouds.

at my home church on sunday our minister, chris, talked about clouds. and i keep reflecting back on the sermon. more specifically, he discussed the "cloud of witnesses" that surrounds us, as mentioned in hebrews. he talked about his own cloud, made up of people from his own life who had impacted and inspired his faith. the cloud also includes people he has never met. authors. theologians. biblical figures. etc.

so i started thinking about my own cloud of witnesses that follows me around. people who have encouraged me by word. by example. by love. and i was overwhelmed to consider all the people who have impacted my life. my faith journey. and i felt entirely blessed.

chances are if you are reading this, you are part of that cloud.

and this cloud surrounds me. and is a part of me. and goes with me. wherever i fly next.

i was actually supposed to be surrounded by the clouds this very moment. as i was scheduled to fly from charlotte to jamaica to grenada this morning. but because of the hurricane destruction in jamaica, my flight has been rescheduled for august 29th - a week from tomorrow.

i was all ready to go. bags pretty much packed. but, i must wait another week. i was disappointed at first. but i'm looking forward to whatever beauty this week will inevitably hold.

when i do fly, i will look out the window. surrounded by clouds. reminded of the people in my life who have covered me with love and encouragement and grace. and in anticipation of the new people i will meet who will join this cloud of witnesses.

thank you. you mean more than you know. you will forever be part of who i am. of who i am still becoming.

beyond the postcards.

2007-08-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

my grace frank has been to grenada before (and by my grace frank i mean my unconventional maternal grandmother who we don't dare call grandma).

upon hearing my upcoming plans, she has given me four gifts:
a basket of spices, from "the spice island," that still remain fragrant.
a few old school three by five photographs from her venture there in the late eighties.
a postcard from grenada, already addressed to send back to her in wilkesboro.
a compact tolietry case.

now my grace frank has traveled to a lot of places. but of all the places in the world i could of ended up, its kind of neat that she's been there before me.

and its kind of crazy that i'm going to be there in a week.

even though i read about it. i hear about it. i see pictures. i still can't wrap my head around what life will be like. but maybe that's the point. maybe its about experiencing people. and cultures. and life. first hand. beyond the postcards.

still many things to pack. many details to figure out. many goodbyes to say. many hugs to give.

only to be followed by many things to unpack. many more details to figure out. many greetings to say. many people to embrace.

dear grenada. i will see you soon.

tribute to boone.

2007-08-04T08:58:00.000-07:00

goodbye number eight.

that's what amanda said as she closed the door to our apartment and pushed in our dysfunctional peep hole one last time.

i don't live in boone anymore. which is weird. wilkesboro is nice. it is hotter down here, though. but hey. gotta work on my hot weather tolerance for grenada.

just wanted to pay tribute to some of my favorite moments from my last few days in boonetown. in completely random order:

climbing up the colony of rocks at hebron with my brother and christine. enjoying amanda's homeade funfetti ice cream while watching friends. jogging amidst the wildflowers in the meadow near the greenway. visiting my eighty-one year old kindred spirt, mrs. mitchell, who never ceases to shower me with wisdom and laughter. eating out way too much at local places when all our food and cooking equipment were packed away. (here's to mellow mushroom. boone bagelry. cafe portifino. mile high. and even murphy's). ducking under the guy hanging in the hammock above our stairs. observing the fascinating interaction of the pratt siblings. looking through erin's amazing pictures from japan. reminising with jeffrey, amanda, erin, and andrew about college in amanda's new round house. crying with amanda when i realized i was saying goodbye...

dear boone. you mean the world to me. but there's still more world to see.

camp elk shoals is good for your souls.

2007-08-04T07:52:00.000-07:00

got to go to one of my most favorite places last night. camp elk shoals. its where i spent last summer on staff with carolina cross connection. where i've been on countless church picnics. where i was a camper myself. went to visit miss laura adams and all the folks there for ccc. there was a ridiculous summer shower in the afternoon. but everything cleared up to have the friday evening festivities outside. we did the cookout thing. the campfire thing. neat to see some of the campers i had actually had in years past.

the part i loved the most was just being in that worship area again. that simple, rustic chapel. overlooking the mountains.

somehow i volunteered to help set up luminaries for worship with the program team. and it was so wonderful to be in that space. to have a part in preparing for worship. before campers arrived from campfire, i lied down on one of the benches. covered with stars. surrounded by candles. and there was this stillness. this silence. and it was beautiful.

soon campers came. and we took communion together. and i adore communion. a celebration of our union with God. with each other. all welcome at the table. all being filled with something holy.

and worship continued. and this fog invaded the worship area. stars were barely visible above. and there was a sort of haze all around. there was something mysterious about it all. i felt like i could sit there forever. and just be.

yet at the same time, i had a peace about leaving. i knew i would miss this place. i knew i would miss the familiar. but i also knew that this place. my memories here. are apart of me. and they go with me. wherever my feet take me next.

too wonderful for me.

2007-07-29T17:32:00.000-07:00

just got back from a weekend with my grandparents. grandpa's in a rehab center in florence, sc after heart surgery and a series of complications. been in the hospital pretty much the whole summer. this was the first time i really saw him awake in a long time.

and he's just as sharp as ever. cracking jokes. recounting detailed stories from long ago. his body still has a ways to go. but his spirit is alive and present.

one of my favorite moments was going to physical therapy with him. mom, andrew, and i joined in on the exercises with grandpa and a lady named ms. shupe. we sat in a circle as grandpa led us in count. we tapped our feet. lifted our legs. raised our knees. it was a neat moment of being alongside grandpa. we got a hold of an exercise ball and started kicking it around in our little circle. grandpa was smiling. i love it when he smiles. and ms. shupe seemed to be having fun too. we came to a consensus that the five of us would make a pretty sweet soccer team. with the stipulation that grandpa and ms. shupe would have to play up front to score all the goals.

other moments were not as lighthearted. grandpa tearing up in his hospital bed, admitting his own weakness, continually asking for prayer. grandma breaking down in a local diner when someone asked how mr. huggins was doing. dad and grandpa exchanging tearful i love you's. andrew commenting that that was the hardest time saying goodbye. me knowing that i'd be leaving very soon.

and amidst all of this, i started reading a little bonhoeffer. life together. his thoughts on christian community. deepening my perspective of spiritual love. of spiritual brother and sisterhood.

at some point, bonhoeffer discusses the beauty of the psalms as something to be shared in community. he reveals his secret of the psalter. to consider a different dimension to the psalms. not as our own individual prayer. that we may or may not identify with. but as prayers uttered by Christ. on behalf of His Body. on behalf of the Church. prayers that we can share in together. with Jesus. with each other.

and i heard dad and grandma mention the same story. of grandpa's adoration of two particular psalms. 100. and 139. that grandpa said there was power in those words.

o Lord you have searched me and known me. you know when i sit down and when i rise up. you discern my thoughts from far away. you search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. even before a word is on my tongue, o Lord you know it completely. you hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. such knowledge is too wonderful for me. it is so high that i cannont attain it... (beginning of psalm 139)

and the intimacy expressed in these words is too wonderful for me. between the Lord and the psalmist. between Parent and Son. between God and my grandpa.

and when i read it now. i hear the voices of Jesus. and grandpa. harmoniously interwoven. quite beautifully. and i am overwhelmed by the depth of it all.

paint on my feet.

2007-07-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

so my apartment has this long narrow hallway. right as you walk in. kind of a waste of space. and when we moved in, my roomate laura and i thought it needed a little something to liven it up. so naturally, we painted the hallway with blue and coral squares. no order to it. completely random. we even threw a few rectangles in the living room. it was slightly ridiculous. but beautiful still the same. a very laura and abby thing to do.

and today, i painted over the squares.

primed them first to cover the color. then painted over the squares with kestral white. to match the rest of the wall. but something was a little off. slight difference between old and new. so i sort of ended up painting the whole hallway.

and its still imperfect. but the squares are gone. which was the goal, i guess.

and as i was painting, i was mourning the loss of the squares. but more so the loss of what the squares stood for. of my last year of college. spent in this sketcy apartment. with people i deeply adore.

and the idea of painting over the familiar. of changing what i've known. was almost too much.

and then i started noticing the transformation of the wall. kind of fascinating to see the colors shift. and i realized that the squares were not gone. they'll always be a part of that wall. but that the wall will always be changing. new holes. scratches. scuffs. paint. and that is real. and that is good.

then in a sort of cliche kind of way. stevie nicks sang about being "fraid of changin" on the radio.

and my mind wandered to the transformations that will happen in me. ones i can't anticipate. ones that are bound to happen. and it terrifies me. overwhelms me. overjoys me. to consider the next adventures. the next changes. in this lifetime process of restoration.

and now there's paint on my feet. paint on the walls. and even a little on the carpet. oops.

foot fetish.

2007-07-18T08:05:00.000-07:00

so this is all new to me. this blog thing. writing flows much more freely when i know no one else is reading it. takes a certain amount of vulnerability. writing where everyone can see it. but here goes.

i've been thinking a lot about feet lately. even more than usual.

just returned to north carolina from a three week stay in new york. training alongside some truly amazing people to be young adult missionaries. we'll soon be headed out in all different directions. all over the country. all over the world. incredibly thankful for the community that was created within those three weeks. a community rooted in Christ. a community with a common vision for social justice. a community that will stretch and connect us wherever we may be.

realizing that my soul craves community. to be with people. living. listening. loving. sharing. serving. cannot fathom the community i'll discover and become a part of in grenada. overwhelmed by the thought of it. but in a good way.

early on in training, david wildman led a bible study. showering us with his wisdom and insights. challenging us to consider scripture in different ways. one of the phrases he used was: praying with our feet. that acts of love are prayers in themselves. beyond words.

and i would notice people's feet on the subway. flip flops. tennis shoes. ridiculous heels. wondering where these feet had gone. wondering where these feet were going. wondering what stories they could tell.

and quite often, as we'd gather, we'd sing a spiritual, as taught by david hosey.

guide my feet while i run this race.
guide my feet while i run this race.
guide my feet while i run this race.
for i don't want to run this race in vain.
race in vain.

and the young adult missionaries have some pretty rockin voices. enough to make up for whatever joyful noise that comes out of my mouth. but all those voices together were breathtakingly beautiful. and the idea of a God that is guiding us on this journey. even more beautiful.

and this song. along with don't stop believing. dancing queen. and the avett's famous flower of manhattan. rotated through my head. perpetually.

sometimes i would retreat to the park. usually nearby riverside. occasionally central or prospect. something about the trees. the grass. that was refreshing. and as i would sit, i would take off my chacos. grass between my toes. a certain freedom.

and i would think about God's command to moses. when that burning bush thing was happening. to take off his sandals, for he was standing on holy ground (exodus 3).

and taking off my shoes reminds me to be open to the holiness around me. makes me want to run around barefoot all the time. recognizing an omnipresent holiness. a God moving and being in all things.

and so. it is my hope that i might pray with barefeet. continually aware of God's guiding presence on this journey. always open to the holiness that exisits on whatever ground i'm standing on. in whatever people i'm standing beside.