Saturday, July 11, 2009

June? July? Summer?

Where did June go? How is it already July? And when did Summer get here??

June was just the slightest bit busy between turning 22, graduating, and working four jobs. I'll tell ya a couple good stories from June to compensate for lost time. 

June 3rd -- my favorite holiday of the year -- the weather was hot and sunny with a slight breeze which perfectly swept over your shoulders or through your hair to keep you cool. Sand squished between my toes as the fire pit crackled with hunger and excitement. The sun was setting over the Olympic Peninsula and the sight was breath taking for nearly 45 minutes. It was one of those elongated sunsets that were even more beautiful as time went on. The night crept closer, but the sun was not finished painting the sky. There I stood, with some of my closest friends, listening to the waves crash on Alki Beach and a piece of art exploding in the sky. The wind never turned cold, and the evening never turned empty. With the sunset came the stars. And with the stars came the bon fire marshmallow eating -- one of my favorite foods ever! I laughed as my roommates stuck candles in a fresh batch of rice crispies. It was nearly impossible to light the candles. I think I wished for what I already had as I let the wind extinguish my birthday candle. This was enough. This is all I needed in life. Fellowship, friends that know and understand me, a beautiful sunset, warm weather, toasted marshmallows, someone to hold hands with, and a perfect memory to end college. 

June 12th we had our first pomp and circumstance ceremony. We dressed up in our cap and gowns, professors in their regalia, and family member with eager cameras to capture the beloved Ivy Cutting Ceremony. The ceremony itself is not what this story is about. Instead this story is about the women with whom I stood for this ceremony. This "we" that I am referring to is none other than my four friends from freshman year -- Laura, Linnzi, Erendira, and Brooke. We've been through so much together that we decided it was necessary for our families to meet. Later that evening, we gathered at my house for drinks and dessert. It was so wonderful to host such an important gathering where families became intertwined and connected. Parents of one girl got to meet parents of another girl. I had the chance to chat with all the girls' parents AND successfully filled up glasses, tidied the bar, and took care of the trash. My mom later told me how wonderful it was to see me as a woman. I'm starting to feel like a real adult.

June 14th I celebrated my graduation with a rather significant cheering section. I was completely exhausted from the hub-ub of graduation and I don't think I could have smiled one more smile. The ceremony was done with and I couldn't wait to get back into the car and into my beloved Rainbow sandals. Neal and I drove one car while Mom, Sherman, and Zach drove another. It was time to be in my element, so Neal and I went grocery shopping (one of our favorite past times) for dinner. All I wanted on graduation evening was to spend time cooking and hanging out with my immediate family. I didn't want a big fancy dinner. I just wanted to relax and cook some amazing dinner. And that, we did. We worked away in the kitchen to make a delicious stir-fry with fresh vegetables. We had family dinner gathered around Neal's kitchen table and my heart was SO happy. Perhaps I'm too easy to please, but I couldn't imagine a better way to end such a significant day.


That was just a sneak peak from June. I promise to make time to write more often! Texas next week for Neal's family reunion, a friend getting married the following weekend, and another girlfriend getting married the weekend after that! *phew* 

Does it ever slow down?

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Sunscreen and a Scramble.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Thanks, Mary Schmich. Your advice from 1997 is still applicable 12 years later. And for this, I am grateful. Yesterday, I took your advice and did something that scared me. Terrified me, in fact. 

As we turned the bend to begin the Haystack on Mount Si, I saw snow. Deep snow. People sliding down the snow. Not by choice, but by the force of gravity. As I look towards the peak of the Haystack, my heart begins to pound. It seems like an impossible scramble to the top. The snow intimidates me. The rock climb intimidates me. The huge gusts of wind intimidate me. We had the choice to go back or move forward. I chose to move forward despite my fears.

I clung onto the thin trees as I tried to hike up the mountain in my trail running shoes. The hikers ahead of us decided it wasn't worth it and were heading down. As I tried to maneuver around the snow to let them pass, I slipped. Thank goodness for that tree that I was clinging on to. No physical injury. Just my pride.

We get deeper into the snow. Kick step in to the mountain of snow. Follow the tracks of the people before you. Deep your fingers deep into the snow for stabilization. Keep close to the snow so the wind doesn't shake you. Kick step by kick step I make it up to the rock climbing section. 

Neal is behind me, he coached me through the path that we were going to take.  He told me where to put my right foot, where to grip, how to shift my body. He lead me up the scramble and he supported me the entire time. He never pressured on me to move fast. He never lost patience with me. And when I looked up to a vertical climb, I looked behind me and told him I was scared. I told him that I wanted to go back down. He assured me that we're completely safe as we descended the rock face. I felt safe, even though I was scared. I always feel safe when I'm with him.

We put our jackets on, so we wouldn't freeze on the descent down the snow bank. Kick step, kick step, grip, grip. Frozen fingers, wet toes. A feeling of accomplishment over something that was terrifying to me. We reached the bottom of the scramble and baked in the sun for a bit. It was a good day to be alive. 

So, I thank you Mary for giving words of advice that still live strong today. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you... 

...I wore Sunscreen. 

Thursday, April 30, 2009

J-O-B!

I got a job. Not just any job, but a REAL job that I can be passionate about!!

I applied for a AmeriCorps VISTA position, which is a sanction of AmeriCorps towards ending poverty. I am working in a non-profit called Girls on the Run, which empowers 3rd through 5th graders to run their first 5k with a holistic approach of body image and positive thinking. I will be doing research on how to better outreach to high-risk girls in need. I will be going out into the community and asking questions. I will be a running mentor. And I will create a system to recruit these 'underprivileged' girls of Seattle. Hopefully giving them a better view of themselves and their own decision making. 

My compensation would be health care, a gym membership, a $4,700 stipend at the end of the year for my loans, and a meager living allowance (which is at the poverty-line for Seattle). Living at the poverty-line is something that I've always wanted to do. I want to experience living on food stamps and really working for a living. So many people in our country live at or below the poverty line. Is is really possible? Can you really live on $900 a month? 

On a side note, being a graduate is wonderful, but weird at first. It's like seeing the world through a whole new set of eyes. It's so empowering to do things for myself... not just because some professor told me that I must in order to pass his class for a degree. I'm starting to feel human again--connected to the world in a whole new different way. 

I, Chelsea Elizabeth Hodgson, am a twenty-one year old college graduate living in Seattle. Sounds kinda nice, huh? I am my own person. No longer do I fall under the broad category of student. I now fall under the even more broad category of human.... an EMPLOYED human, that is! :]

Friday, March 20, 2009

The Muslim Veil and America's Oppression

As promised, here is a paper that I wrote for my World Religions class. It is a little bit long, but I hope that the topic can capture your interest long enough to make it to the end! When you are done reading, feel free to give back feedback by leaving a comment or send me an e-mail or something! 



When Americans think about women in the East, they think of oppression, limitations, and rules. Often they think women are treated as second-class citizens or worse, like an animal. “Some people who want to discredit Islam suggest that women are treated like second-class citizens or as inferior to men. They say that Muslim women must feed the men and children first and only eat what is left. This is a gross distortion of the truth”(Anway). Americans have a skewed idea of the Middle East due to certain events such as 9/11 or the war in Iraq. They tend to see veiled women as counterparts to these fundamentalist Muslim men who are on the eternal conquest to express jihad. 


Veiled Muslim women are often regarded by Westerners as oppressed individuals who need rescuing from the evil clutches of their Fundamentalist polygamist husbands. “Most Americans see Muslim women as an oppressed lot, but I would like them to know that if Muslim women are oppressed, it’s because they forsake the true Islam and follow their country’s cultural practices. Islam throws away all the garbage that keeps women down and lifts them up to a status of self-respect and confidence”(Anway). These women are not oppressed by their religion nor their husbands, but by the country’s cultural dictations of how the Qur’an is interpreted. 


In the actual text of the Qur’an, the prophet Mohammed mandates modesty from both men and women, but he does not dictate how this modesty should be attained. Veiling of the head and body is standard expectation for women who pursue the religion of Islam, but perhaps it isn’t mandatory according to the Qur’an. “Veiling is a complex issue. The prophet Muhammad never required veiling of the face. Modesty was his rule, but not veils. With the hardening of Muslim institutions, however, veils became the rigor, except for the working poor women. Different degrees of veiling evolved in different countries”(Adeney). Women are mandated to be modest, but not to be veiled. So how  did veiling become the accepted social norm, when there isn’t any tangible evidence in the Qur’an? 


“Khadija, the first Muslim women, was never required to wear a veil or seclude herself, and never lived to hear the word of God proclaim that ‘Men are in charge of women because God has made the one of them to excel the other, and because they spend of their property [to support them]’”(Brooks). The first Muslim woman experienced true freedom within Islam. She was not oppressed by the state, nor was she oppressed by the words of the Qur’an that state in Sura 4:34, "Men are in charge of women, because Allah has made some of them to excel others...and [as to] those on whose part you fear rebellion, admonish them, and leave them alone in beds apart, and beat them (Bukhari 8:68)." 


As Muhammad continued to be a prophet for Allah, Khadija also continued to help spread the news of Islam. They worked together for the good of Islam and Khadija was referred to as the Pure One. She died many years before the prophet Muhammad because she was fifteen years older. In mourning, Muhammad married several women in order to fill the position of Khadija, his favorite and most loved wife. The new prophet’s wives has high expectations to fulfill, and thus great modesty was required to be as pure as Khadija. “Gradually the rules meant to safeguard the prestige of the prophet’s wives came to be applied to other Muslim women. Islam did not have to mean oppression of women”(Brooks). 


Muhammad original purpose for hijab was to protect the intentions of his wives, but his followers interpreted this as a requirement for true faith in Allah. Those women who were most devoted to Allah wore veils and head coverings. Yet as time continued on, extreme measures were taken to protect the modest women of Islam: “Some women believed, as I did, that the religion only required them to dress within contemporary limits of modesty. Others insisted on going beyond a covered head to gloved hands and veiled faces, arguing that the corruption of the modern world made more extreme measures necessary now than in the prophet's day”(Brooks). The covered head was simply not enough for some women; they covered their faces and hands to protect themselves from the modern world. The modern Western world has urged individuals to hold tighter to modest measures. 


Although Westerns identify the veiling and hijab as oppression, Muslim women tend to find freedom within the perceived subjugation. One woman reports, “I have been denied jobs because of my hijab. Nonetheless, I am grateful for hijab. It is liberating in a sense that other women will never know. I feel honored to represent Islam in such a powerful way as to be recognized as Muslim whenever I venture out”(Anway). Not only has she been denied by the world due to her devotion to Islam, but she continues to be thankful for hijab because it allows her to be identified as a devout follower of Islam. Another woman responds: “I kept the headscarf on and eventually got used to it. Now I get mad at people who stare at me or make fun of me, but that only makes me want to wear it more”(Anway). For this Muslim woman, the headscarf was worn out of demand by her culture; once she became accustomed to the modesty it provided her, she realized how much she needed this head covering to keep her pure and modest. 


For some women, Islam has liberated those who previously felt trapped by the world. “Islam has provided a framework that has allowed me to express the beliefs I already had such as modesty, kindness, love. It also led me to happiness through marriage and births of two children. No matter how bad things get, I have something I can hang onto. The sisterhood and brotherhood of Muslims has been a comfort to me in hard times”(Anway). There is freedom within modesty, kindness, and love; there is freedom in happiness from a healthy family; there is freedom within the strong family-like bonds of the Muslim community. Another woman expresses her freedom as such: “My husband didn’t make me dress this way, and I’m not oppressed. I’m set free--free from bondage of fashion, clothes, hair, shoes, and the like”(Anway). This woman felt bondage to the world of fashion and appearances. Her choice to be modest through the covering of the veil allowed her soul to be set free from the things that bonded her to this world. 


When the culture around a woman is degrading her as a human being, Muslim women find freedom in the protection of Islam. “Under such circumstances,” Turkish author Naila Minai comments, “the veil could be a tool for reasserting a woman’s human dignity by forcing people to respond to her talents and personality rather than to her body alone’”(Adeney). The veil is a tool that allows women to be equal in society, not to be oppressed or repressed. Modesty is a way in which women can find immense freedom in being recognized as a human being with personality and talents. “The best Islamic right by far is the hijab. I have a right to be looked at as a moral woman, not a piece of meat to be gawked at. People look at my eyes when talking to me. I am treated like a lady as a general rule”(Anway). This woman feels freedom when she’s protected by her hijab because she has the right be observed as a human being, not just a “piece of meat” to be whistled at. She is a lady, and she ought to be treated in such a way. The hijab of the Islam tradition protects this right to be regarded as a human being.

  

American women who convert to Islam find comfort and freedom to be protected by the modesty of the veil. One woman remarks on her change from American standards to Allah’s standards, “I no longer find freedom in tight pants or miniskirts, but through hijab and modesty”(Anway). Tight pants and miniskirts used to make this women have a sense of freedom, but when she converted, she realized that Allah had much different standards and expectations than the world. Her freedom was then found in modesty because she no longer had to meticulously worry about her appearances, how she looked, or who would judge her on her looks. Another Muslim woman regards American freedom as possible entrapment, “In a society which claims to envision a “freer” means of life for women, the American male attitude toward women actually puts women way down by promoting the sex-symbol image. Hijab removes the possibilities for men to “ogle” and demands they view women as people rather than objects”(Anway). Perhaps an American women’s definition of freedom is rather an oppression in another woman’s culture, or perhaps American women are indeed as trapped and oppressed as Muslim women are perceived to be repressed by the veil. 


The East views the West in a negative way, just as Americans view Islamic countries. They see all the negative aspects of culture and determine that these characteristics make up the entire country. “Look at the West! What do you see?” Muslims groan, “Pornography. Beauty contests, displaying thighs and breasts. Weak families. Abused women and children. Disrespect for parents. Growing illegitimacy. Abortions. Sexually Transmitted Diseases. Drugs”(Adeney). Yes the West is corrupt, just as much as the East. But let’s examine Western culture from an outsiders perspective. One woman regards the American woman as one who is enslaved to the bonds of appearance, “Most American women feel that they are the most liberated women on earth, but they are not really relieved from the bonds of oppression. Anyone who has to have a perfect body for fear of rejection and anyone who has to reveal their bodies to receive so-called “attention” is still oppressed”(Anway). 


America often regards beauty for a woman as one who can attain thinness while not looking too thin, muscles while not looking too bulky, made up while not looking too vain, so on and so forth. Women feel the need to be beautiful and desired, so they objectify themselves and internalize these ideals of beauty. “The image of beauty in the West can hurt and humiliate a woman as much as the veil does when enforced by the state police in extremist nations such as Iran, Afghanistan, or Saudi Arabia”(Mernissi). 


American women are oppressed by such ideals because it turns women into objects that must be molded and shaped to unrealistic expectations that are defined as beautiful. One woman regards her experience in a dance class that required her to fit into the Western ideals of beauty, “As a girl, I’d learned the profoundly unnatural movements of Western ballet, whose aim was to make the body seem as insubstantial as air. With its stress on elongation and fluttering extremities, ballet denied womanliness, requiring adult dancers to retain the shape of prepubescent girls”(Brooks). It was this obsession with thinness in Western ballet that made this adult woman feel as though she ought to be the size of a prepubescent girl. This ideal of thinness puts American women in bondage and entrapment. It leaves women with more curves feeling undesirable and ugly. “By putting the spotlight on the prepubescent female, the Western man veils the older, more mature woman, wrapping her in shrouds of ugliness”(Mernissi). The women who don’t abide by the cultural standards of beauty are oppressed by ugliness, while the women who internalize the ideals of thinness are also trapped. Instead of ugliness, these ”beautiful” women are trapped by ideals of thinness that can never be fully attained. 


Beauty is a harmful definition that rules over the hearts and minds of women. But in the West, with such a negative expectation of beauty, women are obsessive about obtaining the idealized beauty at all times. “The Western man uses images and spotlights to freeze female beauty within an idealized childhood, and forces women to perceive aging--that normal unfolding of years--as shameful devaluation”(Mernissi). Instead of being oppressed by the veil or hijab, Western women are still oppressed by men who idealize beauty as youth and thinness. This leaves an older women, always striving and hoping for a way to trick men into thinking she is youthful, and therefore beautiful. 


The West’s definition of beauty leaves women in a bondage of lies, inadequacy, and ugliness. “Framing youth as beauty and condemning maturity is the weapon used against women in the West, just as limiting access to public space is the weapon used in the East. The objective remains identical in both cultures: to make women feel unwelcome, inadequate, and ugly”(Mernissi). All Western women struggle with this expectation to be beautiful and desirable at some degree. Women feel the need to satisfy the ideals that men have set as social norms, so that women can feel adequate, accepted, and beautiful. 


In the Christian church, beauty is often unfortunately defined by the world’s standards; women young and old struggle with being affirmed by Christ and not by the world. When walking into an American Christian church, one would probably notice minute physical differences between those inside and outside the church walls. Perhaps they cover up their bodies a bit more on Sundays, but the lingering effects of the size six phenomenon are still evident. 


How terrible it is that Western Christian women have forgotten their Desert Mothers in their quest to be beautiful. Ancient mothers have defined beauty time and time again in the Bible not by their looks, but by their attitudes and actions. The Bible states in 1 Peter 3:4-5a, “You should be known for the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God. That is the way the holy women of old made themselves beautiful.” Our Desert Mothers have given us the key to beauty, yet a Christian woman continues to struggle with denying the world’s definition of beauty. It is by the gentle and quiet spirit of a woman that is so pleasing to God, our Creator. Yet the struggle for Christian women continues and they must meditate on the fact that God personally created each unique individual. Psalms 139:13-14, “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous--how well I know it.” God knit us together with marvelous workmanship, just as he also created the entire universe. A woman can gain much confidence if only she allows her identity to be rooted in Christ’s love. 


A Christian woman could also learn a thing or two from her Muslim sisters regarding modesty. The Bible states in 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, “Don’t you know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price. So you must honor God with your body.” God purchased us at a high price of sacrificing His Son so that we may be in relationship with Him, therefore we do not belong to ourselves or to this world. We belong to God and we are to honor Him by keeping our bodies as His temples pure and holy for the Holy Spirit. 


The Bible also demands that we stay pure, holy, and free of sexual sin. In 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5, Christians are called to different actions than those of the world: “God wants you to be holy, so you should keep clear of all sexual sin. Then each of you will control your body and live in holiness and honor--not in lustful passion as the pagans do, in their ignorance of God and his ways.” For women, this could be quite easy to avoid lustful passion and sexual sin, but the Bible says that we are to work together for the good of the Kingdom. 


The success of our brothers depend on our actions because we are no longer individuals, but the body of Christ. Philippians 2:2-4 states, “Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one heart and purpose. Don’t be selfish; don’t live to make a good impression on others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourself. Don’t think only about your own affairs, but be interested in others, too, and what they are doing.” Together, Christian men and women must work together to convey Christ’s love for the world. Men must avoid sexual sin, and women must not tempt them with immodesty. For Christian women must support our brothers in Christ and we should dress modestly as to not cause them to stumble. For the Bible says in Matthew 5:27-28, “You have heard the law of Moses say, ’Do not commit adultery.’ But I say, anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” The Western Church has often forgotten about modesty, and I believe that Christian women could learn much from dialoguing with Muslim women. 


At first glance, Muslim and Christian women seem so different, but upon closer examination it is important to remember that we are all humans created by God. Once we realize our humanity, it becomes easier to dialogue about importance issues such as veiling and modesty. American Christian women have misconceptions about Eastern Muslim women, and Eastern Muslim women have misconceptions about American Christian women. For example, Muslim women are “cautious of Christianity because they associate it closely with Western culture. They see women on television wearing revealing clothes or sleeping around, and believe all Christians act this way. It's important for Christian women to establish friendships to break down these stereotypes”(Cutrer). When we begin dialoguing with each other, we can break down stereotypes that inhibit the truth of the Gospel to be adequately shared. 


 With these thoughts in mind, it is important to remember that God set us free from our sin that oppressed human kind. It is vital for women of all ages, religions, sizes, and ethnicities to know that freedom exists in this world. We have the opportunity to walk forward, out of that oppression and into full freedom in Christ. It is when we walk forward in our relationship with Christ that we feel freedom from lies, oppression, and expectations. If you fail to seek Christ daily, you will easily become bogged down by the chains of this world. Christ provides hope and freedom for all people regardless of your current struggles.


Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Home Again.

I admit. I have been avoiding the blogosphere because there have been no new updates in my life. I still miss Russia with all my heart, and it still hurts. I am struggling through my last quarter of university. Things have been pretty dim... until Friday. 

My brother had just flown up from California to hang out in Seattle for the weekend, and our tummies were full of wonderful thai food from a local restaurant in Fremont. Hoping to burn off some calories from the thai feast, I suggested a walk along the canal. Cyclists were zooming by us on the bike trail and the water was lapping on the edge of the canal. The sun was just beginning to set and all was well with the world as I looked to my right to find a cafe that I had never seen before.  Excitement overwhelms me as I sprint across the bike path, nearly getting hit by some hardcore cyclists. 

As I enter Cafe Babel, a band is setting up over the the right. The homey lighting invites me in further as my curiosity drives me to the register. Multi-cultural snacks entice me to ask about the cafe.  Local pastries and coffee beans supply me with abundant hope. A counter over to the left tells me that the cafe is associated with the Seattle Language Academy. Together they host multi-cultural events that encourage language and cultural understanding. Tonight, the barista told me, would be a night of African drumming.

Later that night Neal, Zach, and I headed over to my new favorite cafe, Cafe Babel. Upon approaching the cafe, we are bombarded with African drums and happy voices. My heart began to swell as we entered the multi-cultural dance party in the cafe. Kids danced in the middle of the circle as the old folks cut a rug. It didn't matter how you danced to the beat, it just mattered that you danced. It felt like I was crashing a multi-cultural family reunion simply because everyone was so comfortable with themselves and around each other. 

The band is lead by Ibrahima Camara who lead the band's vocals, sabar, djembe, and the tama.  They play awesome Sengalese pop music with traditional West African roots.  People in the cafe enjoyed bottles of wine and pastries. Some people even brought their own food. It was a gathering of friends who acted like family.

After some prodding from my two favorite men (Neal and Zach), we all went out on the "dance floor" and danced anyway we felt like. It was a release to move my body without any restraints. No one was looking at me, we were all just having a great time. Asians were dancing with Caucasians, and Caucasians were dancing with Africans. The best part of the evening was that the multi-cultural integration was not forced or hostile. It was just a bunch of people gathering together to dance and let loose. 

All of a sudden, I felt at home. 

Home, being a loose term, means a piece of heaven where people of all nations can just gather together in joyful noise. I felt at home in the Vineyard church plant of Nizhnii Novgorod, and I felt at home in Cafe Babel during the multi-cultural dance party. Cafe Babel has been the only speck of home since I left Nizhnii Novgorod on that gloomy Sunday, and somehow my faith has been restored. Nizhnii Novgorod is not the only place I can feel at home. I simply must seek these new places with an open heart. 

Check out Cafe Babel at www.cafebabelseattle.com and expect to see me there! 

With love and hope in Seattle, Seh Veh

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Culture Shocked in Seattle.

I entered the doors of a church I once called home. Nearly killed with kindness, hugs and kisses, I thought I was going to be okay. I thought that I could somehow swallow the tears, or make believe that I didn't hurt inside. I plastered a smile on my face when people said, "Welcome back to America. Aren't you glad to be home?" My stomach dropped and my head was dizzy.

The lights dimmed and the service started. The tunes of the worship songs are now unfamiliar to me as I look around the group population. I tried to find my family amidst the new faces. My eyes darted around the sanctuary as my eyes welled up with tears. Not here, not now. Please don't do this to me. I felt lost in a sea of worshippers. I felt suffocated by the worship music. My heart ached for the Vineyard Church of Nizhnii Novgorod. Tears silently spilled down my face, taking my so-called waterproof mascara with it. 

As the unfamiliar music heightened and the worshippers' claps only grew louder, I sunk down into my seat. The silent tears turned into an uncontrollable bawling sensation. I lost control of my emotions. I missed my church family. I missed the flags waving in the air during worship. I missed Eva. I missed Olya. I missed long walks. I missed cooking at Eva's apartment after church on Sundays. I missed the multi-cultural bilingual service. I missed singing worship songs in Russia. I missed making silly faces at the little kids running around during service. I missed tea and cookies before church. I missed every little thing about my home church in Russia. To me, this church was and still is home.

Home is where the heart it, and it is evident that I left my heart in a little rundown theater on Prospekt Prokovskya, Russia. 

Overwhelmed with emotions and culture shock, I grabbed my coat and my boyfriend as I ran out into the foyer. I couldn't even make it outside before he wrapped me up in his arms and I bawled like a little baby. I lost complete control as my tears dropped onto his clean linen shirt. No words could comfort me as I expressed the sadness of my heart. 

After my tears ceased to flow, we jumped in the car and I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to go home to Russia. Neal insisted as he turned the ignition. As we approached our destination, I realized that I couldn't read any signs because they weren't in English. We arrived in at the International District close to Little Saigon. 

As I opened my door, I heard passerby's speak in a language unfamiliar to me. I was a minority among the crowd. My heart swelled as we entered the Hao Hao market. My hands ran through the grains, and my mind wandered as I touched the unfamiliar fruits. I smiled as I laid down my American dollar bills to pay for such an imported item. It felt like I was using Monopoly money in a 7-11. I felt like a foreigner as I asked questions in English. I stood out as the token white girl, and somehow I felt comforted by such a feeling. 

Although my friends said I looked Russian, I still felt like an outsider when I couldn't understand what the babooskha was asking me on the bus.  I felt like an outsider when I had to hold out a wad of rubles in the grocery store because I couldn't understand how much to pay. I still felt like an outsider when I picked up my cell phone and spoke in fluent English. 

Somehow I learned to be comforted by feeling like a foreigner. And in Little Saigon, I felt at ease when I felt like a foreigner. Sometimes I still feel like a foreigner in my own country. I feel a dual responsibility to love, defend, and support both countries. I feel torn between my two countries of citizenship. I love Seattle. I love the United States of America. But I love Nizhnii Novgorod, and I love Russia. I don't know if this feeling will ever go away, but for the moment I am embracing both cultures as I readjust to the American way of life.

Love from Seattle, Seh Veh

Friday, January 2, 2009

2008 was great.

Ups and Downs of 2008:

+fell in love.
+got accepted to the Russia Studies Program
+went to Russia.
+fell in love with Russia.
+met some amazing people.
+gained a global perspective on God's love.
+hiked some Washington mountains.
+hiked a small California 'mountain'.
+bought a new purple phone.
+moved in with my wives.
+fell in love with baby xana.
+went to some beautiful weddings.
+discovered a love of journalism.
+discovered a love of photography.
+discovered a love for teaching english.
+went gluten-free

-went gluten-free.
-lost a few friends.
-missed out on memories in seattle.
-Patrick Hickey's death.
-Jay Jaeger's death.
-the economy crashing.
-seeing my friends stressed about money and jobs.
-Dr. Dealia Nuesch-Olver leaving the theology faculty.

All in all, 2008 was great. But in 2009, I'm going to shine.

(cheesy, I know.)

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Family Matters.

This holiday season has been different for a number of reasons. Different, but good. As I get older, the meaning behind Christmas changes into something beyond face value. No longer is Christmas about Santa and his reindeer. No longer is Christmas focussed around my mile long wish list. No longer is Christmas about ripping off the covers on Christmas morning to run downstairs for presents. No longer is Christmas about caroling or candy canes. 

Instead, Christmas has been about spending enormous amounts of time with family. Christmas has been about cooking and dishwashing. Christmas has been about learning God's love. Christmas has been about sharing God's love with other people. Christmas has been about mimosas and wine. Christmas has been about being older in the holiday season. 

No longer do I expect gifts from under the tree, but rather from the heart. I have finally recognized that Christmas is a time to reconnect with the family you haven't seen. It's a time to serve others. It's a time to love on others. It's a time to give outrageously with your time and energy. 

A few snapshots of my 'grownup' Christmas:

Having a dishwashing competition with my cousins. My cousin Billy and I each man a section of the sink. We both have our designated dryers, and we compete to see who could wash the dishes the fastest. Unfortunately I got held up with a 'soaker' and the mashed potato pan. Anthony and I lost, but I blamed it on the fact that I'm a girl--therefore I have no muscles--therefore Billy automatically will win. We laughed.

Watching the Will Ferrel movie Old School with my Hodgson family. My grandfather laughing at the jokes, while telling my thirteen year old cousin to cover his eyes. The commercial advertising the 'Flirty Girl Fitness' which is basically a striptease aerobic exercise video, and then later having my two uncles try and reenact some of the dance moves at a commercial break.

Playing Catch Phrase for an hour and a half with a majority of my family on the Hodgson side. The most enthusiastic player being my six-year-old cousin whom i previously assumed was mute; now she was the most intensive player on my team. We yelled and screamed and laugher. Neighbors said they could hear us from a block away. 

Sitting around the fire on Christmas morning, having mimosas and coffee without any urgency to the presents under the tree. Of course, since we had our first 'homemade Christmas,' we all knew what was under the tree anyway. Heather and her new husband Fabio said, "To our little sister, a date night for two." As they handed me a basket of yummy food, and a bottle of wine. This was the first time they referred to me as a sister and I melted with joy.

Learning how to make a Christmas dinner from my mother. She taught me how to prepare, baste, and cook a turkey. We made a feasting as we felt like it. There was no pressure in the kitchen, only to cook what we felt was doable. The food was delicious, and for the first time in a long time, I was happy to cook with my mom. She imparted her cooking wisdom upon me as I made my first Happy Birthday Jesus cherry cheesecake. We made cranberry sauce out of leftover jam and dried cranberries. We made a gluten-free creamed corn dish. We had turkey and mashed potatoes. We had a feast.

Playing dominoes with my family on Christmas day. Even though we had no idea what we were doing, having never played dominoes before, we had a great time trying a new game together. 

Spending Christmas morning with my father for the first time since the divorce. We opened presents together and took silly, funny pictures together. We laughed as the dogs ran through the discarded Christmas wrapping paper. We had coffee and a large feasting of food. We felt like a family.


Love from Orange County, Chelsea Beth

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Back to California.

Returning to the States was more difficult than I had imagined, both emotionally and physically. 


My adventure back to California started at 4 o'clock on Thursday morning, Moscow time. I made the choice to refuse sleep before we left, simply because I wanted to spend the last few hours in Moscow with my newfound siblings. Throughout the semester our group had seen high times and hard times, and there wasn't anyway that I would spend our last night together sleeping. No way, Jose! So we spent our last few hours in Moscow reminiscing over the semester, laughing and trying not to cry. The end was near. 


4:00 am-- Time to depart our hotel in Moscow. Brittany was staying behind so that she could catch her train to Ukraine. Saying goodbye to her was more difficult than expected. She had been there through every crisis; we were bonded through the unsuspected dramas of Russia. And for this I can only be grateful to the Motherland. Thank you, Mother Russia. We embrace in the freezing Moscow morning. Until January, I tell myself. Saying goodbye to Brittany made all the other goodbyes seem real. I began to bawl; Brittany did too. Tears rolled down my face as I boarded the bus. 


5:00 am-- We arrived at the Moscow airport, and I carried my 50 pound bags off the bus. We checked in and headed to Passport Control. Our group formed in a line as we entered into the 'Authorized Personnel Only.' This is where Harley says goodbye. I hugged Harley one last time; over the semester he was not only my educator within the classroom, but he was also my educator about life. He taught me life lessons that will never be forgotten. As my passport got stamped, I turned around a waved goodbye to Harley. He smiled and waved back like a proud grandpa sending off his granddaughter on a grand adventure. 


6:30 am-- Our plane takes off, saying goodbye to Moscow for the last time. Or so I thought.


7:30 am-- Our plane makes an emergency medical landing back to Moscow. Someone in business class was having heart palpitations.  Our flight was delayed by two hours as we waited for the passenger to be escorted away and for legal papers to be signed. No one was very happy. In fact, flight attendants offered hard drinks to every one just to keep the plane happy and quiet. 


11:30 am-- We arrive in Frankfurt, Germany with no planes to catch. Stranded in Germany. I cried and begged and pleaded to Mr. Weber at the Lufthansa counter. He got the group the first flight out of there to JFK; he also gave us food vouchers.


4:30 pm-- Germany time. We fly out of Frankfurt on our way to New York, New York.


7:30 pm--New York time. We arrive in the United States. Successfully make it through Passport Control and Customs. For the first time, I am seeing my country through a new set of eyes. I feel like an immigrant in my own country. I feel like a foreigner, an outsider. I am being yelled at in an unfamiliar language; i am being herded by unhappy men in black uniforms. I felt uncomfortable as I held out my United States passport. It felt like a lie. It felt as though the name on the passport was mine, but I had nothing in common with the girl in the photo. I felt so out of touch with the American Dream. I didn't want to be rich and famous. I don't care about money or cars or clothes. I care about food on the table and tea in the tummy. I want relationships, not the flat screen television. 


9:00 pm-- We check into the Best Western by JFK. I lay my Visa down for the hotel room, while the girls give me cash. I held fifty dollar bills in my hand for the first time in four months. Overwhelmed and over exhausted  we fell into bed, barely caring who shared a bed with whom. Each girl left at a different time. Rachael at 3:30 am; Laura at 4:30 am; Alicia at 5:30 am; Myself at 6:30 am; Spenser at 8 am. We parted ways in the middle of the night. I kept thinking of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, as we trickled to the different parts of the world. 


6:30 am-- December 12th. Having eaten my continental breakfast, I boarded the free tram to the airport. I held my carry-on on my lap as I tried to keep my eyes open. I checked into my flight no problem, and this time I checked my coat with my luggage. California, here I come.


12:00 pm-- California time. My heart was beating out of my chest as I waited for people to disembark the plane. My legs shook as I grabbed my carry-on from under the seat in front of me. My head felt dizzy with anticipation and anxiety as I walked on the tarmac to the terminal. I saw him. I dropped my bag. And I ran. We embraced. He cried. This was the moment I had waited for. I was home.


Fourty-three hours of travel and I was finally home in California with my family, my boyfriend, and my favorite food--tacos. My heart (and stomach) no longer missed California, but instead it ached for Russia. My heart will forever love Nizhnii Novgorod, and I will never forget the beauty of Russia.

 

Love from California, Chelsea Beth

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Childhood Complete at the Circus

As our group of American college students piled into the doorway of the theatre, I had no idea what to expect. The only words to describe the happenings in the lobby were sheer chaos. Painted faces, balloons, and light wands. Children, cheetahs, and camels. Cotton candy, popcorn, and ice cream. 


Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the Circus!


Our eyes dart around the lobby in amazement and overstimulation. Children weave in and out of our legs. Painted faces attempting to sell us light wands or glow in the dark swords. Camel rides available for a hefty price; tame cheetahs to pet. More children running in excitement. The circus was about to start.


We check our coats and head upstairs. Before we enter the theatre, Harley hands us each an ice cream cone. I felt like little orphan Annie going to the theatre with Daddy Warbucks as he handed out those ice cream cones. We find our seats as the lights begin to dim. Brittany and I are sitting next to this precious little girl who laughs at everything. 


The stereotypical circus music starts as the two head clowns enter the ring. They introduce act after act of entertainment. My mouth gaped in awe over the trapeze artists as they twirled in the air; when two guys performed a basketball routine in perfect unison; when two acrobats flew through the air, holding onto strips of fabric connected to the ceiling; when different acrobats did flips and turns in unison on a moving horse. 


I laughed until I cried when the toy poodle kept falling off his little metal barrel, he was resilient and continued to try and then fall off; when the head clowns asked a child to assist in an act, she was the one jumping while the dog just sat there; when the silly clown accidentally dunked his face in the cake, leaving him absolutely covered in frosting; when the silly clown ran around the rink with a foam stick, he hit little kids over the head and said, ‘Не болная! (It doesn’t hurt!)’


I honestly felt like a little kid again. I laughed at the most глупий (silly/stupid) things. I felt free from everything that had ever told me to hold back. I let it all go and I laughed and laughed and laughed.


The circus was the most wonderful experience, and my childhood now feels complete! 


<3>

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Dancing Through Life.

Straightening my hair last night felt like a dream. I wore my Russian heels and Natalie’s leg warmers. We put on makeup and had a small photo shoot before we left. Our heels clanked on the cement as we made our way to the Metro station. The strong Russian wind blew our skirts up. We giggled as we walked arm and arm. Old men gave us ‘up downs’ as we passed. It was a girls night on the town. We were on our way to the ballet at the Bolshoi Theatre. 


Upon arrival to the Bolshoi Theatre, we were greeted by men in suits and women in glittering dresses. We entered the metal detector into the beautifully extravagant lobby. Crystal chandeliers sparkled with every photo flash. Women in dresses, men in their suits. It was a extraordinary sight to be seen. 


We begin to take photos of our group, and this Asian tourist begins to take a photo of us. He takes a few more as we look at him awkwardly. Eventually he asks to take a photo with us as he looks up at Laura and says, “Tall girl.” We laugh; Laura turns red. He goes to check his coat and we follow his lead. When we check our coats, the lady speaks to us in English. I don’t think we’re in Nizhnii anymore. We grab our opera glasses and head up to the first balcony where we discover that our Asian tourist friend is only one row in front of us.


The orchestra begins to tune as beautiful dresses and suits take their seats in the extravagant theatre. The grand chandelier dims and the orchestra strikes up the first measure of music; the green curtain parts in the middle and the ballet begins. Giselle takes the stage and the audience bursts out in wild claps. With each turn and twist, the audience is captivated by the graceful movements of the ballerina. Random shouts of ‘Bravo!’ are to be heard after every impressive move she makes. As I sit on the first balcony leaning forward with my opera glasses, I think to myself: I have arrived. I’m sitting here with Moscow’s elite watching Giselle at the best ballet theatre in the whole world. 


Ballerinas dance around Giselle and her lover as the music escalates, and their toe shoes echo with the music as they gracefully float around the stage. Their tu-tus glitter in perfection and their smiles reveal their gleaming white teeth. Giselle runs toward her lover and he lifts her with ease as if she were a feather. Their emotions linger in the air as Giselle gracefully touches the stage once again. Her toe shoes make two small and beautiful thumps on the hollow stage. Arms at perfect angles and her toes as a point, and she’s off. The stage is her playground as she expresses her love through dance. 


The ballet ends tragically beautiful, and standing ovations occur. As the lead characters take their bow, Giselle is given three large bouquets of flowers from the audience. Her small arms can barely wrap her arms around the roses. They take their bow several times. The curtains open and close. ‘Bravo!’s were being shouted as the crowd clapped in unison. Giselle and her lover crept out of the closed curtain for one final bow. The grand chandelier lit up once again; Moscow’s suits and dresses exited the theatre. We grabbed our coats and embraced before we left the theatre. My heart was filled with joy as we entered the Metro station and headed back to our hotel for some peaceful dreams. I only wish that I could dance through life as Giselle had done.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The New Church

I am currently attending the wonderful Vineyard Church of Nizhnii Novgorod, where we meet every Sunday in a small theatre right on Bolshaya Prokovskaya. 


When I was ‘shopping’ for a church in my city, I really wanted a strong community of believers to come along side with--I wanted that international family that can only be found through the bonds of Christ. And that is exactly what I found. 


Flags fly through the air as the Russian/English worship service starts. First a verse and chorus in Russian, followed by the second verse and chorus in English. Together we sing in two or more languages. Sometimes I sang in Russian, and sometimes my family would sing in English. It is liberating to worship God outside the confines of one’s native tongue. 


The small theater is filled with all different types of people. Some are old, some are college aged, some are teenagers, and some are barely out of diapers. Although the church is small, the church sure is diverse. Some are from Russia, some are from Malaysia, some are from America, some are from China, and some are from Africa. We are all so diverse in our backgrounds, cultures, and native languages. Our differences do not tear us apart, but they bring us together as we unite to worship one God. I believe this to be a small snippet of heaven. Surely God smiles when he thinks of this place. One body made up of many different people whom gather together to praise the name of our Lord. 


Among this church body, I have been adopted by several wonderful people whom I will never forget. Their kindness is forever etched upon my heart. We spent so many hours together cooking, laughing, dancing, and talking. I am so thankful for my friends at the Vineyard church--I only wish I had more time with you.


Time is so short, and this Sunday was one of the hardest days of my life. 


Natalie, Eva, Olya, and I met up for a quick cup of coffee as one last ‘Orray’ before we left for Moscow. We laughed and talked about the good times. We were thankful that we had some time to spend together, and we were thankful that our paths had crossed even if it was only for a short two months. We talked about heartaches--about the hard things that will come in transitioning back to America. After Natalie paid our bill we walked up Bolshaya Prokovskaya to our little church. 


Before church started, our Pastor Dave comes up to me and Natalie asking us to come up in front of the church to share a little bit of our hearts. Natalie and I look at each other as we try to hold back the tears. Pastor Dave calls us up and immediately Natalie starts crying, which leaves me to the microphone. Eva translates my words in Russian as I try to explain my love for the Vineyard church in five short minutes. I was fighting back tears. Rebecca said a short something to the awesome Scully family, and then the church prayed for us as they commissioned us back into the States.


Paul Scully said, “Thank you God that your family stretches around the world.”


Tears poured down my face. My life will never be the same. 


The rest of the service I tried to hold back tears as I realized that this was my last Sunday with my family. After service, the four of us (Eva, Olya, Natalie, and self) prayed together holding hands in a circle. 


This was it. This was the way we said goodbye.


The Scully’s came to the train station, where we said goodbye with swinging hugs and chocolate bars. We exchanged emails and they told us we would be on their update list. They also said that they would continue to pray for us daily. 


I know I will see my Vineyard family again. They are the international family that can only be found through the bonds of Christ. I’m sure that our paths will cross again. 



From Moscow with Love, CB