Found

I watched the movie August Rush with my friends Elizabeth and Juan the other day. It's a recent movie about a young musical prodigy who is eleven years old and has never met his parents. People tell him that he'll never find them, but he keeps believing, because he hears something that tells him they're still alive.

The movie has some wonderful music in it and some deep themes that resonated quite clearly within me. For all it's faults, I thought it was a worthwhile movie.

August's parents meet only once and don't see each other for eleven years, but during that time they are depicted as not being completely whole - they are missing something and know that they are really missing the other person. Though I think the movie would say it was because they are true soulmates, I think it speaks to the union that happens when we make love, a connection that cannot really be broken.

Another part that touched me was when the title character was asked what he wanted to be more than anything else in the world. He replied, 'Found.' More than anything, he wanted to be with his parents. The music that he heard reminded him that he didn't belong in the orphanage. It called him to a greater purpose. The Spanish title of the film is ¨Escucha tu destino¨ Or ¨Hear your Destiny¨. I thought it was an appropriate title.

For its faults, I don't think that the director really knew who was the main character. There is the love story between the parents, but aspects of their characters could have gone much deeper. And August, though the Title character, seemed distant and unknowable for the most part. And yet I think he is the person we should most emulate: being still to listen for the music all around us, waiting, and hoping, and looking to be Found.

update on blogging

I don't know if anyone is still reading this blog, considering that I haven't written in it since the middle of June and I have instead been writing at my Mexico blog.

I keep thinking about this blog, though, and about the nature of blog communication, and the pictures in my head when I think about my two blogs.

I like this blog, quite a bit. It has been my first one, and it's kind of special. I have really enjoyed thinking about how to tell my stories in a coherent and entertaining or thought-provoking way. I have also enjoyed the correspondence back and forth with people who comment (usually my friends or family but once someone I had never met).

This brings me to my second thought, the nature of this type of communication. Many of my friends who are in different parts of the world (as I am) use blogs as places to update their friends and families about their journeys. But instead of sending the update directly to their email (or, are we in the dark ages, their actual mail box) they post it in a impersonal, public space. It now is the responsibility of the friend or family member to check the blog. There are a couple of advantages - the writer can update however frequently he or she chooses, and if someone doesn't want to hear how things are going, they just don't go to the url. Or, if someone else, who didn't originally hear about the blog, finds the link on facebook (*ahem) or some other place, they can jump right in, reading all the way to the beginning if they so choose.

Finally, despite the fact that this is an incredibly public space, it's also hidden. I didn't tell many people about this particular blog, and unless someone finds a link through a search or browsing blogs, only my specific friends know about it. Conversely, my other blog, is much more publicized. I really have no clue how many people read it, but the address is on about 750 bookmarks (along with my face) that I sent out into the world and it goes on a lot of my update emails (I do sometimes send those out as well). This blog was named "The resting rock" and when I think of it, I see a rock or a cave behind a waterfall - the kind that is occasionally splashed on but in general is calm, a place to sit, semi-protected from everything else around it. My Mexico blog, on the other hand, is sun-bleached, and dusty. There's a lot of action and it's visible to a lot of people.

On driving to Fargo, June 12

I drove down to Fargo with my dad tonight. Tomorrow morning I fly out, heading to Fresnillo, Mexico.

After stopping for beef in Grand Forks (Texas Roadhouse), the drive to Fargo was really peaceful. South, the light pink and pastel orange sunlight reflecting off of the rainclouds had an ambient look to it: soft, like the subtle changes of the aurora Borealis. North Dakota mountains hung in the distance. (of course, these are not real mountains; merely the illusion of such caused by bilious cumulonimbus clouds on the horizon.)

Later, the setting sun crusted the western clouds with gold. Dad and I talked about television reception and drove into the rain. Tomorrow he will return, and I shall fly through clouds. See you on the other side.

mahwidge

I was a bridesmaid in my friends' wedding this past weekend. It was a new experience for me and was quite enjoyable as well as thought-provoking. I've known both of my friends for a long time and it's fun that they married each other.

All the bridesmaids and groomsmen had pieces of tape marking where they were supposed to stand. I used to have a mark, but it walked away. I stood there, watching things progress, when I realized I wasn't in line with the rest of the bridesmaids. I inched my way over but found that now my view was blocked by shoulders on the steps above me. Now all I could see was Kent, the groom. I had an odd feeling. It was not at all like Kent was saying the vows to us, but there was an aspect that we were hearing the vows the same way Monica did. I couldn't see anything but Kent. I didn't see Monica's reaction. I couldn't see Pastor Rick saying the vows for Kent to repeat. I felt like the big brother behind the bullied kid in school, or the invisible friend of a second grader, or imagine this:a bridesmaid standing up with her friend at her wedding. I was there to support her, to hear the vows and be a witness to them, to encourage them in their marriage and to remind them of the promises they made to each other.

At the wedding I also had a sense of the deep profundity and ancientness of the ceremony - connecting a man and a woman in an intentional and purposeful way. We were dancing on the edge of something incredibly meaningful and established. I pray that Kent and Monica spend the rest of their life relishing and learning more about that dance and the deep deep love it comes from.

You're so vain

I found out that my littlest sister is vain (actually a tad narcissistic). In a real tangible way, I realized this when I drove the car after she had. The rear view mirror was angled so that it reflected whoever was sitting in the driver's seat. My sister moves the mirror so that when she glances up, she can see herself, checking her hair or her make-up.

It was about a mile down the road before I realized that the mirror was tilted incorrectly, and it wasn't because I wasn't glancing up. I know to use my mirrors - side of the eye, side of the eye.
I didn't realize it because I guess I'm vain as well. I was looking up and checking out the color of my hair and the freckles on my nose.

So I guess I have something to work on.

Philistine

I am more satisfied with the fact that I have successfully collected a Kodon* for each semester of my time at Wheaton College than frustrated by the fact that I have not read everything in them or understood most of what I have read or seen.

I keep because of the expectation for future reading, but this potentiality excuses me from having fully read them now.




*The Kodon is Wheaton College's biannual student publication of art, music, and literature.

Otto

I found out that one of my friends at the nursing home passed away last month. I sent him a letter, and it was returned to me, stamped "unable to deliver." Since he was 101 and lived in a nursing home, I checked online to see if I could find anything. He was born August 1906 and died May 17, 2008.

Otto Schoerner was one of my favorite people to visit at the nursing home. Almost every week he would say, in his soft, slightly accented voice, "oh, I would love to join you [in a weekly activity], but you see, I'm legally blind." He would take my hand and say "now you're from North Dakota? Karen?" He remembered each of us volunteers because of where we lived. Otto was always encouraging. He had lived as a missionary in China for 20 years, before international conflict kicked him out of the country. When he heard that I would be living in Mexico for this next year, he was very excited. Often he would pray for me and kiss my cheek.

He had wonderful stories, about being born in Pennsylvania but getting stuck in Germany with his family during WWI. He proposed to his wife by letter in 1938, and it took months for the letter to get to her and for him to receive a reply.

I took a picture with him the same night I took one with Dee and Jim but I didn't post it because it turned out poorly (Otto couldn't sit up and his dear face is only partly in the picture). Despite the lack of pictures online, you can read a little about his life in this newspaper article written after his death.