Buna Ziua!
Most people who know me know that I like quotes. I like to quote books, movies, and television shows. After all, "Nobody tosses a Dwarf!" is the perfect thing to shout before jumping from platform to platform on a ropes course. And who doesn't appreciate a quiet "My precioussss!" during a lesson about possessive pronouns? If I don't know the exact wording of a quote, chances are I'll look it up - either in a book or online.
There's one quote in particular that has been on my mind recently, a rather lengthy one from a television show called Babylon 5. It first occurred to me last Tuesday as we were hiking up to the ropes course, and I haven't been able to dislodge it since. Its relevance surprised me, given the fact that the show takes place on a space station 150 years in the future and under circumstances not at all similar to the ones I've found myself in recently. But I suppose that only proves the speaker's point. So here's the quote (yes, I had to go look it up) along with a few of my own thoughts.
"The Universe speaks in many languages, but only one voice. The language is not Narn or human or Centauri or Gaim or Minbari." The language is not English or Spanish or German or Chinese or Romanian.
"It speaks in the language of hope." It's easy to look around here and see only problems. Trash everywhere. Polluted water. Stray dogs. But there is also beauty. The guys and I have nicknamed a large part of Straja "Rohan" because it looks just like the horse-country from the books we all love. There have been times when I've looked at a hill and thought "That belongs in the Shire" or at a river and seen not the trash on the banks, but the beauty of the water. There is beauty. Hope. Especially at Viata camp, the atmosphere is one of hope. Of what could be rather than what is at the moment.
"It speaks in the language of trust." As far as trust goes, it was fairly easy for me to trust the kids at camp. After all, I had nothing to lose. No one they could tell would care about the time when I . . . [insert embarrassing story here] . . . or that when I was eleven, I . . . [insert personal, emotional story here]. And what's the worst that could happen if they dropped me during a trust fall? That log was maybe four feet off the ground.
No, I was much more impressed by how much they learned to trust each other. As the week progressed, they became more and more of a group. The night before camp ended, most of them stayed up until five in the morning, just talking. Sharing. The next morning, when asked to give the group a "trust rating," I said that, because of language differences, I hadn't gotten to know all of them very well individually. "But, as a group," I added, "I trust you." We spoke the same language that day - the language of trust.
"It speaks in the language of compassion." While we were at the ropes course, there were several times when a member of our group would wait for a good five or ten minutes before jumping from a platform or continuing along a rope. It didn't matter how long it took. There was encouragement, but not pressure. Nobody rushed them beyond their ability. Time wasn't the issue. Compassion was.
I would add that we all speak in the language of smiles and the language of laughter. I don't tend to talk a lot, but I smile often and laugh easily, and that does wonders for communication. We speak in the language of joy and the language of song. I joined in every camp song I could, and even learned from Dragos, one of our leaders, that one particular song called "Hey, Angelo" didn't mean anything in Romanian, either. Almost all of it was absolute gibberish. It was a language all its own - a language we all spoke.
"It is the language of the heart and the language of the soul." I think G'kar's words speak for themselves here.
"It is the voice of our ancestors speaking through us..." At the beginning of the week, we went to an Orthodox church. On the way, there was a tunnel painted on the inside with pictures of various saints. A calendar filled an entire side, each day with a saint. These pictures were a silent reminder on the way to church that our voices were joined not only with whoever else happened to be in that building on that particular Sunday, but with so many of our ancestors in faith, all speaking together as one.
"...and the voice of our inheritors waiting to be born." A reminder that we will not be the last to inhabit this world. That there will be more. That life will go on, whether thanks to or in spite of us.
"It is the small, still voice that says, 'We are One.'"
"No matter the blood, no matter the skin, no matter the world, no matter the star, we are One." No matter the country. No matter the language. No matter the age. We are One.
"No matter the pain, no matter the darkness, no matter the loss, no matter the fear, we are One." There has been - and still is - pain here. Loss. Fear. And sometimes I feel so naive coming in and trying to understand that. But then I remember that I've had my own pain, darkness, loss, and fear. And, though it's not the same and doesn't span nearly the same scale, it's there.
"Here, gathered together in common cause, we agree to recognize this single truth and this single rule: that we must be kind to each other." I would add that we must trust each other. That we must respect each other. That we must help each other and be willing to accept help in return. I know the latter is harder for me. It's harder for me to accept kindness as genuine than to help someone else. But it's just as important. Just as necessary.
"Because each voice enriches and ennobles us, and each voice lost diminishes us." Even the voices we disagree with. Even the voices we just can't stand. Even the voices that seem so hopelessly tone-deaf that we can't bear to be anywhere near them. Each voice enriches us in some way. Each voice has its own strength.
"We are the voice of the Universe. The soul of creation. The fire that will light the way to a better future." The last line about fire couldn't describe the IMPACT program here any better if it was intended to in the first place. These kids are the future of Romania. Everyone involved in the program can see it. They are changing this country for the better. Lighting the way to a future that will be better.
"We are One. We are One." This last line is repeated by two different characters - one of whom wrote the speech for the other.
When I looked up this quote and saw that the word "one" was continuously capitalized, a thousand different images came to my mind. In the Gospel of John, Jesus prays that we will all be one, as He and the Father are one. In the book of Corinthians, Paul describes the Church as many parts, but one body. Knowing the two characters who say this line in the show, I don't think I'm pulling the parallels out of nowhere. And I don't think the comparison is unwarranted.
Neither Jesus nor Paul nor Sheridan nor G'kar was suggesting that we are all one huge, shapeless mass of unison, all the same, blending into one huge clump of something. We are "one" in the sense that we are united, not in some sort of one-size-fits-all concept. I am not the same person as anyone else, whether in Romania or back in the United States. We are not identical, and no one is suggesting that we should be.
There's a song that I've known since I was little - a church song based on Paul's words. I think it says what I'm trying to much better than I ever could:
We are many parts.
We are all one body.
And the gifts we have,
We are given to share.
May the spirit of love
Make us one indeed.
One the love that we share.
One our hope in despair.
One the cross that we bear.
We are One in a way that can never be fully expressed in words - by me or by anyone else. We are One. We need each other. We are connected in ways that we never imagined.
We are One. In pain. In despair. In hope. In joy. We are One.
We are One.
Godspeed,
Beth
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Redefining Success
When I was in fifth grade, our class took a trip to a camp and stayed overnight. My only real, concrete memory of the experience is of the ropes course. Not because of anything I did, but because of what I didn't do.
Namely, I didn't do a single thing on the ropes course. I put on the harness because we were required to, but I didn't take a single step on a single ladder or set foot in any sort of line that was forming. I was the only one. Another girl stayed with me on the bench for a while, but she was pressured into trying, and, halfway up, she began to bawl and had to be helped down by the very people who had pushed her into something she had never wanted to do.
One of the things people running ropes courses always tell you - and I even heard this here at Viata camp - is that if you don't try, you're going to regret it. I disagree. And I think that's among the lousiest reasons to accept a challenge. I don't regret not going up in fifth grade. In fact, I consider my experience a success. I stood up to peer pressure and stayed away from something that I knew - even though I wasn't familiar with the terminology at the time - would push me into my "panic zone," which Michelle explained in her last post.
Because, in fifth grade, I had the courage to refuse a challenge, I don't have fear-filled memories of ropes courses. My memories of that day are of, as Pippin would say, "strength of a different kind." I don't regret my decision not to participate then. Because of that choice, I was able, this past week, to accept the same challenge.
Before going to the ropes course, we talked about the concept of "redefining success." What is easy for one person might be a challenge for another. We can't measure our own success in relation to what other people have done before us, or what they do later.
There were several times during my experience at the ropes course that I experienced true success. The first was when Matt Gray gave me a little "nudge out of the door" and I got in line for an element that involved jumping from one platform to another. By know, I know peer pressure when I see it, and that wasn't it. He could tell that I'd already committed. He simply gave me the extra bit of encouragement I needed.
So, yes, it felt good when I actually got up there, called "Nobody tosses a Dwarf!" and jumped from the platform. But the moment of success actually came when I told myself that, yes, I was going to do this. When I committed beyond any hope of backing out.
The next element was a "High Mohawk," which involves two people walking across a rather thin wire from one tree to another with the help of a few ropes of various lengths suspended from another rope above. The kind of thing that, in fifth grade, would have scared me out of my wits.
But, because of the choice I made then, I didn't re-experience the terror I'm sure I would have felt if I had attempted the element before. Instead, after a few pairs had gone, Cata, one of our leaders, held out a harness expectantly towards our group of Romanian teenagers. No one wanted to go up. Knowing the answer to my question before I even asked it, I asked, "Are you looking for a volunteer?"
Another success. Not because I climbed the ladder or crossed the wire. Not even because I did it with a girl who didn't speak a word of English. But because I decided to. Without any pressure. Without a nudge. Without anyone even asking if I wanted to. Simply because I volunteered.
I consider both of these elements a success. I also consider the last one, the Flying Squirrel, a success, even though, by that point, it wasn't much of a challenge. All I had to do was run in one direction while the rest of the group, pulling on a rope, ran in the other direction, pulling me up into the air. Before you're let down, you're supposed to sing a song. I sang what has become my personal anthem for this trip:
The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow if I can.
That's as far as I got before my feet touched the ground, so I'd like to share the rest:
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
Yes, I consider those successes. And many other people probably would, as well. But, to be brutally honest, it took more courage for me to say "No" in fifth grade than it did for me to say "Yes" last week. It took more strength - strength of a different kind. And, even though I'm proud of what I accomplished last week, I'm even prouder of what I did back then. Proud that, as a fifth grader, I was comfortable enough with myself to define my own success when everyone else considered what I did a failure. I set my own limits then - reasonable ones - then, so that, later, I would be able to break them.
So, as the Klingon's say, Q'apla. I wish you success, however you define it.
Godspeed,
Beth
Namely, I didn't do a single thing on the ropes course. I put on the harness because we were required to, but I didn't take a single step on a single ladder or set foot in any sort of line that was forming. I was the only one. Another girl stayed with me on the bench for a while, but she was pressured into trying, and, halfway up, she began to bawl and had to be helped down by the very people who had pushed her into something she had never wanted to do.
One of the things people running ropes courses always tell you - and I even heard this here at Viata camp - is that if you don't try, you're going to regret it. I disagree. And I think that's among the lousiest reasons to accept a challenge. I don't regret not going up in fifth grade. In fact, I consider my experience a success. I stood up to peer pressure and stayed away from something that I knew - even though I wasn't familiar with the terminology at the time - would push me into my "panic zone," which Michelle explained in her last post.
Because, in fifth grade, I had the courage to refuse a challenge, I don't have fear-filled memories of ropes courses. My memories of that day are of, as Pippin would say, "strength of a different kind." I don't regret my decision not to participate then. Because of that choice, I was able, this past week, to accept the same challenge.
Before going to the ropes course, we talked about the concept of "redefining success." What is easy for one person might be a challenge for another. We can't measure our own success in relation to what other people have done before us, or what they do later.
There were several times during my experience at the ropes course that I experienced true success. The first was when Matt Gray gave me a little "nudge out of the door" and I got in line for an element that involved jumping from one platform to another. By know, I know peer pressure when I see it, and that wasn't it. He could tell that I'd already committed. He simply gave me the extra bit of encouragement I needed.
So, yes, it felt good when I actually got up there, called "Nobody tosses a Dwarf!" and jumped from the platform. But the moment of success actually came when I told myself that, yes, I was going to do this. When I committed beyond any hope of backing out.
The next element was a "High Mohawk," which involves two people walking across a rather thin wire from one tree to another with the help of a few ropes of various lengths suspended from another rope above. The kind of thing that, in fifth grade, would have scared me out of my wits.
But, because of the choice I made then, I didn't re-experience the terror I'm sure I would have felt if I had attempted the element before. Instead, after a few pairs had gone, Cata, one of our leaders, held out a harness expectantly towards our group of Romanian teenagers. No one wanted to go up. Knowing the answer to my question before I even asked it, I asked, "Are you looking for a volunteer?"
Another success. Not because I climbed the ladder or crossed the wire. Not even because I did it with a girl who didn't speak a word of English. But because I decided to. Without any pressure. Without a nudge. Without anyone even asking if I wanted to. Simply because I volunteered.
I consider both of these elements a success. I also consider the last one, the Flying Squirrel, a success, even though, by that point, it wasn't much of a challenge. All I had to do was run in one direction while the rest of the group, pulling on a rope, ran in the other direction, pulling me up into the air. Before you're let down, you're supposed to sing a song. I sang what has become my personal anthem for this trip:
The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow if I can.
That's as far as I got before my feet touched the ground, so I'd like to share the rest:
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
Yes, I consider those successes. And many other people probably would, as well. But, to be brutally honest, it took more courage for me to say "No" in fifth grade than it did for me to say "Yes" last week. It took more strength - strength of a different kind. And, even though I'm proud of what I accomplished last week, I'm even prouder of what I did back then. Proud that, as a fifth grader, I was comfortable enough with myself to define my own success when everyone else considered what I did a failure. I set my own limits then - reasonable ones - then, so that, later, I would be able to break them.
So, as the Klingon's say, Q'apla. I wish you success, however you define it.
Godspeed,
Beth
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Staying in the Yellow Zone
Here in Romania, I have been introduced to a concept of three different zones that a person can experience. One can be in what's called "the green zone" or the comfort zone where things are very comfortable and natural. For me, this would be like eating chocolate ice cream on a warm summer day. Then there is "the yellow zone", which is like the challenge zone. I might experience this when I do a three hour hike in the mountains. It is a challenge, yet I still feel fairly safe doing it. The last zone is "the red zone", or the panic zone. This is a place that I would rather not be! I would panic if I were alone and came across a bear or if I were being served only tomatoes and cheese all semester long! These three zones somewhat put into perspective a person's limits, and they help me to better understand my own feelings and limits as well. Since being here in Romania, I have definitely experienced the yellow zone. I have really begun to understand what my "comforts" are. I have missed clean clothes, normal showers with shower curtains, soft toilet paper, and a comfy bed. I miss my comfortable foods such as cereal, orange juice, sandwiches, salads with lettuce, desserts, and peanut butter. I do miss the English language. I am out of my comfort zone and in the yellow zone not because of the fact that I am in a different country, but because of the little things....the little comforts that I so take for granted that make life a little better. Being here is a challenge, but I knew it would be. Now I am ready to find ways to overcome these issues. I want to learn from these challenges and really appreciate everything I have. Romanians are very hospitable people, and they love to serve. I feel very welcome here....it will just take some getting used to, as it is with any new place. And, there is ice cream here in Romania so that definitely puts me in the green zone at times!
Daniel and Janelle, our program administrators, would like to keep us in the "yellow zone" as much as possible. This is where we will be stretched, challenged, and find growth in a healthy and safe way. I fully agree with their statement of "staying in the yellow zone", and I know that there will be many more challenges ahead, but God will never give us more than we can handle. It is a pretty awesome feeling to wake up every morning and think, "Yes, I am in Romania. I wonder what I will experience today?"
Daniel and Janelle, our program administrators, would like to keep us in the "yellow zone" as much as possible. This is where we will be stretched, challenged, and find growth in a healthy and safe way. I fully agree with their statement of "staying in the yellow zone", and I know that there will be many more challenges ahead, but God will never give us more than we can handle. It is a pretty awesome feeling to wake up every morning and think, "Yes, I am in Romania. I wonder what I will experience today?"
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Nestless?
Buna Ziua!
Well, we've been in Romania nearly a week now. And the strangest part for me, so far, is that it doesn't feel strange.
Sure, a couple things seem a little out of place. The toilet paper is red. I've seen some green paper towels. We've had some sort of chicken hot dogs for breakfast - twice. I like their soup, but don't really care for the amount of tomatoes we're eating. I'm having to teach myself to tolerate potatoes.
But, all in all, things aren't all that different. They have stores here; grocery shopping was an adventure, but we managed to find everything we needed for some sandwiches. They have gas stations - with less soda and more alcohol. They have restaurants; I had a delicious venison stew on the way here from Bucharest. They have roads, cars, houses, apartments . . . dogs. Everything that I'm used to seeing. They have computers and cell phones - and a good enough wireless internet for me to be able to post this in the middle of a mountain range.
Everyone keeps telling us that it's okay - normal, even - to feel a uncomfortable. To be sick of the food here. To be a little - or more than a little - homesick. I'm not worried about that. My question is: Is it okay not to? Is it okay that I don't feel uncomfortable at all?
During a group meeting today, we were each asked to choose a picture that reflected how we felt. I chose a little bird flying over some waves on the ocean. Distant. Aloof.
It's not that I'm trying to keep my distance. Quite the opposite; I've participated in nearly everything that's come my way. I've loved every hike we've gone on. Enjoyed the low ropes course activities we did. Dana's birthday party last night was wonderful, and I almost cried when Briana started dancing to Beauty and the Beast because it reminded me of how much my sister and I loved singing that song when we were kids. We toured Lupeni yesterday with some local teens, and I interacted as much as my rather broken Romanian and rather quiet personality would allow. We started Viata camp today, and I'm thoroughly enjoying our group.
All this is to say that I've felt happy. Excited. Lightheaded. (The church was a little crowded and stuffy today.) Tired. Nervous. Frustrated. Elated. Everything I expected to feel. Except uncomfortable. Out of place. Homesick.
Maybe it's just my personality; I have a tendency to unconsciously keep a bit of a distance. Maybe the other shoe is still waiting to drop. Maybe I'm just plain crazy.
Or maybe there's another reason.
While discussing my bird metaphor, Janelle asked if the bird had a nest to return to. I didn't have an answer at the time, and it took a little prayer journal reflection for me to find my answer to that. A Bible verse kept coming back to me. In both Matthew and Luke, there's a man who tells Jesus that he's ready to follow Him wherever He goes. Jesus replies, "Foxes have dens, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head" (Mt. 8:20, Lk. 9:58).
Maybe we're called to that same sort of mobility. To be able to get up and leave for a faraway land on a moment's notice.
Now, I'm nowhere near that. I agree that it's certainly perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable. I'm sure there are places where I would feel out of place. (Chicago or any large city comes to mind. I visited Minneapolis for a few days last summer, and even that was a little too big for my liking.) But Jesus' words helped me to realize that it's okay that I don't feel uncomfortable or homesick here. That I don't really feel like I have one particular "nest". Because, when we're following Jesus, maybe nowhere is really home.
Or maybe . . . maybe everywhere is home.
There's a quote that's been coming to my mind from Star Trek: Voyager. I forget which episode, but, at some point, Chakotay says, "Home is wherever you happen to be."
That's how I feel right now. There are a lot of places I call home. Virginia. Michigan. Minnesota. Northwestern. Maybe I need to add Romania to that list, because that's where I "happen to be" right now. And forgive me for quoting sci-fi series twice in two paragraphs, but, as Delenn from Babylon 5 would say, "Wherever we are is the right place at the right time."
This feels right. Above the excitement and the anticipation and the nervousness and whatever else is the simple idea that I'm completely at peace with the fact that I'm right here. Right now.
My thanks to anyone who took the time to bother reading this rather long post. Have a wonderful day . . . or night . . . or whatever it is there, wherever you happen to be.
Godspeed,
Beth
Well, we've been in Romania nearly a week now. And the strangest part for me, so far, is that it doesn't feel strange.
Sure, a couple things seem a little out of place. The toilet paper is red. I've seen some green paper towels. We've had some sort of chicken hot dogs for breakfast - twice. I like their soup, but don't really care for the amount of tomatoes we're eating. I'm having to teach myself to tolerate potatoes.
But, all in all, things aren't all that different. They have stores here; grocery shopping was an adventure, but we managed to find everything we needed for some sandwiches. They have gas stations - with less soda and more alcohol. They have restaurants; I had a delicious venison stew on the way here from Bucharest. They have roads, cars, houses, apartments . . . dogs. Everything that I'm used to seeing. They have computers and cell phones - and a good enough wireless internet for me to be able to post this in the middle of a mountain range.
Everyone keeps telling us that it's okay - normal, even - to feel a uncomfortable. To be sick of the food here. To be a little - or more than a little - homesick. I'm not worried about that. My question is: Is it okay not to? Is it okay that I don't feel uncomfortable at all?
During a group meeting today, we were each asked to choose a picture that reflected how we felt. I chose a little bird flying over some waves on the ocean. Distant. Aloof.
It's not that I'm trying to keep my distance. Quite the opposite; I've participated in nearly everything that's come my way. I've loved every hike we've gone on. Enjoyed the low ropes course activities we did. Dana's birthday party last night was wonderful, and I almost cried when Briana started dancing to Beauty and the Beast because it reminded me of how much my sister and I loved singing that song when we were kids. We toured Lupeni yesterday with some local teens, and I interacted as much as my rather broken Romanian and rather quiet personality would allow. We started Viata camp today, and I'm thoroughly enjoying our group.
All this is to say that I've felt happy. Excited. Lightheaded. (The church was a little crowded and stuffy today.) Tired. Nervous. Frustrated. Elated. Everything I expected to feel. Except uncomfortable. Out of place. Homesick.
Maybe it's just my personality; I have a tendency to unconsciously keep a bit of a distance. Maybe the other shoe is still waiting to drop. Maybe I'm just plain crazy.
Or maybe there's another reason.
While discussing my bird metaphor, Janelle asked if the bird had a nest to return to. I didn't have an answer at the time, and it took a little prayer journal reflection for me to find my answer to that. A Bible verse kept coming back to me. In both Matthew and Luke, there's a man who tells Jesus that he's ready to follow Him wherever He goes. Jesus replies, "Foxes have dens, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head" (Mt. 8:20, Lk. 9:58).
Maybe we're called to that same sort of mobility. To be able to get up and leave for a faraway land on a moment's notice.
Now, I'm nowhere near that. I agree that it's certainly perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable. I'm sure there are places where I would feel out of place. (Chicago or any large city comes to mind. I visited Minneapolis for a few days last summer, and even that was a little too big for my liking.) But Jesus' words helped me to realize that it's okay that I don't feel uncomfortable or homesick here. That I don't really feel like I have one particular "nest". Because, when we're following Jesus, maybe nowhere is really home.
Or maybe . . . maybe everywhere is home.
There's a quote that's been coming to my mind from Star Trek: Voyager. I forget which episode, but, at some point, Chakotay says, "Home is wherever you happen to be."
That's how I feel right now. There are a lot of places I call home. Virginia. Michigan. Minnesota. Northwestern. Maybe I need to add Romania to that list, because that's where I "happen to be" right now. And forgive me for quoting sci-fi series twice in two paragraphs, but, as Delenn from Babylon 5 would say, "Wherever we are is the right place at the right time."
This feels right. Above the excitement and the anticipation and the nervousness and whatever else is the simple idea that I'm completely at peace with the fact that I'm right here. Right now.
My thanks to anyone who took the time to bother reading this rather long post. Have a wonderful day . . . or night . . . or whatever it is there, wherever you happen to be.
Godspeed,
Beth
Friday, August 28, 2009
Note from Dana Bates
Indeed we are excited to have this excited bunch of new students! This is our third year of the program so we have hopefully begun to hit our stride. We are grateful for the partnership with NW and the students who have chosen to come and all that has gone in to making this program possible.
Dana Bates is the Founder and Executive Director of the New Horizons Foundation and the Professor of the semester abroad program with Northwestern College.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Introductions of the Semester Students of 2009
Taylor Mugge is a senior from Sutherland, Iowa. His major is Ecological Science. His most valued backpacking item is his Tilly hat (#1 for adventure!). If he had to pick a favorite word, his would be "cupiditas" which is Latin for longing, desire and/or passion. What he is most looking forward to about the semester abroad in Romania is simply an adventure. Something that is little known about Taylor is that the only bone he has ever broken in his body is is right big tow and he actually broke it on two separate occasions.
Michelle Cundy is a senior from Madison, South Dakota. Her major is Business Administration and Finance. Her most essential backpacking item is toilet paper. Her favourite word is "laugh" because if you look at it long enough it really looks ridiculous. What she is most looking forward to about the semester is staying with her host family and getting to know their language and culture. Something most people might not know about Michelle is that she always dreamed of being a flight attendant when she was young.
Heather Talbot is a junior from New Providence, Iowa. Her major is Missiology/Philosophy. The most important thing that she will bring backpacking is her journal. Her favourite word is "beautiful." What Heather is looking forward to most about the semester is the process of being refined. Something little known about her is that she actually had the chicken pox upon birth and she has never had the chicken pox again.
Emma Roetman is a 5th year senior from Sioux Center, Iowa and her major is Sociology and Psychology. Her most valued backpacking item is her camp mug for hot chocolate, coffee and tang. Her favourite word happens to be "enigma." What she is most looking forward to about the semester is communicating with strangers in broken English and Romanian but understanding each other and being able to laugh together and discover similarities. Something you might not know about Emma is that she mowed the lawn for the very first time this past summer. Unfortunately, her dad had to re-do it when he returned home since it didn't go so well.
Matt VanderMolen is a junior from Holland, Michigan. His major is Biology. His most valued backpacking item(s) are oranges. His favourite word is the word "hearth." What he is most looking foward to about the semester is getting to know the IMPACT and Viata kids, experiencing Romanian culture, being in the mountains and experiencing the change of being in a new place with new people. Something interesting about Matt is that his last name literally means that he comes from windmills.
Beth Pekar is a sophmore from Ghent, Minnesota and is majoring in Math Education. The most important thing she will bring backpacking is her fishing hat as her cross-country coach had one just like it. Her favourite word is "robin." What she is most looking forward to about the semester is learning about Eastern Orthodoxy. Something that you might not know about Beth is that one of her biggest heroes is Robert E. Lee.
Matt Gray is a senior that hails from Bright, Ontario, Canada. He is majoring in Christian Education. His most valued backpacking items are a toss up between his orange knife and his head lamp. His favorite word is "gitchigoomie" which means "Lake Superior" in Native North American. What he is most looking forward to about the semester in Romania is meeting people, hearing their stories, learning, being in a beautiful place, and seeing the effects of an NGO that uses experiential education that has been put in place over time. Something little known about Matt is that he is acutely cross eyed.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
A Few Thoughts Before Departure
Buna ziua,
I'm not sure what time it is in Romania right now, but it's a little past midnight in Orange City. It's pretty quiet in the computer lab in the basement of Hospers, except for the freshmen playing 4-square above our heads. Everything's packed, and I'm hoping neither my suitcase nor my backpack weighs more than 50 pounds. I should be in bed, but I couldn't resist the urge to put a few of my thoughts into writing.
For quite possibly the first time in my life - certainly the first time in a long, long time - I feel like a Hobbit. Not Frodo or Sam or even Merry or Pippin. I feel like Bilbo.
For those of you who haven't read The Hobbit or heard about it from any of my fellow Lord of the Rings fanatics, the story is about a little fellow by the name of Bilbo Baggins who finds himself thrust into a grand adventure with a group of Dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield and accompanied by Gandalf the Grey. Bilbo at first doesn't want anything to do with adventures or excitement of any kind, but he is given a "nudge out of the door" by Gandalf, and, in spite of himself, there is a part of him that longs for adventure. He goes on to become the hero of the group, rescuing his companions several times and, finally, facing a dragon on his own.
Now, I'm not expecting to fight dragons or giant spiders or find a ring that makes me invisible. But, at the moment, I am feeling a little in over my head. Like I don't know quite what I've gotten myself into. I'm surrounded not by dwarves, but by upperclassmen who have a couple more years of college under their belts than I do. It's a little overwhelming, but, at the moment, the "Tookish" part of me, if you will, is winning out. I'm excited for the adventure that's coming, whatever it may hold.
It's late, and I need to get some sleep if I'm going to be at all coherent when we start loading at 7:00. But I'd just like to say multumesc (thank you) to everyone who, like Gandalf, has given me little nudges that have gotten me here. My mom and dad. My sister, Ruth. My roommate, Christine. My priest at home, Father Jeremy. And so many other people who encouraged me to take that step out of my door. Because, as we all know, "It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
Please pray for good weather and a safe flight, and that we may all go into this adventure with open minds and open hearts.
Godspeed,
Beth
I'm not sure what time it is in Romania right now, but it's a little past midnight in Orange City. It's pretty quiet in the computer lab in the basement of Hospers, except for the freshmen playing 4-square above our heads. Everything's packed, and I'm hoping neither my suitcase nor my backpack weighs more than 50 pounds. I should be in bed, but I couldn't resist the urge to put a few of my thoughts into writing.
For quite possibly the first time in my life - certainly the first time in a long, long time - I feel like a Hobbit. Not Frodo or Sam or even Merry or Pippin. I feel like Bilbo.
For those of you who haven't read The Hobbit or heard about it from any of my fellow Lord of the Rings fanatics, the story is about a little fellow by the name of Bilbo Baggins who finds himself thrust into a grand adventure with a group of Dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield and accompanied by Gandalf the Grey. Bilbo at first doesn't want anything to do with adventures or excitement of any kind, but he is given a "nudge out of the door" by Gandalf, and, in spite of himself, there is a part of him that longs for adventure. He goes on to become the hero of the group, rescuing his companions several times and, finally, facing a dragon on his own.
Now, I'm not expecting to fight dragons or giant spiders or find a ring that makes me invisible. But, at the moment, I am feeling a little in over my head. Like I don't know quite what I've gotten myself into. I'm surrounded not by dwarves, but by upperclassmen who have a couple more years of college under their belts than I do. It's a little overwhelming, but, at the moment, the "Tookish" part of me, if you will, is winning out. I'm excited for the adventure that's coming, whatever it may hold.
It's late, and I need to get some sleep if I'm going to be at all coherent when we start loading at 7:00. But I'd just like to say multumesc (thank you) to everyone who, like Gandalf, has given me little nudges that have gotten me here. My mom and dad. My sister, Ruth. My roommate, Christine. My priest at home, Father Jeremy. And so many other people who encouraged me to take that step out of my door. Because, as we all know, "It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
Please pray for good weather and a safe flight, and that we may all go into this adventure with open minds and open hearts.
Godspeed,
Beth
Monday, August 17, 2009
Welcome!
This is Janelle Vandergrift, program administrator of the Northwestern semester in Romania with my husband Daniel Heffner (us to the right at the Viata ropes course). For those family and friends of the famous 7 who will spend their Fall of 2009 in the Jiu Valley with the New Horizons Foundation, we hope you will follow us through our journey as it is sure to be a time of growth, discovery and great stories.
If you would like to know more about the New Horizons Foundation, click on the New Horizons logo to the right and you will be directed to our website.
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
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Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Reflection of Romania
We spent our last days in
The friends were just as caring as back in the states, my family just as loving, and the world was still connected to the same reality of life. The more I thought about the semester, the more I looked for a purpose. I don’t know why I was able to partake in this Romanian Semester, but I do know it has changed my life forever. Actions are the repercussions of thought, and this semester has indeed changed my thought.
I have learned about the Eastern Orthodox Church, Experiential Education in school and in the community, Romanian Language History and Culture, and finally Sustainable Development. All of these classes have pushed me to new realizations which have brought about new responsibilities to the different communities surrounding me.
All of these new thoughts help create a better, more well rounded, education; but more importantly then the education, is the life experience. I lived in
The Romanian semester will always be apart of my life, and there is nothing I can do to change that. I know I will return someday, and I know I will never forget the adventures, the faces, the love I found. To close I want to quote a famous C.S. Lewis book; “Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king queen in Narnia.” The Romania Semester Abroad will always be part of my life no matter where I travel, no matter how my thoughts change, I will always have this experience to remember.
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