So I've decided that in addition to sitting at occupied tables in the States (see this post)...I'll be bringing back another thing as well... :)

I love that no matter how an item comes packaged, I can tear into it and take out the exact number that I want to purchase. Craving a coke but don't want to purchase the whole twelve-pack? No worries. Just rip into the box and take however many you want... Not up for a six-pack of milk? Go ahead...tear open a package and grab what you crave. (Yes, milk comes in boxes...I thought it would grow on me over time...it hasn't...I have thus concluded that whatever milk you grow up on is the only milk you'll ever really love. What I wouldn't give for a glass of AE....sigh.)

This whole idea of only paying for what you want...It's genius, really.

And I'm bringing it to the States. :)

What happened to me?

Today, in front of my entire class I wrote the word, "indrotuction" instead of "introduction." As soon as I finished the word, I stepped back, looked at it, apologized, and corrected it. But seriously...what has happened to my mind? It confirmed that something is seriously happening to me.
Yesterday I said to Laura, "Oh, is that in the room of Sarah?" Who speaks like that? Why not, "Is that in Sarah's room?" like any other normal person would say? I'll tell you why...
My brain is overloaded.
From listening to broken English, trying to learn another language, seeing horrendous spelling, and trying to break English down to be more understandable...I think I'm losing MY ability to communicate. I've been making up words like crazy...using Portuguese sentence structure to state things in English...and in general...am a mess of words.
It's bad. Real bad.
I promise I used to be a great speller. I even almost won a spelling bee...
I have a feeling...my glory days are over.

Life in a foreign country can at times be laughable. There are so many moments when all I can think is, "Seriously...where am I?"
For example....
I walked into the cafe last weekend with Laura. We looked around and realized it was pretty full, and we wouldn't find an empty table. So, we did what is completely and socially acceptable here. We sat down at an occupied table that had two chairs still available for use. We continued on, un-bothered by what would have felt incredibly awkward four months ago, given my natural propensity to a large bubble of personal space...and the European sizes of the tables. We ordered our coffee and began talking when another person joined our small table. I looked up and realized, here we were- two American girls- sharing a small table with two older Portuguese gentleman. We were sipping coffee. They were enjoying their wine and watching the soccer game. That's when I turned to Laura and said, "Seriously...look at us. It's looks like we're on a date with these guys. Can you imagine if we took a picture and tried to explain this to people back home?" That's when we both completely and totally lost it. I was completely fine with everything, until it dawned on me how odd it was that it felt fine. We both were crying we were laughing so hard... I know those old men probably thought we were crazy. I told Laura that when I go back to the States I'd love to just try walking into Starbucks and joining someone's table. I'd love to just act as if it was a completely normal thing to do and watch their reactions. I think I just may... :)

Then tonight....oh tonight. Where do I begin? Honestly...I can't even begin. It wouldn't make sense. I'm just thankful there were three other American sitting beside me...laughing...and crying tears of hilarity at everything that happened. All the things that make me wonder, "Seriously...where am I?"

I am in a Portugal.
A land that I love...but don't always understand. :)

White-Knuckled

I never knew the power of my grip until I was ten.
It was a simple video game. Concept: the harder you grip the steering wheel, the faster your car would go. Naturally, I squeezed as tightly as my fat and stumpy hands possibly could.
After I had played a couple rounds, I was told it was time to leave and let the other kids play. As I began to take my hands off the steering wheel, the strangest thing happened: my hands had a mind of their own. I was trying to open my fist and release my grip, but it was physically impossible. My hands were stuck to the wheel. I began to panic slightly. Why weren't my hands opening?
After a few friends and adults helped my fingers to release their death grip on the wheel, I walked away wondering, "Who's ridiculous idea was that game? Did they realize that would happen?"
I've been gripping tightly lately. Clinging on to what little security, hopes, and dreams I have and squeezing them as tightly as my still fat and stumpy hands possibly can. I know God has been asking me to just let go...to just walk away...and really, I do want to. But I've found that when I've been clinging so stubbornly, it becomes hard to release my grip. Inwardly, I want to be done with it. But my hands, well...they haven't accepted the message.
I know like most things the Lord has asked me to surrender, years later I may look at these things and think, "Seriously, Erin...you wanted that? Do you realize how unhappy you would have been?"
But for now...well, my knuckles are still a little white.




* Yes, I know. It's absolutely astounding that a 27 year old girl that can't even begin to understand who first thought of eating an egg...or how to change the oil in a car (let alone how to pop the hood of the vehicle...)...or why Pluto can't be a planet any longer...or for that matter, how we ever got to outer-space...should actually think she can make better plans than the Creator of the entire universe...and the egg. :) Yet, somewhere in the deep recesses of my depraved mind, the thought exists...and I stupidly entertain it.

The Listener...

I feel like that describes my personality here. At least, for now.
I really can carry on a conversation. And I do like to talk. I have opinions. I read and watch the news... But somehow here, my ability to contribute to any conversation, whether it's in English or Portuguese, has been stripped...and all I can do is listen.

I have days where I just feel like I can't go hang out with people, because I'm just exhausted...from listening. Ridiculous, right?

Yeah...I don't get it.

Today I spent seven hours listening. I could probably count on my hands the number of times I spoke or attempted to speak. As I sat at my table at the church fellowship I watched our table joke and kid around with each other, laugh, and plan activities. And there I was, the pink bump on a log (for clarification, I was wearing pink...lots of pink) who couldn't even understand enough to laugh at the jokes and was oblivious to the plans that were being made.

That's when I realized how incredible heaven really will be. I'll be able to sit at the table with all of them when we get to heaven...and I'm going to understand EVERYTHING. There won't be entire sentences that are lost in translation...or communication struggles.

The beauty of the universal church is astounding. Too think that God is not bound by a five letter acronym (enough said or I'm going to get myself in trouble...) is wonderful. He isn't restricted to call people who will worship like me. He has followers all over the earth. And if I am going to be even the least bit honest...quite frankly, some of them do and say things that would blow your American mentality of "spirituality." And while that has been a tremendous thing for me to process and discover ...right now, being part of the church in another part of the world has also been frustrating.

That's where the beauty of heaven is taking on a new meaning. It means these two worlds that I am coming to love will be joined together. It means no barriers. No pointless differences. No separations. No more goodbyes. No wishing I was there while I'm here...or here while I'm there. But what really makes my heart rejoice more than anything else is just knowing I'll comprehend every single word that's going to be said there. Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic, Italian, Swahili, Spanish, Latin, and yes, Portuguese. :) Now THAT...that's what I can't wait for...

Steven Curtis Chapman penned an entire song about how after experiencing the death of his beautiful daughter, heaven has become to him the face of his little girl. I think that's part of the amazing thing about heaven. It holds in it the answers to all our ache, our hurt, our frustration, our grief. Cancer? Doesn't exist in heaven. Economic crisis? Not in heaven. Singleness? Won't matter in heaven. Can't hold a conversation, understand a conversation, or even begin to start a conversation in Portuguese? No worries...heaven awaits.

Until then...or until I can learn more...I guess I'll be listening. :)

Answers...

God is so patient. Far, far more patient than I can ever fathom. I mean, I know some of the ridiculous things that I do, say, and think...and God is still patient with me. But I'm sure there are countless things I do that I am not even conscious of that require his moment by moment patient care and understanding.
Not only is He patient, He's good. That...that is where I wrestle. I can tolerate a lot of things. I can appear patient. Yes, I can keep my mouth shut, refrain from saying the things that are swirling around in my head, and people might just think I've mastered patience. But I'm not good. Outwardly I can wait, but inwardly...inwardly a million thoughts are being entertained. I can plot, plan, and imagine what it would be like to actually do those things...but God...God's not like that (and yes, that just might be the biggest understatement ever typed). He's patient...and He's good. He does both. He sees my faults, my lack of faith, and my weak heart. He waits for me. He waits for me to surrender yet again my plans. He waits for me to draw near to him. He waits for me to come and be satisfied by Him alone. But while He waits...he's not plotting against me. He isn't dreaming of how he can stick it to me. He doesn't imagine my destruction or ruin. No...he waits...and while he waits... He loves.
That...that frustrates my understanding. It reveals even more of my wicked heart...because sometimes...I just want him to let me have it. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to be forsaken, forgotten, abandoned, destitute, and lost. I deserve to be left wanting, forever searching for satisfaction yet never finding it...because so often, I walk away from him in an attempt to fill myself with something else that looks better to my eyes. Yet all the while, he waits. He waits for the moment when once again I come to the end of myself and realize...everything I want and need is found at the cross. He waits for the breaking points when I yet again realize my plans are not his plans, and he's not ready to show me his plans yet. He waits for me to hand him my heart, my plans, my dreams, and my life. And even while he waits, he lavishes his love on me.
And as I sit here typing out the thoughts in my head, I realize...I really am Gomer. And He...he is my Hosea.
I had every intention about writing all the ways God has blessed me this weekend. The amazing things He has done to answer a few burning desires that have been waging war in my heart. But as I began writing, I realized how much I really didn't deserve those answers. I wasn't asking for them in faith. I was pleading for them in fear. And yet...God still answered.
I don't understand his ways. His love and compassion do not fail me...and I don't know why. Because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, I deserve to have reached the end of his mercy.
God is so good...
God is so good...
God is so good...
He's so good to me.

Breakdown....

It's spring break here in Portugal.
Breaks are just not good for me. I always think I want them, but as soon as they come, they carry with them more emotions than I'm prepared to deal with.

Christmas break was understandable to me. It was the holidays... you're supposed to miss your family, right? And miss them I did. But then school started again, life resumed its busy schedule, and my emotions returned to their usual state.

But before I realized it...spring break arrived, and we had finished school. And before the school day ended...I had already cried five times. Not kidding.
I think it's during break time, when I have the opportunity to choose how I want to spend my time, that I realize...it's impossible to do what I really want to do during my break time. Every spring break since graduating from college, I've spent that week with my closest friends...doing absolutely nothing together...and loving every minute of it. We'd hop in a car, drive to a cabin, and hibernate. We'd spend hours in the car together, laughing till we cried, singing as loud as we possibly could, playing car jeopardy, and wandering aimlessly through small towns. We never had to ask each other what we wanted to do...we all just genuinely enjoyed the same things. It was fun. It was easy. It was relaxing. And it was a blast.

I miss my friends so much this week. I miss friendships with history...
I wish I could just transport myself home...or them here. Just for a day or two. Or three...or four...
Or maybe just the whole break. :)
Nevertheless...life goes on. But it's just not quite as rich, you know?