Set Free by Faith

Tomorrow, I go home.

When people ask me how I'm feeling about going home, I always say I am incredibly excited. Because I am.

This seems to take most people by surprise. A few have even asked me why I'm not sad about leaving Europe. Well, I've got a few reasons: A) I am quite certain I'll be back. B) God had incredible purpose for me this semester, and I have seen what he wanted me to see. But now, this phase is done, and I am called to go home and put to use the incredible things I've learned here. In the least cliche way possible, this is not the end. It's the beginning.
And that, my friends, makes me excited.

Here's a short re-cap of my semester, in order:

This is where I spent the majority of the last 110 days: Madrid, Spain.

Stop one on our two-week adventure: Interlaken, Switzerland. It's a fairy-tale place.
Technically, we stopped for a few days along the southern coast of France, but I didn't like it very much, nor did I get any note-worthy photos.

Climbing in Innsbruck, Austria. One of the major highlights of the entire trip. Beautiful, not to mention some really great climbing.

We then spent three days traveling through Slovenia and Croatia, which by circumstance more than the places themselves, were miserable. Thus, no pictures of those places either. I'd like to go back though, and give them a fair chance. :)

Venice, Italy. Oh, my, the food was so good. And Venice is beautiful, even if it was packed with tourists.

And with my mom, Barcelona, Spain! So fun, so pretty.

Stop two with Mama Tucker, Edinburgh, Scotland. We're Scottish, in case you're wondering :)

Of all the places I went, Edinburgh was my favorite. I think Sam and I are going to go back this summer and hike the highlands for a few weeks. Cue Braveheart soundtrack.

Solo-adventure number one: London, England. Busy, beautiful in it's own way, and wonderfully old. I loved the business of it, and the quiet moments you stumble on out of nowhere. Not to mention the endless Harry Potter references.

Solo-adventure number two: Amsterdam, Holland. I loved everything about this place, from the food to the people to the cobblestone streets. Even the Red Light District, though not for the same reason most people like it, I'm sure. :)

Solo-adventure number three: Rome, Italy. I didn't make it to Pompeii like I wanted to, but I did get to spend three days hanging out with new friends I met in the hostel, and that more than made up for it.

Solo-adventure number four: Dublin, Ireland. Glendalough is a close second as my favorite place in Europe. I think Jesus really might live there, considering the intense conversations we had along the path through the hills of Glendalough.

I do not even know how to describe this semester. I feel so far from the girl I was when I first stepped off the plane, and I couldn't be more grateful for that.

I've seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, and some of the ugliest parts of humanity. I've been given a heart that aches for God's people, and been changed radically in the way I love those around me.

I have gained weight, to the point that I had to buy a new pair of jeans because I couldn't fit into my old ones. I have never felt more beautiful.

I stood in the middle of a crowded street and cried for the brokenness around me, even though there were people talking about me as they went by.

My hair is long and unkempt, unruly and badly in need of a haircut. I like it like that.

I dance to Michael Jackson in the kitchen in my slippers, and do not miss a beat even when someone walks in on me in a white-girl-attempt at the moon walk.

I have learned to stop and talk to the people on the streets, even when it means people look at me funny.

I cried for the man who tried to rape me. Because I get to love the most beautiful Savior there ever was, and he does not.

That God would take someone as broken, selfish and proud as myself and bother to change anything about me is amazing. He has taken me to the ends of the earth and back again, just to show me what being free really looks like. I've caught a glimpse of what true faith looks like, and what loving with reckless abandon really means.

I'm free to gain weight and have crazy hair, because the definition of my beauty isn't something you can see. I'm free to make mistakes, because the definition of my success isn't something you can measure. I'm free to love recklessly, hurt without fear, rejoice without restraint, because I share a heart with the God of the universe. And because of that, I am free to be unashamed of anything that overflows.

I could go on, but I think you get the point: I'm not who I was.

And I cannot wait to see what is next.

The Sin, the Sinner, and the Difference Between

I have a really hard time trusting men.

If you know me, you may have noticed this. If you know my story, this comes as no great surprise. If you don't, suffice it to say that I've got more than one good reason.

I am quick to doubt them, almost eager to think the worst of them. I am always suspicious of their motives, rarely giving them the benefit of the doubt. It is instinctively hard for me to be comfortable around them, let alone trust them enough to really, truly know me.

This is the part of me that I hate the most. But try as hard as I might, old habits, especially ones learned the way I learned these, die hard. Thanks to incredibly good (and persistent) friends, some counseling, and a lot of Jesus, I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be. But, though I have gotten better at loving the men around me well, that initial reaction of distrust and the desire to lie through my teeth until they leave me alone? That is ever-present. God has been working on all of this a lot over the last two years. I have noticed him overturning my heart in some amazing ways. But I had no idea just how radically he was changing it until last week.

I was walking home one afternoon last week when a man attacked me. By the grace of God, I made it away unhurt. I ran back to my apartment, locked the door, and (more or less) went on with my day. It wasn't until later that night that it really began to sink in, the reality of what had happened. The reality of what had almost happened. I felt heartbroken and shaken up and absolutely disgusted. But what I never felt was angry.

I kept waiting for it to come, expecting it to rise up and flare like my temper so often does. I almost wanted it to, the lack of anger leaving me feeling a bit surreal. But it never came. All I felt was sad.

Not sad for me, though. Sad for him.

I was heartbroken for this man that doesn't even know the magnitude of grace that he is throwing away. Because no matter what happens to me, I know that I have the love of a God who fights for me, hurts for me, died for me. And he does not. The core of who I am and what I am worth cannot be shaken. But he, he is so desperate for control that he is willing to steal it from those around him. He has no idea that the answer is right in front of him, and freely given.

This breaks my heart. The sin itself makes me angry: the grace he chose to throw back in God's face flares my temper. But the sinner? My heart aches for him. The sin and the sinner are not the same thing. He is no more defined by his sin than I am defined by mine. Even when that sin was against me. Because, in all honesty, his sin really wasn't against me. Because I am not my own.

His mother probably smiles when she thinks of him. He's probably got friends and loved ones who love his company. The God of the universe looks at him and smiles. That makes me want to know him, to see the part of him that I didn't see that afternoon.

I don't even feel like myself when things like that are going through my head. It doesn't make sense. It feels like the heart I'm feeling all these things with, seeing all these things with, doesn't belong to me.

Oh yeah. That's because it doesn't.

Because I'm an emotional person. My roommate can tell you that it takes me a long time to process anything major that happens. My emotion flares up like wildfire, and I have to let it burn itself down to a smolder before the logic, the reason, and Jesus can really set in. Basically, whatever the situation is, I have to let it be about me for a while before I can let it be about anything else.

Except this time around, that didn't happen. The emotion flared as intensely as always, but not for me. Not in defense of my worth, but in defense of his. It wasn't the post-emotion thought-process that changed. It was the instinct. Jesus didn't just change what I do with my heart, he changed the foundation of what it is.

"It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me." Galatians 2:20.

God is so, so good.

Haaaave ya met Eustace?

The last adventure of the semester has come to a close. Dublin was cold and rainy and green, and absolutely wonderful. I spent four days wandering around the cobblestone streets and drinking lots of coffee and tea, talking to people, studying for finals and generally just enjoying the feel of the place. A lot of cool stuff happened, but I spent last night in the airport and I do not have the energy to write about it right now. Maybe later :) In the meantime, a hodge-podge of pictures to make it up to you:

I spent a day at Glendalough, which is about an hour and a half from Dublin. Absolutely beautiful. It was really nice to just be away from the sound of the city for a while. I have missed the sound of quiet more than anything. The view doesn't hurt either.

I had bought the hat on a whim earlier that day, before I caught the bus to Glendalough. Turned out to be the best ten Euro I ever spent. It was freezing, windy, and rainy out in the hills of Ireland, and I was glad to have the wool hat.

I have a really strange love for black-faced sheep. That aside, a visit to Ireland just isn't complete until you see some sheep. Check.

Downtown Dublin. Awesome.

My flight left early this morning, so I just slept at the airport. I had a book with me that my mom brought when she came to visit back in October. It was a historical/romance novel, that I got about 3/4 of the way through the day before and completely lost interest. Thus, deeming myself in need of something good to read while I whiled away the wee hours of the morning in a cold airport, I bought this. Am I the kind of girl who will trade in a romance novel for a magic/dragon book? Every time, my friends, every time. :)

Another purchase included a watch, since my phone had died a few days before. This was the only one I could find for less than $30. Not to mention it's awesome. I know you're jealous.


Why yes, those are sheep on my socks. And they kept my toes nice and warm all night long, thank you very much.


When sleeping at the airport, meals become less about the food, and more about whatever you happen to have stashed in your bag. For me, this meant a small bag of apples, some bread, and a few cookies. Don't worry, McDonald's offered coffee and muffins to supplement, as well as 'breakfast' starting at 3 am.

And this, my friends, is Eustace O'Flannahan. We hung out a good bit, when I was too tired to read anymore.

Yes, my contacts were sitting inside that floss container. Why? I left my case back in Madrid on accident. So, I improvised. Sadly, this is not the first time I've used my floss container for a contact case. Eustace approved.

Mid-night snack of chocolate muffin and coffee. If you're wondering where the rest of the muffin is, it turns out Eustace and I like to eat them the same way... You pop the bottom off and eat that first, then eat the gooey, delicious top half last. Yum!

Also turns out that Eustace and I have the same favorite Bible passage. Too bad Eustace can't read Spanish.

All that before 3 am... At which point I checked in for my flight, got some McD's breakfast (that later made me ill) and headed to my gate for my flight. Which didn't leave until 5, but the change of scenery made it seem much sooner.

There's Dublin in a very small, very sleep-deprived nutshell. Now, I'm off to study for my finals tomorrow... And by study, I mean sleep.

Tests all day tomorrow, then two days to enjoy Madrid before I fly home on Saturday!

312

I came to Belmont because I felt very clearly called there. And I can see, even two and a half years in, how incredibly purposeful God was in that. My major, up until recently, was Music Business. Why? Lack of a better idea, and I felt like if I was paying that much money to go to Belmont, I should do what they're known best for.

Then, last semester, I realized that I not only NEVER planned on using my Music Business degree, but that I actually hated it. So, I switched to Spanish. Why? Again, lack of a better idea. I love the language, and have always loved learning about new cultures. And there is something about meeting people where they are, language included, that sits well with my heart.

And then I came to Spain. I could write for days and I wouldn't even begin to scratch the surface of what God has been teaching me here. I've filled 312 pages in my journal in 98 days. Absurd and wonderful. One of the themes of those 312 pages is where I go from here. I have been wondering, since I am certain I neither want to nor am called to be a Spanish teacher. So, what am I supposed to do?

God has been revealing to me my gifts and passions, and how to use them to both know him better and teach others to know him better. My life is not my own. He has been teaching me that he can, and will, call me to the very things I find impossible. Because nothing is impossible for him, and "I can do all things through him who gives me strength." Phil 4:13

It's amazing how God has taken something I find both impossible and terrifying, and has made me excited about it.

So, off to nursing school I go.

But don't worry, Belmont friends. I will be finishing my degree at Belmont first. God's not finished with me in Nashville yet. :)

Roma

Last week, I spent a few days in Rome, Italy. It was wonderful! I flew in on Wednesday night, and spent the next three days hanging out with new friends. I stayed at a very small hostel just beside the Colosseum. As soon as I walked in the door, I met two friends from the States, with whom we shortly realized we have two common friends. Thus, instant friendship.

We spent the day walking around the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill. It is amazing how old Rome is... It really can't be described, that feeling of being so young, so small, so insignificant. Everywhere I go, I get that feeling. And yet, each time, it's just a little bit different. I love it.

I then spent a day walking around the Vatican with two rather crazy Aussies, who reminded me very fondly of Getta, what with their use of the phrase "sweet-as" and "I'm so jelly." It was a good, long day, that ended with Italian wine, pizza, and gelato. Perfecto.

The next day, I wandered around the Colosseum and downtown Rome with another friend from the hostel. Again, perfecto. We spent the day talking about nursing and philosophies on life, and the value in pursuing something more than what we are. On not settling, and realizing that life has a lot more to offer than we often realize or take advantage of. It was a wonderful way to spend a rainy day in Rome, before heading to the airport to go back to good ol' Madrid.

This is my favorite photo. No people, for once! That's the Colosseum on the left, if you couldn't tell. :) The house in the background is part of Palatine Hill, which is where all the richest, most important people of Rome used to live.

Friends from the hostel, enjoying a delicious bottle of red Italian wine, authentic Italian pizza, and entirely too much gelato. That's Christina on the left, who we realized we shared two common friends, and Cory on the right. Even more fun, Christina was heading to Dublin the next morning, and she'll still be there on Friday when I go! So, we are meeting for dinner in Dublin on Friday. Only in Europe...

The Vatican. Those are the famous Swiss Guard, who are the security of the Vatican City. And, of course, it wouldn't be complete without a few nuns in the photo, too.

I obviously didn't take this photo, but it is one of my favorites of me from this semester. One of the crazy Aussies I toured the Vatican with snapped it, just outside St.Peter's Basilica. That was, by far, the most impressive cathedral I've seen.

This is at Trevi Fountain. If you're wondering what I'm doing, I am not intentionally eyeing the seagull just above me, though it does look that way. I threw the traditional coin over my left shoulder, and was watching it fall towards the depths of the fountain, beckoning the return of Rome, just when Christina snapped the photo. I do kind of look like I'm communicating with the bird. Awesome.

The Colosseum and the Roman Forum literally sit in the middle of bustling, downtown Rome. It's the weirdest thing ever. I don't know why, but it doesn't matter how many historical cities I go to, I never picture them with cars and highways.

Arch of Titus. Not Constantine. If neither of those means anything to you, don't worry. I pretended like they did while I was there, but I had no idea what anyone was talking about. I nodded and tactfully added nothing to the conversation until later, after I googled information on both.

Part of the Roman Forum. It never ceases to amaze me how they built things like that...

Rome was wonderful. And the food is every bit as good as they say it is. My stomach may not like Italian food, as I spent most of those four days feeling pretty sick, but my soul was happy. And that totally wins out. Pizza, pasta, tiramisu, paninis, gelato...

It was raining yesterday afternoon, so I headed to the airport an hour earlier than necessary and sat at a café and wrote in my journal... which I had sadly been neglecting for a few days. I spent a lovely two hour flight talking to the sweet old woman sitting next to me... She spoke to me in Spanish, to her husband in Italian, and her husband spoke in English to me. Again, only in Europe.

I met a wonderful Ghanaian (yes, I had to look up that word) woman in the airport, at midnight, on the way to the Metro. She had to have had more than 200 lbs of stuff: two rolling suitcases, two backpacks, and a purse. I had a hard time rolling one. I've no idea how she managed both at all. She must be Super Ghanaian.

All-in-all, it was a weekend full of unexpected surprises, and surprisingly good, deep conversations. I met a lot of people, heard a lot of stories, and learned a lot about life along the way. I am so incredibly thankful.

Less than two weeks to America!

God Lives in the Red Light District

Last week I walked down the old, shop-lined streets of downtown Amsterdam, wandering in to whatever stores looked interesting, and talking to whoever would stop long enough to have a conversation with me. As I left the warmth of one particularly interesting souvenir shop, I saw a small alley running off the main street. For a reason more important than I knew, I felt compelled to go that way. So, I threw my bag over my shoulder and set off.

Caught up in my own thoughts, I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around me. I didn't notice the streets narrowing, the lights changing colors, or the crowd changing from a mixture to almost entirely men. By the time I looked up, I was entirely surrounded by narrow doorways topped with red lights. Display windows lined every inch of the endless, narrow street, behind which almost entirely naked women were trying to draw in their next customers.

I was in the Red Light District.

If you don't know anything about Amsterdam, the majority of the tourists are there for one of two reasons: legal marijuana and legal prostitution. The Red Light District is always crowded, always busy, and always open. It is one of the defining aspects of Amsterdam, and I had been planning on walking through. But to suddenly find myself in the middle of it without being prepared? To look up one moment and see women literally selling themselves from store windows? To see the men as they walked out of the brothels? Some of them still pulling up their zippers?

I cried.

I wanted to vomit.

I want to do both every time I think about it.

I wandered around the district for hours and never walked down the same street twice. The sheer size is shocking. I prayed and thought and tried to process the shock of my heartbreak. Heartbreak for the men who do not know or care how much damage they cause. My heart breaking for women who sell themselves, who don't know that they are worth so much more than sex. Who don't know that they deserve so much better than to be used up and thrown away. My heart broke for their stories, where they came from and how they got to be where they are.

I look at them and all I want is to hear their stories.

I started crying again when I realized that I was the only one standing on that crowded street that saw them as people. People worth knowing, worth pursuing, worth fighting for. Someone beautiful, worth cherishing and protecting.

It broke my heart even more to see the other people who, like me, were just walking around. How they laughed and jeered at the women behind the glass. Listening to them talk about them like they were less than human. Listening to them believe that they were better than the prostitutes, better than the men walking out of the brothels.

But how different are we, really? How often do we sell ourselves? How often do we use other people for our own benefit? We may not like it, but we are one in the same.

As I thought about all these things, I started feeling a little hopeless. An almost suffocating kind of heartbreak lay over me, and I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't fix it, couldn't change it, couldn't save them. I would have given anything in the world to have been able to do something.

But that's just it.

In the middle of the Red Light District, there stands an old church. It is stone, made in the 12th century, and incredibly beautiful. When I stumbled on it, I was in awe. Surrounded by brothels on all sides, the source of more heartache than I have ever known exists less than ten feet away from the church. It stands in the middle of our world at its worst, to proclaim divine existence at its best. It has always been there, and will always be there.

Jesus was there long before I came along to be heartbroken by it, and he will be there long after I am gone. Strong and beautiful, he has always been there, right in the middle of it. He has a plan for them, perfect and wonderful and good.

I can't save them, can't even love them or know them right now. But what I can do is ache for them, be angry for them, be sad for them. I can let my heart be broken for them. Because somebody's should.

I wish I knew what God planned to do with this, because it is one of many different experiences I have had this semester, all with one common theme: humanity. He is teaching me how to have a heart that loves and weeps, breaks and rejoices for his children. How to look past the things that make us different, to see instead the things that make us the same. He has broken down walls and prejudices I didn't even know I had, and is fostering in me the kind of heart that is no longer content to sit and watch the world go by.

But that in itself is another novel for another time.

Amsterdam

I spent the end of last week in Amsterdam (that's in the Netherlands.) And because it is the first question that EVERYONE asks me as soon as they hear me say that, I'll go ahead and answer it for you right now: No, I did not smoke any pot. However, the smell of it did lay over the city so heavily that I'm not entirely sure I didn't smoke any by accident.

In other news: I LOVE Holland. So much. It was cold and the entire city was decorated for Christmas. (They celebrate their Christmas and 'Sinterklaas' on December 5th.) It was so wonderful. The city is small, so I walked everywhere, and most of the city still has its original cobble-stone streets. There are canals everywhere, and they are beautifully lit up at night.

They have these things called stroopwafels, which are 2 thin wafers with caramel in the middle (they are wonderfully addictive.) They also treat pancakes more like crepes, in that you have the option of savory, cheesy pancakes. Not just sweet ones. Their syrup is also closer to molasses in consistency and potency. It is delicious.

Their french fries are also ridiculously good. They serve them to you in a paper cone. They are huge, and doused in mayonnaise. I do not like mayo, but this doesn't taste like American mayo. And I mixed mine with ketchup. Yum! And they give you this little tuning-fork shaped piece of wood to attempt to spear the french fries... Except it's only about as long as your pinky finger. I think it's just a ruse to make you look ridiculous while trying to eat the piping hot fries.

Every inch of the city looks like this. It's amazing. I didn't even pull out my map for the most part. I left my hostel in the morning, wandered around for most of the day, and then pulled out my map at the end of the day to find my way back. I have figured out that this is how I like to travel. I spent my time wandering around, sitting and watching the world go by, and talking to people. I had no to-do list, nothing (aside from the Anne Frank House) that I wanted to do, so when I ended up talking to a shop owner for an hour, it was a highlight :)

Oh, my. There is cheese all over the place there. And yes, it is just as good as they say it is. And I was surprised that you could actually purchase those wheels in front of the store... they aren't just for show. Those are actually cheese. Why you'd need a wheel of cheese half the size of a person, I've no idea. But you can buy it.

I am obsessed with the houses. I could have wandered around looking at them all day. They all pretty much look the same, except they all have unique character of some kind. Love it.

The entire city was decorated like this. Christmas lights strung across all the streets, lights in the trees, lights on the bridges, everywhere. The entire city was lit up. It was amazingly beautiful.

This is in one of the parks in Amsterdam. First of all, I was surprised that they have parks in Amsterdam... It being so covered in water, I didn't think they would have them. But they do! And that says "I Amsterdam" in case you can't see it through all the people.

And I know you're wondering what this is... If you have any ideas, please let me know, because I have no idea. (The sign says 'tube vision.') It was in the canal outside the library. It made me laugh out loud, which then led to the people around me looking at me like I was crazy, which then made me laugh more...

Why, yes, there is a Dutch Chinatown. And I found it.

I was also unaware that there was more than one Madame Tussaud's. Well, have no fear world, I found the other one. It's in Amsterdam.

There are more buildings painted like this than not... I'm assuming it has a direct relationship to the legality of marijuana.

How do you not love that? How do you not want to go there? I loved it more than I can say. First of all, I just have a natural affinity for Northern culture. I love the culture that comes from cold places. I love the warmth and the welcome, the food and traditions that come from cold-weather places. Secondly, I loved how relaxing it was. I loved spending half a day reading at a café and not feeling like I was missing out on something else. I loved having no schedule, no cell phone, no existence outside of where I was. Nothing.

And I loved how much God taught me in all that silence. It's amazing what he will do with your heart when you leave room in your day for him. When you aren't so worried about getting from one place to the next that you're willing to wander down that random street when he calls you to. Because he did call me to wander down that random street, and I have not yet figured out how to put into words what I learned from it.

I'm working on it. I'll let you know when I do. :)

I Think I Might Be a Muggle

I spent Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of last week in London. It was so fun! I saw Kensington Gardens/Palace, Hyde Park, Knightsbridge, Victoria and Albert Museum, Kings Cross Station, Sherlock Holmes Museum, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, and a whole lot of things in between. It was so much fun, and so exhausting. And really freaking expensive. But most of all, I realized my worst nightmare: I think I might be a muggle. I spent three whole days in London, visited numerous magical sites, and... nothing. No Harry, no Dumbledore, no Dobby... Nada. Oh, well. It's best that I know the truth, now, instead of spending all my days wondering...

In no particular order, here are some photos of my adventure in London!

Westminster Abbey. I couldn't actually go in, because I went the last day of my trip, and they were having a memorial service for the British soldiers, and weren't open for tourists.

St. James Park. By far the prettiest area of London.

The Banqueting House. The roof was painted by Rubens, and is amazing. It is the last standing building of Henry VIII's Whitehall Palace (which burned down.) This is where I went instead of Westminster Abbey.

Big Ben! It's kind of hard to get a good picture of ol' Ben. The Houses of Parliament are really impressive on their own, too.

Fun sculptures outside of St. Paul's Cathedral. (It's the dome in the background.)

Tower of London. So cool! There was graffiti on the walls from the prisoners. Amazing. I spent a good three hours wandering around this place. Definitely a must-see.

I hopped off the tube at Baker street on a whim, because I had heard that there was a Sherlock Holmes museum there. And... the rumors were true. There was a man dressed as Holmes inside the shop, and a woman at the door dressed as Mrs. Hudson. I didn't actually go into the museum, because it was pretty expensive, but the shop alone was amazing.

Kings Cross station. They moved platform 9 3/4! Outrageous. It is no longer between platforms 9 and 10. It is on a wall outside the station. I searched for it, but the darkness plus exhausted led to me being unable to find it. And I didn't really care that much, because I had already determined that I would not be getting on the Hogwarts Express, anyway. :( But I did get a picture of the REAL platform 9 3/4.

Harrods on Knightsbridge. If you don't know what Harrods is, check it out. It was HUGE. And no, I absolutely did NOT buy anything, but it was cool to see. And beautifully decorated for Christmas already.

My first real-sized cup of coffee in almost three months! (Excluding the one I got in Scotland with mom.) Yum!

Kensington Gardens. Absolutely beautiful.

All in all, it was a really good trip. I'd go back.

Next on the list: Amsterdam! I leave on Wednesday after class, and get to wander around the canals for three days, before heading back to Madrid on Saturday. (Bring on the chocolate!)

P.S. I come home in just over a month. Ummm, what??