What I'll miss.

I think that one of the best ways to move forward in preparing to move to South Asia (about which I am irreversibly pumped) is to consciously acknowledge what will be left behind.  Here we go:

FAMILY

This includes the pleasure of:

my mother and her love for the sea (and for Talbots couture)

my father's fishing stories

(we're talkin' real big fish, here)

 and The Sister Formerly Known as Boo's epic antics.

 

AUBURN FOOTBALL

The team and I had a close bond last season.  But perhaps doing without my butting up in their pre-game drills will enhance their performance in 2010.

My sorority sister Abby and I tried to show the team how they needed to put in work.

We practiced chest butting, too-

sometimes we missed.

Mostly, though, I'll miss the dear friends with whom I watched every game for two years.

War Eagle.

STARBUCKS

I don't drink coffee, but I love Starbucks.  The passion tea, the people watching, and the worldwide consistency are immensely appealing to me.  Whether in Japan, England, Belgium, or anywhere in the United States, Starbucks offers a consistent atmosphere and consistent products.

There is no Starbucks where I'm headed.

TALLAHASSEE

I love Tallahassee.  

I love the canopy roads,

 the arts, 

 the politics,

the astounding and endearing diaspora of citizens for whom where are hardly words, 
(shot this little gem poolside at Premiere Health and Fitness Center)

the Chain of Parks downtown and the Spanish moss hanging from ancient oaks,

 and my father's homemade ice cream.

(Here he is buying ingredients.  This was the look on his face the first time he told me that he sneaks an ENTIRE extra can of evaporated milk [read: thigh expansion] in the dish.  No wonder the women in our house waddle around after he makes a cannister.)


Among the things I'll miss most, though, is this:

my home.

This is the sanctuary at my home church, First Baptist.  My parents held my infant dedication in this room.  I asked Jesus Christ to be my Lord in this room.  I was baptized in this room.  I took my first communion in this room.  I have been healthily rebuked and lovingly affirmed in this room. 

I have sung from that choir loft.  I have accompanied choirs from that piano.  (Much to my dismay, I have not drummed from those drums.)  When the room was empty and the lights were off, I have come to that balcony and knelt in prayer more times than I could count.

I know no greater sense of center.  Part of me would give anything to stay there all day, every day!  There is no place the world over where I feel as safe, accepted, loved, or redeemed.  But that's the rub: because I have been redeemed I cannot stay.

I could, I suppose; but to stay would be immensely unfulfilling.  I've grown to understand that I was rescued that I might rescue others.  The most selfish thing I could possibly do with the grace and knowledge of Jesus Christ would be to keep it to myself in this room.  Only in taking out into the world what I've received here will I fulfill the Great Commission.

I was with a group of southerners on the Fourth of July (all recent graduates of Auburn, Alabama, Davidson, Vanderbilt and Wake Forest) and when Tim McGraw's "Where the Green Grass Grows" came on the radio I left the room because I knew that the course of my life was changing in a mammoth way, and I couldn't keep from crying over the thought of living or building a family outside the South.  But that was one of the greatest lessons I began to learn this summer- realizing how much of my life's plans I've relegated to a pitifully small box, thereby limiting my ability to see the height and depth of all the Lord would have me know of his glory through seeing his strength made perfect in my weakness.

This is not to say that these things I've desired are inherently bad.  For some people the best way to be about the glory of the Lord may very well be to spend hours upon hours in that sanctuary, or especially to live their whole lives in the American South.  But for me, the southern living plan had become a non-negotiable.  Non-negotiables, outside the Gospel and its principles by which we live to be like Christ, have little place in our heads or in our hearts.  Not if we long to know the height and depth of the Lord's majesty.  

God gives us extensive free will, and often bequeaths us multiple doors blessed by his pleasure from which we are to choose our own journeys.  We can conscientiously choose every safe path, every safe room, and every safe companion.  But while none of us is called to seek out our own martyrdom under the banner of "taking risks for Jesus," none of us will know the perfection of the Lord's strength without positioning ourselves to have our own weakness exposed.

...So much for blogging this summer.

My experience interning at International Justice Mission headquarters, now all but three days complete, was wonderful- though anything but relaxing.  The internship itself wasn't terribly taxing but coupled with two hours of daily commuting and a wonderful network of friends in town, sitting and typing experiences into my computer was less than enticing.

I have a new reason to keep this up:

I'm moving to South Asia.

While by the looks of things here my summer doesn't appear epic, it certainly was.  I'd dare deem it life altering.

Before arriving in Washington I graduated from Auburn with plans to begin law school in August.  I was never fully in love with the idea, but I couldn't think of anything better to do.  Let's be clear: I'm as intent upon going to law school as Auburn is on smashing Alabama into nasty pulp at this year's Iron Bowl.  I was only feeling that my time had not yet come.

Then I came to IJM.  Not only was I immediately inspired by fifty alternative life plans, but I was surrounded by wonderful attorneys whose paths had embraced a tangent or two between undergrad and law school.  By the end of the first week I was nearly convinced that showing up at law school in August was not the right decision for me.  By the end of the second week, a specific country had been impressed upon my heart in a quiet but expansively deep way.

On the Thursday of the second week IJM's HQ interns traveled to the Prison Fellowship headquarters

(David, me, and Chenoa at PF HQ; we took ourselves quite seriously those first few weeks)

to spend a day with PF's interns hearing presentations from a variety of Christians involved in justice careers.  Among them was a man from IJM who spoke about his experiences working as an attorney for IJM in South Asia, rescuing women and children from commercial sex trafficking.  His name was Blair Burns.  Even before he spoke, something began welling up within me.  By the time he finished his presentation I could hardly stay in my seat.  He walked out of the room.  Though seated on the front row, I nearly involuntarily left my chair and got on his trail.  What followed was like an out-of-body experience for me, watching myself act with uncharacteristic audacity.

I ran behind Blair, calling his name quietly at first but louder as he walked faster and we grew further from the meeting room.  After about four tries he heard me and turned around.  What transpired went down nearly exactly like this:
"Mr. Burns, I don't feel right about starting law school at Chapel Hill in the fall."
He smirked.  "I don't think you should."
"I've been feeling like the best thing may be for me to take a year off first."
"Great idea!"
"I want to practice international human rights law.  I've written a thesis on the Vienna Convention, studied the laws, and watched international courts in the Hague, but I have no idea what the precipitating issues look like on the ground.  My knowledge is too sterilized.  I've been thinking that maybe I should spend a year abroad before going to law school."
He nodded approvingly.  "I think that's exactly what you should do.  Great plan."

This is where I was totally out of my skin.  I wanted to spend a year in the field with IJM more than anything, but to have a full year abroad and be back in time to begin law school the following August I would need to leave with the September intern class.  Unfortunately, the September class had applied by April and was selected in May.  IJM may not be super famous just yet, but the interns and fellows staff still receives around 1,500 applications for each intern class of 50-70 interns.  There wasn't an odd not against the thought of me procuring a field internship with a September start date.

As I decided to ask further I felt like Abraham in Genesis 18, audaciously funneling the conversation narrower with every question.  Part of me felt as though asking to go abroad with IJM, negating applications, recommendations and deadlines was presumptive and selfish; but by a prompting outside myself I was overwhelmingly compelled to ask.  My next question:

"I was thinking that the best thing may be to go abroad with IJM?"
"That's a great idea!"  (Whoa, man.  At this point my stomach was churning, but the questions kept coming out of my mouth almost involuntarily.)

"Well, sir, [confidential country] has been on my heart for a while now.  Do you think I could go there?"
This happened to be a country in South Asia, the region Blair directed for IJM at the time.  He smiled.
"Katherine, I think that's the best possible place for you to see the most casework in action.  That would be an awesome way to spend a year before law school."

I couldn't believe it.  This was ridiculous.  It should not have been happening.  Everything I'd learned through years of legal and governmental internships had taught me to never ask such presumptive questions of a superior, but for some reason (perhaps out of pure ignorance) I carried on.

"You know, sir, during training week I got to know [field office director of specific office in confidential country] and respected him a lot.  Is there any chance that his office could use an extra intern beginning in September?"

Blair's face lit up again.  He told me that a seasoned American attorney was deploying to that office in September to spend a year leading the legal staff there.  He said that working under this attorney would be fantastic preparation for law school, and a great way to gain further understanding of human rights law.  He told me to stop by his office the next day, and then he left.

I walked back into the intern program in total shock of what had just taken place.  Sitting still was a feat unto itself.

After the program, Prison Fellowship had arranged for the interns to have a reception and dinner with its board of directors, Chuck Colson included.  Somehow he and I got to talking about human rights law.  The conversation was comfortable, so finally asked Colson if I could have a bit of advice.  He agreed.  I told him about my current plans to begin law school in the fall, but how my heart was leaning elsewhere and that I may have an opportunity to spend a year in the field with IJM first.  I asked him what he would do if he was in the same situation.  He was thoughtful and didn't answer immediately. 

After a while he said that he thought it sounded like a wonderful opportunity, so long as it didn't impede my chances of eventually going to law school.

He said that there were a number of attorneys on the Prison Fellowship board and that he would love for me to have some of their opinions as well.

The first man Colson brought over was familiar to me already.

He was a graduate of the University of Alabama.

Frankly, I was glad to meet a bonafide graduate and not just another bandwagon fan with no legitimate connection to the school.  (But that's for another blog entirely.  And while we're parenthetical...no, the sweetheart pictured above is not actually the board member with whom I spoke.  I failed to snap a picture of him- though I'm sure he's friends with this guy.)  Luckily we had established our connection and released our aggression over last year's Iron Bowl earlier in the afternoon, and I had reminded him of Auburn's consistent stature as both larger and more academically selective than Alabama, so we were at an amicable place to have a civil discussion.

Or so I thought.  Next thing I knew, this Bammer looked at us and said, "You know, you two have a strong Alabama connection."  I was ignorantly thrilled.  "What's that?!" I asked, turning to Colson.

Mr. Colson was a great sport about all this.

"I served time in a federal prison in Montgomery," he replied.

I don't know if you've ever ignorantly stepped into a discussion with one of the day's most prolific figures about his prison time, but I was distinctly lacking experience here.

"Well, at least you were in a beautiful part of the country!" I offered.  He grimaced:

"There was nothing beautiful about where I was."

Mmmkay.  End scene.  Please.  Someone.  End this scene.  Graciously, Colson went back to polling Prison Fellowship board members on my prospective life decision.  One by one he pulled a total of five men aside, gave them the rundown, and asked what they thought.  One by one each said that they would go abroad if they were me.  I thanked Colson for his time and went to sit down in the banquet room.

I sat down at an empty table in the back.  After a minute or two I looked up and saw Colson on the other side of the room, speaking to another man and nodding in my direction.  I kept a low profile.  Sure enough, that man walked over to me and said, "Chuck Colson told me that I would enjoy speaking with you and encouraged me to come sit here.  Is that all right with you?"  Befuddled, I said it sure was.  The man turned out to be yet another member of the Prison Fellowship board.  He and his wife had created a foundation to help assist Christian international NGOs get off the ground in their early stages.  He was well-versed in IJM lore.  After about fifteen minutes of conversation I posed to him the question of the day.  Like Colson, he didn't shoot out an answer as soon as I offered the question.  He considered it for a while, and asked at least fifteen minutes worth of questions about my intentions and desires.  By the end of the dinner he told me that he thought that I should go to South Asia.

As the IJM interns gathered to leave, I sought out Colson to thank him for his guidance and for the sage he sent to sit with me.  He was gracious, and finally said, "You're going to go into the field, aren't you?"  Tears came to my eyes as I looked back at him and replied, "Yes sir.  I think I am."

The next day I woke up, looked in the mirror, and burst out laughing.  This prospective opportunity was thrilling and potentially vastly enriching, but ridiculous just the same.  Back in the office, I went to see Blair.  We had a conference call with IJM's director of interns and fellows.  Blair shared with her his idea for me to work under this new attorney at a South Asian field office, and asked her to get in touch with the field office director.  He told me that he would be in touch with the field office director as well.



That was Friday.  

The following Monday I was scheduled to have a meeting with my mentor, Philip Langford, IJM's Director of Operations for Africa and fellow Auburn alumnus.  Earlier in the day Philip asked me if I would be okay with us eating with Blair and a few other IJM employees.  I readily agreed.

This was to be my first lunch meeting of the summer.  Nervously, I double- and triple-checked my wallet to make sure that I had enough money to pay for whatever swanky meal I was surely about to eat alongside these Washington attorneys.  Philip told me to meet him in the office lobby and mentioned something about Costco.  I didn't question it.  As we left the lobby and walked outside I began looking for our car.  Certainly we were driving somewhere if we were leaving the office.  I couldn't understand why leaders so high up in the organization were making a supply run to Costco, but again: I didn't question it.

Once we were about a block away one of the men said to me, "So, Costco is all right with you?"  I didn't know what to say.  What's the appropriate response to such a question?  "Oh, yes sir, I think Costco operates its pricing and general management in a fashion far less detrimental to the world economy than does Sam's Club.  I prefer the pretzels there, too."  What?!  Apparently my face failed to mask my confusion.  The man explained, 

"We're going to Costco for lunch.  It's just a couple blocks away. You can get a Hebrew National hot dog and a 21 oz. fountain drink for $1.50!"

The other men smiled and flashed quarters from their suit pockets.  Money signs sparkled gleefully in my eyes.  Lunch ain't cheap in the city.

We arrived at our destination, procured our hot dogs, and sat down at a lunchroom-style table and benches.  Once seated Philip started in on his hot dog and said to me,

"So, Katherine, here's the first question: do you want to go to law school at all?"

I realized that he and Blair must have discussed what had transpired a few days prior.  I launched into my thoughts on how being at IJM made me want to be an attorney more than ever, and I was convicted that spending time in the field before going to law school was the best possible preparation for a potential career in international human rights law.  Moreover, this was (hopefully) the only time of my life when I would ever be so free to run off to the other side of the world.  I wanted to knock on this door and see if it opened.  Philip seemed receptive and encouraging.  I mentioned my discussions with Blair the previous week, and said that I had no idea if the field office would even agree to interview me.  Blair, who had been listening, interjected:

"No, you've got the interview.  It's set."

Deal or no deal, my hot dog lost its appeal.  "Are you serious?" I asked.  I was shocked and thrilled.  Blair reaffirmed his statement as though it were nothing, said that the director of the field office where I had requested to go had agreed to interview me, and the conversation changed direction.  This was a lot to process at a Costco table.  Lucky for me, we were done at the table.  Next I was indoctrinated into one of IJM headquarters' most thrilling lunch break traditions:

Costco sample runs.

I would come to learn that dining at Costco is both typical and widely practiced among the IJM headquarters staff.  The tradition has two parts: first, buy a bargain meal and flush it down with a fountain beverage; second, take a lap around the store to taste whatever foods are being promoted.

I knew I liked these people.

Then came the waiting.

No one at IJM said anything to me about the potential internship for nearly three weeks.  That may not sound like much, but in the scheme of going to law school or moving to a developing country at summer's end it was a bit pressing to me.  Nevermind the general disposition of a twentysomething female to over-think, over-plan, and over-analyze.  At some point I was going to need some answers: if this internship didn't work out I needed an apartment, Black's Law Dictionary and a straitjacket; if it did work out I needed a visa, a plane ticket and a headlamp.  None of these things were going to appear out of nowhere or with any amount of speed.  Despite deep respect and appreciation for Blair, I had grown to believe that either he spoke incorrectly or upon premises that had changed.

On the Thursday of the third week of silence I woke up convicted that the day should be one of pointed, specific prayer.  I decided that at every opportunity I would pray for the field office director who was deciding about my internship, pray that he would think about me that day, and pray that he would be moved to interview me.  By the end of the day I must have prayed that prayer at least fifty times.

The following morning IJM's director of interns and fellows told me that the field office director had responded and would interview me over the phone the next week.  At this point I should not have been surprised by the Lord's provision, but still I was astounded.

My interview was on a Tuesday evening.  Because the field office's director and lead attorney needed to speak with me at what was early morning their time, we commenced at 10:30pm my time.  (Just so we're clear, I like to go to bed around 10:00pm.  Beginning an important interview any number of minutes thereafter is inherently dangerous.)  The conversation ended close to midnight.  I had no idea what I had said or how I had been received; I knew only that the last piece of this puzzle over which I had any control had left my hands.

There was no word Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday.  Unlike my first interview for an IJM internship, I wasn't competing against anyone for this position.  To large degree the position had been put together after my inquiry about any need for help in the office.  If I was not chosen I could not rest in knowing that the director had simply chosen someone more qualified.  I braced myself for what would feel like direct rejection.

The next Monday I took a personal day to work on a scholarship application.  My favorite place to work in the city is The Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery courtyard,  so I set up camp there.  Early in the afternoon I decided to send a timid email to IJM's director of interns and fellows.  I asked if by any chance she had happened to hear from the field office director.  In five minutes she wrote back: the director had offered me a position.  I was accepted.

Pretty substantial news to receive in a public place with the noise level of a library basement.

The next day, back at the office, I received and accepted an official offer to serve in the South Asia office.  That was that.

Main squeeze

Allow me to introduce you to my main squeeze, Ms. Sharon:

(Photo copyright Lea Marshall)

Ms. Sharon and I have been spending time together since...the beginning of time.  Beginning of my time, at least.  Sharon is a culinary artist for First Baptist Church, Tallahassee.  Her interests include traveling to see Tyler Perry plays with church friends, critiquing and analyzing Tyler Perry movies while cooking fatback, threatening bodily harm to doctors attempting to inject cortisol shots into her heels, and throwing down the gauntlet at precisely 2pm every weekday afternoon.  For years Ms. Sharon cooked lunch at our church's recreational center where people who worked downtown would come to exercise and eat during their lunch breaks.  Ms. Sharon's services ceased at 2pm, as was posted around the building.  Ms. Sharon could look somebody in the eye at 12:30pm and know they'd be back with a lunch order at 1:59.  She's just got that sixth sense.

Ms. Sharon and I share a love for southern cooking, a propensity to create syrup-sweet iced tea and even sweeter lemonade, an abiding appreciation of Tyler Perry productions, nasty bad joints, a never-ending search for fashionable orthopedic shoes, and a decent liking for cleaning dishes.  Throughout much of middle and high school I spent my Wednesday nights helping Ms. Sharon clean dishes after church supper instead of attending the youth service.  Even now, whenever I go home I love to help Ms. Sharon clean dishes.  Cleaning up a mess is immensely cathartic.  Ms. Sharon tends to yell at me if I try to clean counter tops ("Put that rag down, Katherine!  You just like your momma!  Always trying to clean things!") but she doesn't mind me cleaning dishes so much.  (On second thought, maybe that liking for cleaning dishes is solely mine.) 

Ms. Sharon is epic.  Twice in college did I bring a guy home and Ms. Sharon look him in the eye and pronounce that if he did me wrong she'd douse him in hot grits.  Ms. Sharon loves to laugh, but she doesn't play about deadbeat men.

When I get to thinking about returning to Tallahassee Ms. Sharon is one of the first people I get excited to see.  It's just about that time.