...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.

Places in the Heart

I've always been an early riser.  As a young child whenever my family visited my grandmother in Graceville, Florida, I would get up before everyone else and go to the living room.  There I would find an old VHS of Places in the Heart.  I would watch it enraptured until some other family member rose and suggested a nice cartoon instead.

For the record, those cartoons never measured up.

This fascination with Places in the Heart likely marked the beginning of my interest in race relations.  Being as my father was white and his two best friends were African (as in raised in Africa) I was baffled that people in America profiled each other based on skin color.  Some of the best people I knew- and know, to this day- couldn't look less like me.

Today I packed my bags and left Auburn, accompanied my parents to Atlanta, where we put The Sister Formerly Known as Boo

(hereafter TSFKAB) on a plane to London and drove back to Tallahassee.  I ate my final meal at Toomer's, naturally, and as I drove away the Samford Hall carillon was chiming our fight song.  It was fitting; almost as though Samford itself was giving me a permissive nod to move on with my life.

I was tired once we reached home, but I was following TSFKAB's plane tracking online.  Note below: blue is what the plane is supposed to do.  Orange is what the plane is doing.

You know...no big deal.  TSFKAB will love Norway.

So I decided to stay up a bit longer to watch that plane tracking.  (Big sisters have cross-continental super powers that can redirect planes.)  About thirty minutes later, the tracking looked like this:

...She does speak a little Spanish.  But maybe this only means that the plan is re-orienting.  Thirty minutes later:

Mmmkay.  We all know there's a mighty big lot of ash floating through the air over this particular part of the world right now.  Maybe that's what's up.  Just in case those pilots decided to try anything else, I opted to stay with it for a while.  As the plane defied its course I watched Places in the Heart.

Places in the Heart was produced in 1984, starring a strawberry-blond Sally Field and a young Danny Glover.  The plot unfolds in Waxahachie, Texas in 1935.  I love the film for its artful use of hymns and its themes of rejuvenation, resilience, and the perseverance of an unconventional family unit- a white widow and her two young children, a blind white man not related by blood, and a homeless black man not related by society.  Within the first ten minutes Sally Field's husband is accidentally shot and killed by a young drunk black boy.  Also within the first ten minutes, that black boy is killed by vengeful white men.  They tied him to the back of a truck and drug him to death, later hanging his body from a tree.  When the men try to show their work to Sally Field they are shamefully sent away.  While lynchings seem barbaric now, it's astounding to realize how common they were in our own country just seventy years ago.

Today I learned something new about that part of American history.  I've been reading Good News About Injustice by Gary Haugen (president and CEO of the International Justice Mission, a DC-based Christian human rights organization where I'll intern this summer.)  In relating atrocities occurring around the world to something more tangible to Americans, Haugen discusses the Association of Southern Women for the Prevention of Lynching.  This group of Protestant women banned together in the 1940s to oppose lynching- predominately that of black men.  More than four million women were involved in this movement.  These women called in police forces whenever they suspected lynchings were about to occur, and sometimes went without backup to fight back mobs attempting to lynch someone.  In 1941, 40 instances of successfully-combated lynch attempts were documented.  The ASWPL's work led to more than 1,300 police officers signing pledges to oppose lynchings and was a catalyst in the dramatic disappearance of lynchings in the South. 

Lynching may not be a huge deal down here any longer.  But millions of people around the world will go to sleep tonight in rational fear of similar hate crimes.  The safety and comfort of my lifestyle is so far from the global norm.  As shown by the Association of Southern Women for the Prevention of Lynching, though, dedicated advocates can  and should make a difference through the grace of God.  Over the next week I hope to blog about IJM and how its people are about the world meeting God's desire for justice.