Philadelphia

A poem inspired by a sweet friend with help from a rhyming dictionary....

Philadelphia, Philadelphia how I love you.
Every corner my mind must attend to
with your Brotherly love and diversified crew
which I will attempt to break down for you...

The goal of the artists to make a break through
with their beautiful paintings of purplish blue.
No category too large for them to dig into
including meat shaped like states or garbage art debut.

Then we have the businessmen and their economic point of view,
Their eyes on the prize of their financial accrue.
The ways of the privileged they are thoroughly used to
Let us pray that the Spirit will make them anew.

And of course are our neighbors, a most beautiful motley crew
composed of many colors, languages, and tattoos.
With children with children and racial taboos
the least of their worries is rent overdue.

And Monday through Friday preschoolers cries I subdue
with developing minds and motor skills all askew.
I have already mastered the tying of the shoe
and avoid like the plague the ominous stomach flu.

But there seems to be missing something very true.
Perhaps it's the mountains or Appalachian dew?
Perhaps it's a friend I miss talking to!
No it's actually quite simple, the answer is YOU!

Sincerely, your boo.

The Beast

Believe it or not, my cat teaches me a lot about the forgiveness of God.

For some reason, my parents allowed me to get a kitten my senior year of high school, perhaps overlooking the fact that I was soon to enter college. Little did they realize that the cat I chose on that rainy afternoon would actually become their cat; living in their home, sleeping on their furniture, and peeing in their corners. And I can honestly confess I have no idea where it all went wrong. With the cat, and her anger, and her abrasive hissing, and the truly terrifying cat-growl (I'm pretty sure she's fluent in Parseltongue).

You see, I chose her out of all the batch because she seemed the most playful and approached me with great boldness. Great temperament, right? And maybe it was the constant holding and squeezing that did her in or maybe the traumatic transition to another home or a genetic mutation but whatever it was, she is now a beast of an animal. We like to call her Pyro Kitty because one day my mother was being the motherly figure she is, cleaning the house, preparing dinner, when she noticed a funny smell in the air. It was none other than the sulfurey smell of smoke drifting through the house. She appropriately sped from room to room until she found Lola (a travesty of a name for such a demon) sitting on the corner of a bed (cough, my bed) calmy watching as the lamp she knocked over burned into the linens. Fortunately, we still have a house and fortunately, I was not sleeping in my bed.

Ok, so now you must have an idea of this Lola and the household infamy she seems to pride herself on. But the worst part about Lola is not her laser beam eyes or her self-righteous trot. No, the worst part is that she refuses to be loved. By me. By my parents. By anyone. I swear, if you even think about petting her she hisses. I walk through the door after months of separation from her and she sits. And watches me indifferently and then.... hisses. I look at her, she hisses. I approach her, she hisses and turns. I pretend to cry over her coldness (or am I pretending?) and she struts away with only her ugly cat-backside for me to look at, insult to injury. So why do we still house this scroungy cat? Why do I continue to yearn for her affection and approval? It's really quite simple.

I just can't help but to love her. Because I cared for her and watched her grow from kittenhood to the awkward teen phase (I hear it's even worse than middle school) to cat. And sometimes I think to myself "This must be why and how God loves us". Because in all her beastly ways we, the mastered homosapiens, are far worse than this pyro puff ball. I literally can't help but have warm feelings for Lola when I think of her. And even though I've painted a harsh picture of Lola, she's actually kind of cute sometimes. And sometimes she lets me hold her and touch her fur and kiss her ears. And sometimes, early in the morning, she lays on the stairs, belly side up, and waits for me to play with her.

But of course, she WILL return to her only method of communication, that is hissing and growling. And for some reason, I will still love her. And as I sit here in the dark folds of Philadelphia I pray God will help me, in the same way, forgive others with this love.

 Because it's all so simple; He has done the same for me.

Purrrrr, La Loba

          Believe it or not, this whole Birthday hat scheme was not my idea,

nor did I facilitate it. But I am so glad it happened.



Watermelons and Wombs

A little more than one year ago, I watched as a baby boy was brought into the world. Amid the bustling of midwives, the dimly lit room, and the groans of mother-to-be, a new human entered what we call home. His delicate lungs, which were filled with fluid for nine months, must suddenly learn to exchange Oxygen for Carbon Dioxide. And within minutes his body naturally begins absorbing the cloudy lung fluid into his blood stream, allowing the first breath of cold air to pierce his insides and all this for no other reason than it was created to do so. The tiny heart which once produced slow, consistent and rythmic beats must now brurst into action as it desperately attempts to pump this oxygen throughout the body. And what follows is possibly one of the most memorable of moments: the first cry. Many say it is the natural consequence of the traumatic process of birth (as a child, someone once told me giving birth is like trying to squeeze a watermelon through something the size of a lemon and the mental image has never left me) but I prefer to think of this noisy entrance as a declaration of life, the announcement of being. And although I have never experienced this personally, I suppose it to be the most majestical and enthralling sound a mother may ever hear.

And now he is one-year-old and walking, and babbling, and watching, and questioning, and attempting to figure out this big place.

And isn't this all ridiculous? Isn't this taking it a little too far? With the whole beginning-as-two-gametes-then-coming-into-the-world-as-a-watermelon-built-of-billions-of-cells thing? And thank God that we don't acutally come from oversized birds, wrapped up like some frozen burrito ready for the microwave. And thank God that we don't simply "pop" into existance like some fairy-tale creature or that our cells don't all choose to become one large spleen or kidney but somehow know exactly what they need to be without communicating with the others. And thank GOD for button noses and play-doh toes and doll-like finger nails. Thank God. For He is intricately creative and infinitely surprising.

La Loba

This is Leo.

Mashed Taters

For lunch today I am having a black bean/tomato soup/potsticker concoction because for possibly the first time ever I am consciously acting to successfully finance my money (aka don't get to $0 in my bank account) and in order to avoid the next grocery run you must approach food creatively. But I am not writing today to bring awareness to my diet. No, today I am simply writing to openly declare before the cyber world the sweetness of my former week.

This past week was deep good. Not good like nothing-went-wrong but good like the-Spirit-moved-in-me. Last week at church someone mentioned that God's Spirit moves as it wills despite our advances or demands. And for what felt like the hundredth time I silently prayed "Do this in me! Choose me!". And for whatever reason, this time.... I was aware of it.

And so this week I ate mashed potatoes.

You know that feeling of hunger that comes not from your tummy but your very own Spirit? It is a hunger well known to each of us, rarely spoken about and terribly hard to satisfy. Sometimes we train ourselves numb but if we are afforded enough grace we become aware of it. And like some raucous juvenile sneaking into a church tower to ring the big bell so also does our soul resound in emptiness. It is not necessarily the desolate expanse within us that terrifies but more so the startling reality that we, you, I are depthful. We are capable of deep depth.

Deep Depth.

And sometimes I feel starving, ravenous for spirit food. And sometimes I feel oblivious to these needs. And sometimes, if I am careful to pay attention, I come across a delightfully romantic table set for two. I wish I could say I've tasted spirit steak but no I have not yet. But this week, it was like eating really buttery, hot, semi-chunky mashed potatoes. I was full from moment to moment and thankful because of it. And I ate when friends invited me into their brokenness and I ate when I watched little boys attempt to break dance and I ate when I realized I am horrible at honoring my father and mother. And I ate when the four year old leaned his head against my arm and I ate when I silently prayed the Jesus prayer:
"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

And one day far away from now, we will feast together. Complete with the most savory of meats, the most exotic wines, delicacies beyond our knowledge and a bottomless supply of those little fruit tarts that are so dang good. When He comes to take us home we will finally be satisfied.

Jesus, give us today our daily bread.

La Loba

The Market

If you've never been to your local farmer's market you should check it out! Here's what you may be missing... Pictures from Harrisonburg Farmer's Market...

Mennonites make the best donuts.



Treat Yo' Self

Today is my birthday.

Today is my Monster Day.....

I have a friend who told me about a friend who has a friend and this friend's mother (you're following me right?) allowed him to have one special day a year, appropriately deemed "Monster Day", in which he could do whatever he wanted outside of harming himself or others. To a small child this special day represented the most magical, extravagant, exhilarating 24 hours a young boy could ever behold within the realms of reality. At the flick of a switch and a far too easy pscyhological shift this boy would become the monster he yearned to be every other 364 days a year. He could eat WHATEVER he wanted anytime of day, jump on his preferred choice of furniture, paint his face, wear mismatching clothes, scare the animals, and deny his vegetables.... always with a victorious conclusion. I suppose his mother assumed that her beloved son deserved, no required, a certain amount of allotted time to express his inner animal in all it's glorious force in the hopes of taming, for the rest of the year, what seemed to be a most barbaric youth. And you know what? I think she may be the most brilliant woman I have ever heard of.

Once a year, every twenty-third day of October, I become the reckless child I never was but always ached to be. You see, the real child Jenna was quiet, compliant, and often scared. And I have one thing to say to her.

"Poo Poo".

For behold, now is the time to reckon her with the real force she would become! On this day, if I want to leave the water running while I wash my face.... I will. If I want to deny my personal dental hygeine.... I will. Today, if I want to eat my breakfast without utensils.... in a public restaurant... I will. If I want to hog the conversation, well, I just might do that. And if I want to listen to "99 Red Balloons" on repeat for 30 mintues... well by golly, I most likely will. And you know what? If I want to lock both sets of my car keys in my vehicle in Newport News, VA then I will! And if I want to pay someone $45 dollars to unlock my car so I can get in then I.... WILL. I will deny dinner, eat only birthday cake, then eat more cake at 11 pm STRAIGHT FROM THE CAKE WITHOUT CUTTING A SEPARATE PIECE FOR MYSELF! (And let's be honest, I'll probably eat it for breakfast tomorrow morning). And folks, if I want to throw a pillow at my mom's head while she's asleep in hopes of scaring her into consciousness then gosh darn it, I will.

Because sometimes we take ourselves to seriously. And I've realized that one day I won't be able to do these things when I turn 87 years old. I won't be able to hold my cat like a baby (more of a daily routine), or hide behind bushes to scare my dad (I'm noticing an unhealthy pattern...) or even eat the delicious, famous chocolate cake my mother makes for me every year without fail. So go ahead and do that thing you think about doing but quickly dismiss because you happen to be 43 years old. Because if you don't then you might miss out on your own Monster Day.

So here's to you Max and every other wild thing.

Love, La Loba

South Philly

Have you ever been to South Philly? It’s a small patch of land about 8 miles in diameter (I just made that up) with a phenomenal personality that may just charm the pants off of ya. This is where I’ve been residing/mooching  for the past 3 weeks and therefore can now confidently claim to have a semi-familiar relationship with this 8 mile piece of holy land (again, I have no idea if this is true).  

First of all, we have the ITALIAN MARKET which should more appropriately be renamed A-KIND-OF-SKETCHY-STREET-FILLED-WITH-NON-ENGLISH-SPEAKING-FRIENDS-THAT’S-A-LITTLE-UNHYGENIC-BUT-MOSTLY-PLEASURABLE.  This is known across Philly as the cheapest place you can buy produce. I’m talkin $1 dollar for 2 avocados  kind of cheap which I try not to question.  Then we have the famous Philly cheese steak zone on 9^th and Passyunk (pronounced Pash-yunc) where two competing restaurants literally stand face-to-face a block across from each other vying for your money and lifetime loyalty. I personally prefer another beef/liquid cheese sandwich distributor in north Philly but don’t tell Vinny, I hear he is associated with a handful of mysterious sauerkraut poisonings.  

But what most people think of when the word “south philly” comes up in conversation is the large population of American-Italians whose families have been here since the beginning of this city’s origin. Upon first glance, they just look like regular 60-70 year-old men simply standing on the corner of the block, enjoying each other’s company.  But if you actually begin to pay attention to them you notice some very unique characteristics that confirm their placement within this demographic. First we have the New Jersey accent. I have NO idea why it’s new Jersey-ish instead of an Italian accent. “Johhhnny! Where ya been? We’ve been lookin all over for yas.” Then you notice the dress: leather jackets, slightly unbottoned faux silk button-ups, slicked back white hair and white sneakers. I have no idea why they’re not at work or at home but everyday they show up in little coffee houses and sit around with each others (sorry, I couldn’t help myself) and do one of two things  1) remain in silence, occasionally sipping their black coffee 2) Holler at their friend driving by whom then stops in the middle of the road and with window rolled down they converse in their very un-italian accents while traffic annoyingly honks away. After a few awkward transactions with my new favorite group of people I realized that if they refer to you as “Honey”, “Sweets”, “Girl”, or “Gypsy” (my personal favorite) there is a 92% chance their intentions are truly platonic and actually mean to flatter you.  So now, when my next door neighbor calls me Gypsy and then tells me how he has slashed the tires of those whom dare to park in his handicapped spot that took him ten years to get and then immediately transitions into a spiel about providing anything I could ever need (tools, sugar, a helping hand) I genuinely smile at his hospitable heart and yell “Nevaaaa!” after he accuses me of having a horn under my ponytail.

These are the small things that give Philly it’s ever appealing charm.

Lova La Loba

Betsy Parallel Parks

Today I sit in one of the hundreds of little coffee shops you can find in Phildaelphia. There is Hebrew music playing aloud and hebrew writing on the walls. I like it here. It reminds me of my days in Israel and how I wish I had more time in this Holy Land. I am sipping on what may be the best Vanilla Chai Latte I have ever tasted. Earlier today I explored "Old City", walking along the cobbled streets and admiring the many art galleries and far too expensive boutiques. As the name implies, this area was the first settled area of Philadelphia and therefore contains dozens of historical sites.

When I was little my parents would take my brother and I to "historical sites" where the highlight of my day became getting ice cream at the tourist stop. But now something has changed within me. No, ice cream still is and probably forever will be the highlight of any day for me. You see somewhere along the lines of maturity I have begun to enjoy and appreciate history. After a free tour of the first Philadelphia Fire House I sauntered over to the Betsy Ross House. For those of you unfamiliar with this historical woman, she sewed the first American Flag which was destroyed during the Revolutionary War. But did you know that she supported herself through upholstery work? Yep, just one of the many women who were able to financially provide for themselves when their husband, or lack of, could not. She married a man who died while imprisoned in England, then moved in with an elderly woman and began her work revamping old furniture. She married again years later and had two daughters. You can even visit her and her husbands grave for FREE! As I stood in front of the large stone memorial I imagined Betsy standing before me, a tiny woman with a cute bonnet and a bold heart made strong by grief and sorrow. I bet this Betsy could offer me great wisdom about living in a broken world along with many helpful sewing tips.

But in the end, no matter how much I admired this woman, I refused to pay $4 dollars to walk through her old quarters. Instead I imagined what I'm sure I would see based on the good ol' Bryant days of visiting such sites. A little rickety bed, a petite desk where she wrote many an impassioned letter, and a bathroom far too small for even a teeny human. I felt satisfied with my vicarious visit and left the old, vined building to continue it's romantic life, where many families can bring their restless little girls to admire it's ancient bricks.

And I still have to visit the Liberty Bell!!! Phew.

Here are some other things I have learned about Philly:
-Sleeve tattoos are really popular here.
-I have never seen so many pug dogs in one place in my life.
-You will be fined $300 dollars if you do not clean up your dog's poo.
-Finding parking is the most frustrating and traumatic experience.
-It's not cool to wear regular helmets while biking, only skater ones.
-Parallel parking is an art form
-Coffee is incredibly expensive
And last but not least, lock your car doors.

Love, La Loba

Maggie Poo Poo

Let me tell you about my dog. Maggie is her name and Beaglins' her game. She was the runt of the group and because of this she is slightly smaller than the average Beagle. She is getting old now and has grey hair forming over what once was a sharp brown, black, and white face. Her ears are soft like velvet and I like to rub them in my hands like some sort of exotic material. When she was just a puppy I noticed that on the left side of her hind leg white fur outlines what seems to be a goose. And unfortunately, like many dogs, she likes to eat poo. Hence the nickname Maggie "Poo Poo". Hopefully she hasn't made the connection between what seems to be an endearing call of affection and the shameful undertone it implies.

Ever since I can remember I have always felt pulled towards these four legged creatures that seem to me so human. Every dog I meet seems to have some quirky dislike or fetish or uniqueness that makes it more Homo Sapien than bumbling beast. I suppose there must be some deep truth to that famous phrase "Man's best friend." Either dogs can truly feel emotion similar to that of a human or we are seriously offending all mankind. But what makes them truly unique creatures is that unlike humans they don't try to mask their personality or immediate reactions. If a bulldog is unhappy it has no problem letting you know. When a furry pup is excited to see you it is delighted to pee on your carpet in order to get his point across.

Maggie is, or has become, everything I do not want to be. Don't get me wrong, I love her more than a lifetime supply of free ice cream but sometimes I can't help but despise her behaviors. Let me explain. Maggie spends most of her day sleeping on our couch and if you happen to be taking up space then she has no problem walking all over you as if she were some kind of Chihuahua. Ok, so maybe this has more to do with her masters' incapability to train her than anything but even when it's a beautiful day outside and every other creature of the forest is frolicking about Maggie can only stand to be outside ten minutes at a time or else she self implodes. Everytime I let her outside I yell at her "Be FREE like a dog!" in hopes of reminding her of that dirty-dogginess I know lays deep in her core. And yet the most pitiful of all her pitifulness is revealed during a thunder storm. Simply mention the word "thunder" and Maggie flies under the nearest covering. Even with her master's arms around her and a blanket sheilding her eyes from the flashes of lightening nothing seems to bring any relief to her baseball sized brain. Her deep tremors cause her to breathe heavily as if she had just run dog-sled style carrying a lifetime supply of ice cream across the Prime Meridian. I feel so sad for her during these moments so I whisper comforting words in her velvet ear reminding her that the thunder can't hurt her and that it will soon be over. But this never seems to have the same effect as it did on me as a frightened child (although maybe it's because she's a dog and can't understand English) and soon she jumps off my lap and with head down runs, alas, under my parents' bed where we can never reach her under the black abyss of such a shelter. So we go on living our lives and eventually she crawls out, dust bunnies stuck to her nose, tired from the throes of seizure her body felt were necessary to survive such a natural disaster as a thunderstorm.

I'm not sure why I get so darn frustrated with her when she acts like this. Perhaps it's the merciless Beagle trainer within me rearing its ugly head. Perhaps it's my impatient self. Or perhaps it's because the pitiful creature I see in her is something I fear for myself. Sometimes I whisper a prayer like this: "Sweet Jesus, please do not let me become like this Beagle. Amen."

And yet in the end, she is the snuggliest, cutest ball of fur on this side of town. Sometimes when I cry she meanders over to lick my face knowing that not all is right and offers me what she can. So who am I to judge this sweet, smelly creature? Jesus, have mercy on my dog-judging heart.
Pictures of goose butt soon to be posted.

La Loba

PS I'm driving to Philadelphia tomorrow.

From the Horses Mouth

At a certain point this summer I realized I had to start recording the ridiculous things I was hearing so I began a small journal for doing just that. So here are the funniest things I heard this summer while working with rich teenage girls:

"I've met Nick Lache like ten times. My dad golfs with him."

Me: "Have any of you ever been to a third world country?"
Camper: "Yeah! We stayed at an awesome hotel in Costa Rica."

While sitting on a boulder in a lake: "Where are we getting our water from?"

Camper: "I love going to our lake with my family. We hike our mountain and then at the top we pick fresh blueberries."
Me: "You mean you hike the mountain where your lake house is?"
Camper: "No it's my mountain."
Me: "Oh so you call it your mountain because it's close to the lake."
Camper: "No we own the lake and the mountain."
Me: "Oh."

"If you close your eyes and imagine you're in a movie theater then these banana chips taste like popcorn."
Funny thing is they did.

While rubbing what was supposed to be Gold Bond on her feet: "This powder feels and smells funny."
Me: "Yep, that's because it's powdered hummus."

Me: "Guys, this plant smells like candy!"
Camper: "Really? ... Ew, Jenna you farted."
Me: Hours of laughter

Camper: "This apple chip looks like a cat butt."
Me: "Dang it. You're right."

Instructors: "We're taking showers outside this week!"
Camper(s): hysterical crying

Camper: "What are intestinal worms?"
Me: "Well, it's a parasite normally transmitted when we accidentally ingest traces of feces. They start as eggs and then when they get to our intestines they make home and can grow to be four inches long. Then you poop them out."
Camper: silence

Love,
 la Loba

OWN

Last night, before bed, I watched a show on the Oprah Winfrey Network otherwise known as OWN. And if that was at all confusing for you, yes, Oprah Winfrey does indeed OWN  a television network (pun intended). It was a show about recovering prostitutes and their efforts to return to society without returning to their old ways. It was completely fascinating, heart breaking, and even hope-giving.

As I may have hinted in my last blog, I'm not the happiest "camper "right now (I'm sorry, I can't control myself when it comes to puns). What most post-college graduates experience after their senior year was slightly postponed for me but that I am feeling with full force now. You know, it's that familiar what-the-heck-am-I-doing-with-my-life kinda feel. Some may call it directionless staggering, aimless wandering, wayward stumbling, aberrant ambling, or vagrant trotting, not to beat it on the head or anything (and yes, I did use dictionary.com for that, it has a phenomenal thesaurus feature). And yet with all her power and wisdom, Oprah Winfrey can offer me little resolution in this quarter-life crisis.

Although I still have no answers, I did have an amazing dream last night. I dreamt I was an in-home caretaker for a prostitution recovery center. I lived, slept and ate with dozens of women fighting the greatest fight of their lives; to believe that they are more valuable than what their bodies can offer. This seemed to take place in an old, southern rickety house, complete with peeling paint, somewhere in Harrisonburg, Virginia. One morning, at the crack of dawn, one of the women decided to leave. She packed her bags quietly and slipped out the door. She didn't want to fight anymore. I woke to see the screen door creaking shut and rushed to the porch as I watched her get in a car with three men and drive away. I quickly realized the other women had joined me and we mourned our friends choice of path. The women looked at me, the only white woman still in her early twenties, and asked me what would happen to our friend and what we were to do. I did the only think I ever know to do so I prayed. The first thing the Spirit told me was that we, the recovery center, were not the epicenter of all internal change but that in fact it is the Spirit of God and only the Spirit of God that can redeem. The second thing I heard was that His Body, the rest of the church, is out there and will take care of her if she chooses to return to Him again. And the third and most powerful thing I heard was simply to have faith. That all things work for His glory and all we can do is be patient and trust this.

I wish I could say that was the end of the dream but there was something else about me cleaning up poop and a tremendously dirty kitchen in there too. But I digress. I think God is trying to hint at something. Or else Oprah Winfrey now has control over all of our dreams. FAITH. It seems to often come back to this little bugger of a spiritual fruit. When you find no satisfaction in your career, when your daughter goes into a rehab center, when your wife wants a divorce, or when you are $60,000 dollars in debt at age 22, even then we are asked to have faith. And when all seems stagnant and there are no hopeful ripples in the pool of my future, I guess, well, I just have to have faith that God is greater.

La Loba

www.avoider.com

Dear World Wide Web,

Have you ever heard of the "avoiding pattern"? According to dictionary.com, 'to avoid' means "to keep away from; keep clear off; shun or to prevent from happening." And when a person begins to display this characteristic on an everyday basis, well, then psychology slaps a large sticker with red letters across your forhead that reads AVOIDER. Every one of the students I worked with struggled with this label at one point or another, whether that took the form of writing letters to family instead of working on their trap sets, or blatantly crumpling their parents' letters in front of the group, or even choosing to talk only about youtube videos instead of the deep pain they have experienced. And as I sit here at my dinner room table, at my house in Fredericksburg I am tempted to make my own sticker to slap on my own forehead.

It is 3:34 AM and I am here to declare that I am an AVOIDER.

Yes, world! It is true. I have avoided sharing with my closest friends and beloved family that I have come home from New York not only a full week early but that I have already been here for two days. I have avoided sharing with you that I quit my job on the spot, while in the field after experiencing what I like to call "emotional distress". It is difficult to summarize what drove me to ask to leave so suddenly other than my favorite psychological term of them all: anxiety. I can honestly say this seven letter word has haunted me since a small child, has brought me to tears more times than I can count, and even to moments of insanity. But it is not anxiety itself which has caused me to delay such important news to those who I love and care for most, it is the shame that comes hand in hand with anxiety that brings me to avoidance. You see, no one wants to admit weakness, let alone what seems to feel like mental illness' complete victory over my life and future. To put it simply, I left the beauty of the Adirondacks because I felt like I was going crazy. So here I am like a puppy that just got caught chewing on their master's shoe, tail between their legs and a pitiful look on their face.

There are so many experiences to process yet, so many dreams and people to still say goodbye to and so many emotions I need to allow myself to feel after a summer spent fighting them. And maybe avoidance gives us time to get in a place where we can mentally face these things without crumpling into a ball. To be able to feel grief at a maximum capacity that allows for healing. And be able to face straight on the shattering of certain dreams.

It is 4:00 in the morning now. And I will probably choose to wear this sticker for a few more days at least while I rest my body and mind, play with my cat, and allow my mom to bring me chocolate cake with a glass of milk. And I will try to rest assured that His strength is made visible in my weakness.

Love, La Loba

The end of the beginning

Dear Friends,

Found out today that Ben & Jerry's has a new ice cream flavor called "Red Velvet Cake". It's delish.

So tomorrow I head back into the ADK for my last shift of work. I will doing a double shift which means I will be in the field for 16 days in a row instead of 8 (I will officially return on August 18th)! I'm not sure how they got me to agree to this but if anything, it is going to be an excellent challenge to my emotional, physical, and psychological stamina. I am trying hard to keep a positive mindset about it all because honestly that will make or break my next two weeks. I know for definite that I will be spending if not one, then both weeks with Group E (hooray!) which I am so excited about. I hope to use this time to fine tune my bow drilling skills, practice staying in the here and now, and to allow for this to be an opportunity for deeper self-awareness.

Please pray for me! Pray that I will continue to hold a positive outlook on the rest of my time here. Pray that I will be able to focus mentally on the girls' growth instead of being consumed by thoughts of myself. Pray that I will have patience and compassion for them!!! And pray that I will be sensitive to the movement of the Spirit, his reasoning for my continued presence here, and what he is trying to teach me. If you are planning on sending me any mail after August 12th I would ask you to send it to my parents home where I will be traveling to next (9517 Charlesfield Dr. Fredericksburg, VA 22407)

Love, La Loba

PS I have a jar of Nutella AND a bar of chocolate.

Never have I ever...

I used to play this game in high school called 'Never have I ever'. Everyone holds out ten fingers and takes a turn saying something they have never done, ex. "Never have I ever been to Europe". If someone in the group has been to Europe they take a finger away. The point is to be the last one with fingers remaining. Although it often turned crude, I have now come to value these silly games that allow us to safely open up to one another in ways we wouldn't necessarily do.

In fact, I think there are many things about each one of us that we wish to share with others and wait for the opportunity to do so, which sometimes never comes. So we carry them within ourselves waiting for someone to ask us questions. And if that doesn't happen? Then, in some odd way, we lose out in the intimate growth created by vulnerability and we disrespect others by not believing they are capable of active listening and emotional awareness. This soon becomes a subconscious habit and I have found myself hiding behind this protective barrier of remaining a "mystery" to many people here in Saranac (and even some back home). We are basically saying "Here's how our relationship is going to be. I'm going to be the one to ask the questions and in doing so I get to control the depth of this friendship, ok? And if you start to ask me questions that reveals too much then I'm out." It's a cheap way of making ourselves feel better because if no one knows our weaknesses, sees our foolish mistakes or knows we are actually broken wrecks, then we don't have to reminded of these things either. I would even go as far as to call this cowardly.


So here are some things you may not know about me:
I can eat ice cream for any meal, any day. I am picky about pens and salad dressing. My choice of tea is directly related to what type of mood I'm in. In college, I was jealous of a girl named Liana because she was so kind and joyful all the time. Mexican food makes me gassy, although I'm pretty sure this is true of any human being. I wish I had smaller feet. I LOVE aquariums. I used to play mermaid as a child in my bathtub and still wish I could be one (my name? Aqua. My fin color? Sparkly purple. My hair color? Bright teal. Holla) I am horrible at trivia, can complete thirteen back-to-back-in-water somersaults with one breath, and am terrified of never finding a fulfilling career. And today I am feeling a bit lonely.

Phew.

Here is something I am a bit embarrassed to share, yet has everything to do with my most recent decision to move to Philadelphia. I want. to be. a dancer. Yes, I know this is something only people in the movies pursue (or if you're Joanna Rose) but I can't stop thinking about it! When I'm in a grocery store with particularly smooth floors a crazy thing comes over me where I can't control myself and I have to, literally have to, spin down the aisle. Sometimes I dance when I am angry or excited. You see, I'm not interested in being a professional dancer at all, I'm interested in exploring personal expression through movement of the body. I think it is a powerful tool that is not taken advantage of as it should. And I am going to stop doubting my physical and creative capabilities and just do it, as Nike would say. Maybe it won't last, maybe it's a silly passion that will serve no purpose to the betterment of our society, and maybe, just maybe, I can glorify God in it somehow.

So what about you, dear friend? Are you holding back from sharing yourself with others? And if so, why? I pray for the boldness and courage for all of us to believe we are valuable enough to be a gift to someone.

Love, La Loba

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!

So everyone's aware of the fairytale Rapunzel, right? The girl whose locked up by her evil captor in an unreachable tower, the only entrance being the top window where one can only enter by climbing her hair? Yeah, that's the one. Well Disney, as always, has come out with a delightfully playful remix of this old tale called Tangled. Before coming to New York, I had the opportunity of viewing this masterpiece in the glorious digital quality of a comfy living room, surrounded by little girls from my church community. And let me tell you, it was a blast! And somewhere between laughing at the movie and the girls' reactions, I found myself oddly relating to this fictional character, minus the magic, glowing hair.

She's awkward, a bit clumsy and filled with strong passion. She yearns to leave her tower and explore the world beyond it and when she does, she finds danger, fear and love beyond her greatest dreams. There is one specific scene that pretty much describes my current emotional situation in a nutshell. After she finally leaves her tower, she is overcome with a see-saw effect of excitement and guilt. She is ecstatic to finally be pursuing her dream and yet guilty that she has betrayed who she believes to be her mother. And to be quite honest, this scene does more than depict my 2011 summer, it describes in the most simple fashion my often up and down relationship with the Lord.

This past week in the field was absolutely wonderful. I was once again placed in Group E (or as the girls like to say "Group Ee-dorable") but this time we were on Expo the whole time out. This means there was no property, no showers, no laundry, lots of hiking, lots of "primy" camping and much more complaining. And good news! I literally can't remember experiencing any anxiety! Thank you for your prayers, I surely felt them! I felt bold, confident in my role, and excited to experience another week life-on-life with these girls.

And yet, through out this week I struggled with the burdening question that has been following me around since I arrived: Should I stay here? On one the one hand I have been learning more than I ever have, both emotionally and logistically. I truly care for these students and have found a new heart for teenage girls that has been awakened once again. I mean, I get paid to hike in one of the most beautiful areas in the US for crying out loud! And on the other hand, I am face to face with the reality of the separation of my life and the people I love and care for. This yo-yo dynamic of heart and mind demands a resolution. So I sat and thought, I hiked and imagined and I compared and contrasted. And yet no apparent answer came to me. Then one day, one of the girls said this... "As corny as this sounds someone once told me: You miss 100% of the shots you make." And dang it, she's right. So the natural conclusion to my dilemma? I have decided to move to Philadelphia.

To some of you this may be a slightly shocking surprise and to others, a move that has been long in the making. And what has been surprising to me is how easy it has been for me to make this decision. I feel peace. One thing I have learned while being here is that as much as nature energizes and renews me, people do more so. I thrive in city-like environments and for years now have dreamed of moving to a big city. Let's all be realistic here, relationships are my forte not bush whacking.

So, to make a short story shorter, I will be staying for one last outing in the woods before I return home. Your prayers and support for me during this time have been oh so appreciated! And yet there is still a bit more I am asking for. Hopefully, over the next few days, I will be able to further explain my decision process and what my next steps will look like.

With all my love, La Loba

I am not a resume builder!

As much as I deeply desire to honestly say I am still here to build the Kingdom of God, to love troubled youth, and to fight the good fight (what does that even mean?) the fact of the matter is....

........I am a resume builder.

I know, I know! I deserve to get rotten tomatoes thrown at my tarp in the middle of the night. But alas, I must admit that one of the supporting factors that has influenced me to do another week is that it will build my resume. That's right ladies and gentlemen, if the title "Wilderness Field Instructor" didn't impress you then surely "Wilderness Field Instructor 20+ days" will. You see, so far I only have a measly 16 days of lame woodsy experience tucked under my handmade cedar belt but how much more glamorous does 20+ days sound???

Bah! I am ashamed, ashamed I say! How can I treat such an amazing opportunity with such shallow terms? I apologize to all the title bearing, description loving, label making resume afficionados out there. I am one of you. And the only thing worse than a resume builder is a hypocrite. But lend me your ears faithful blog readers! Let me explain to you my dilemma and perhaps your judgment will be softened by my predicament.

For the past six days of my time off I have been trying to understand why I felt so anxious the past week out on the field. I was hiking through beautiful areas, with the best group of kids in the program (no joke, all the staff agrees), next to amazingly supportive and creative co-staff. So what was it that made me shake in the metaphorical booties of my heart? I think it's actually something quite simple. So simple that I looked past it at first and wouldn't even consider it for awhile.

It's too quiet.

When your in the middle of the largest state park in the nation, even with 11 other people around you, one still feels the immense statistical ratio of nature against human. There are no cars whizzing by, no old neighbors chatting down the street, not even the familiar sound of the buzzing electricity lines outside. It's simply you and mother nature. And for some lucky folks this happens to be invigorating, energizing, and revitalizing for them. But for some unfortunate reason I didn't make it into that population. Instead I feel awkward and uncertain in the same situations because there are no distractions. No distractions from the problems of the people around you, no distractions from discomfort, and especially no distractions from the crap we've hidden away within the recesses of our souls. We are forced to listen to our minds and hearts and if those things don't happen to be managed and healed then your out of luck my friend.

So do you see? Do you understand why I must cling to my unimpressive resume to get through this? The sad thing is, the people who are reading this are my friends, family and loved ones and therefore you are probably going to say something unhelpful like "I believe you can do this, Jenna. Because I know you and I know you've been through harder things than this and because God has placed you here, remember?" And then where does that leave me? Actually having to believe in myself?

I like to hope that this resume builder is just a cover up for the faithful follower I really am and the reason why I am staying. I like to hope that even though I am a pretty big baby right now, I am actually influencing the lives of these campers. And I like to hope that one day soon I will believe in my strength the way God does. So off I go to round 3, chapter 23 in my life. 

Love, La Loba

Man's Best Friend, My Best Friend

This is from the top of Bakers Mountain. Saranac Lake may be the only place where you can eat dinner, get ice cream and then climb a small mountain. You can even see the little town of Bethlehem.. I mean Saranac, in the far right.

Some of my new friends invited me out to Young Life camp to watch the sunset on the "Party Barg". We drank Arnold Palmers and talked about cat videos.

 These are my new best friends. I'm not kidding. I've been spending a lot of time with these little buggers on my time off. I think I can finally understand the use of therapeutic animals. 'Major' is on the left and 'Tucker' on the right. They are obsessed with swimming and Tucker has a minor problem with licking people too much. I think I love them and I'm not afraid to say it.

 Here is a fun scene right off the main road in downtown Saranac Lake.

During my time off I like to visit the local Young Life camp. On this particular day, I had the opportunity of helping spread this load of sawdust.... with my bare hands. Man, they sure do make you work for food. Just kidding, I used a Kabota.

Come on Shakespeare, really, what is in a name?

This morning I woke up on a soft, plushy couch and then ate watermelon for breakfast. And I've started a batch of bread that is rising as I speak. This will be my fifth or sixth attempt to create the delicious oatmeal quickbread that I have found only one woman, Betsy Fisher-Rhodes, has conquered with perfection. On a light note from my previous post, here are some alternate blog titles that made it to the final round thanks to the brilliant mind of Sam Jeffrey...

Heavens Wooden Roller Coaster
Shake Weight Jesus
Marauding Woodsey Holy Rollers*
Campfire Confessionals
Tobacco is Natural  (?)
My Sweaty Summer
Transformation Takes Time
The Zero Hour
Jolly Justification
Wooden Tap Shoes*
Smokey Bible Study

* my personal favorites

Any other ideas? (I know you've got some inappropriate ones, Jeremy Sheppard)

I want to be like Bear Grylls.

I am back, once again, from round dos of wilderness adventures. This time around the 11 of us (8 students and 3 instructors) found our way into the Lake Kushaqua area where we lived for four days amidst a jungle of ferns. I didn't actually take this picture but here is a scene from the large lake area... We ate lunch on the shore a few times and even had dinner during sunset once (the girls had a fire sparked and pot boiling in 17 minutes!)

 We actually stayed near a little body of water called "Chub Pond" but chose to take the longer route to Lake Kushaqua for our water source considering Chub is really a leech infested mud region (a few of the girls gagged drinking the water and I don't blame them). In the middle of the week we hiked a tiny mountain called Little Haystack and ate lunch atop it's glory, surrounded by beautiful scenery. It is the first "summit" I have conquered here at 4,662 Ft high. Little Haystack is on the left side and Mount Haystack on the right...

It was great to be with the same girls again and to have already built connections with them coming in. The most exciting part was seeing how much they had grown from my previous time. Many are almost to the third stage, known as "wolf", which is the second to last phase of the program. And many of the girls I met during their first week to camp, who previously refused to eat oats and cried at night, now are laughing, hiking, and boldly claiming their love for oats and brown sugar.

My biggest personal challenge I faced all week was getting lost from the group for a little more than an hour. I was fortunate enough to head out on a break while the other two instructors stayed behind with the girls. So naturally, I headed toward the lake to spend my evening admiring God's beautiful creation. Finding the lake was easy shmeasy but finding the campsite was, well, not so much. At first I simply denied I was lost and continued to follow my already weak sense of direction. When I finally transitioned into acknowledgement I had retraced my steps three times, found the main road, and talked to a kind man fishing with his young son. No compass, no communication device and no GPS comforted my side; only a crinkled map of the region. The following are some of the thoughts that passed through my mind during this expedition:

"Wow, the first apprentice to get lost from their group in the history of this program."

"Double wow, how embarrassing if they have to send out a search team for me."

"Ok, I have lots of iodine tablets with me, I'm good on water. But only a handful of almonds which will have to suffice. Well, I can always eat plaintain if I have to."

"Dear Holy Spirit, grant me some of your ultimate geographical knowledge... for serious."

"I'm going to be ok, I'm going to be ok..."

"Will I have to kill a dear with my 3 inch swiss army knife, dig out it's insides and live in it's carcass for warmth?" (thank you, Bear Grylls)

"I'm so glad I ate that Cliff bar before I left"

and the winner of them all...

"What the Hell did I get myself into."

At certain points in our life we all stop and ask ourselves this same question. "How the heck did I end up where I am?" And in my case it was in the middle of a mountain, in the middle of the Adirondacks, in the middle of NY. With only the guidance of the Spirit. I am asking myself the same question today as I sit in this library using their free internet. Why did I leave such a beautiful community of friends again? Why did I choose to spend so much money to end up in a place where I know so few people? And why am I pooping in the woods again?

At last, while near tears, I found my group. I took some time to compose myself and headed back into the action. Although it was only an hour I could have sworn it was three. I am proud of myself for not breaking down and continuing in perseverence and also embarrassed to find out I was about a quarter of a mile from my group the whole time. The woods, my friends, are an entirely different world of their own.

So this is where I wrap up the whole mass of my words into one wise metaphorical sentence. And the truth is, I don't have one. I miss my parents, I miss my dog, I miss the Virginia morning mist and the sound of the JMU clock striking twelve.

Love, La Loba

PS Viewer discretion advised...

Alas! What a fun word.

Dear Friends,

I am sad I have not been able to get more posts out during my time off but turns out I had MORE training to do. And now, here I am at the headquarters preparing to depart once again. I will be with the same group of girls again which is exciting and also a little dissapointing seeing as how I was looking forward to experiencing different group dynamics. But alas! God is the perfect planner and I am going to jump into this week with a (hopefully) reckless love. And guess what? We will be on exposition which means I am headed out into the real Adirondack wilderness where we will get to hike and explore! I will be back next thursday so until then my friends...

La Loba

PS I'm going for Organic milk chocolate instead of Nutella.

The Learning Curve of Life

Dear Loved Ones,

I am out of the woods. That's right, I made it! After some serious misquito bites and a few bear fights later I find myself back in society enjoying some alone time while admiring the golden pink sunset of the Adirondacks. Where do I begin? I find that this time can be summed up in three words:

Steep.

Learning.

Curve.

Ya know, I never enjoyed statistics seeing as how I am a personal fan of calculus, but this graph-like roller coaster is kind of fun. Statistical graphs are useful because they give us an idea of what variables correlate with one another. And we see them everywhere. Red traffic lights correlate with number of stopping vehicles. Eating three pieces of pie tends to correlate with visciousness of belly ache. And number of hours olympic athletes practice correlates with olympic medals won. Get it? It's pretty simple really. But what if we were to break down our own personal lives statistically? What would this look like? And how many dimensions of graphs would we find?

This past week, Thursday to Thursday, was spent in the woods with 9 teenage girls and two co-staff. And although I was quite intimidated at the thought of this, I found that indeed they are simply little lambs needing personal direction. And I loved every minute of it. Ok, except for the time we were out of TP and I had to use the gigantic leaves of the Witche's Hobble plant. Upside? I am now an expert Witche's Hobble identifier. And guess what? These girls are Hil-Ar-I-Ous! As we hiked, I listened to them sing broadway songs and as we ate lunch I was entertained by a word by word rendition from a scene from the Shinning. I giggled inside as I witnessed over and over again the shocked look on the new students' faces as we told them that yes, they need to poop in the "luggy" in the middle of the forest. But there were hard moments too as I listened to new students cry in the middle of the night from under my tarp, overwhlemed by the strongest feeling of abandonment they have ever experienced. And when the girls shared their struggles with self-harming and mutilation. And when many confessed their complete lack of relationship with their parents. And although my resume claims I am expert with teens, there were moments where I literally had nothing to say in response to their pain.

So what does statistics have to do with this you say? And again I say "Everything!" Positive correlation is when the presence of one variable creates a "positive" or similar effect in the other. Example: lots of rain in April bring lots of flowers in May. Negative correlations have the opposite effect: an increased number of misquito bites  = less time spent outside. OK, so we got it? Now, let me share with you vicariously through a mathematical breakdown of my time in the woods...

Positive Correlations:

-number of prunes given to the student after day three of no doodie and chances of morning poo

-high heat index and number of black fly bites

-depth of sleep after 7 AM and chances my co-staff will wake me up by throwing rocks at my tarp

-Number of times I fart around my co-staff and number of rocks they threw at my tarp to wake me up

-Amount of rain on a hike and chances of me face planting in front of students

-Number of bowls of 'Spuds 'N Beans' and desire for ice cream while watching The Princess Bride

Negative Correlations:

-the near sound of coyotes howling at 2 AM and my ability to move/breathe

-number of days spent in the woods with one pair of clothes and ability to attract men

-stories shared about brokennes of homelives and my provision of any comforting words

-Need to create emotional insularity between students and myself and my ability to do so.

We've learned a lot today so I will leave you with just one more statistical rule: There is always room for deviation. Well, I am off to watch The Princess Bride and/or Tangled while eating coffee ice cream!

Adios! La Loba

 PS I won the bear fights.

I pledge allegiance to Nutella...

The time is here. Tomorrow at 8 am I will arrive at work "ready" to begin my one week adventure in the woods with students. As I write this, I literally have to go pee because I am so excited/nervous. You know the urge to pee you had when you would hide during hide n' seek? You could have just gone to the bathroom three minutes before and yet somehow, our body manages to produce enough liquid between that time to make you wiggle in your hiding place.

But before I begin talking about this coming week let me share with you the events of the last few days! So remember when I left off with that silly, little, lonely wave metaphor? Well, it's still slightly relevant but I am beginning to feel more confident because God answered my prayers and introduced me to His moving and working Body here in Saranac Lake. About 30 minutes outside of town is Young Life Saranac Village, which is a beautiful summer camp I visited in high school. I was fortunate enough to be able to visit some of my Virginian friends who are there for the month helping out and while there met some amazing folks who live here year long. Apparently, there is indeed a small community of post college graduates (most who work at camp) that all seek deep community and fellowship. Hooray! For a minute there I was a bit worried it didn't exist. Right now, I am at one of their houses, doing my laundry and using their computer. I am so grateful to meet such genuinely kind friends and I am very much looking forward to learning more about them. Also, I was invited back to camp throughout my time off to help out in whatever capacity I am needed and being on the grounds of summer camp is always a familiar and comforting place for me.

Earlier today, I went ahead and bought a mini container of Nutella in preparation for my coming adventure. I've talked to many older staff here and although there is a lot of different words given, there is always one common piece of advice I hear: chocolate. "Bring chocolate". I'm not quite sure why this is so absolutely necessary but I trust their expertise in the field. While staring at the candy bar options in the grocery store I was forced to ignore my fleshly desires and instead use my rational judgement to make such a seemingly insignificant decision. You see, if I bought a Milky Way, it would be smushed minutes into it's placement in my "bear bag". But one bag of M&M's surely wouldn't suffice. Chocolate cookies take up too much room but Nutella, oh Nutella, you are so versatile. Within this small 8 oz container of Chocolatey goodness is an abundant number of delicious possibilities: chocolate tortilla wrap, chocolate pretzels, chocolate apple slices, chocolate beans and Lentils... the list is endless.

But I think it is more than simply chocolate that provides emotional release for these leaders. It is the fact that we can pull out something that reminds us that this current situation, no matter how horrible it may be, will not last forever and that one day we will find ourselves back with people, with community, in society. It is the fact that I can demonstrate some sense of control in my surroundings in a time where much seems out of control. And if anything, it reassures us that life is sweet even when it is wet and rainy and cold outside. So here I go, with my jar of Nutella and my short list of camping skills into the Adirondacks for my first week of my first real job as an "adult". All I have to say?

Bring. it. on.

Love, La Loba

Please send the Big Man some prayers for me over this coming week (for confidence, peace, and compassion).

Pictures Pictures

 The dogs attacking an arriving vehicle.

 This is "Dacks." He scares me sometimes.

 Hazel

 This is what it looks like everywhere you go.

 Lots and lots of ferns.

 Some of the big, beautiful houses in town.

 This is behind the Lake Placid library facing the lake.

And this is the back of the library. Notice the long, windowed hallway I spoke of on the left.

Butterflies Pee too.

Yep, I'm back again and no, I literally have nothing else to do but continue writing on this blog. Today I watched 6 Monarch butterflies sun bathe in front of my house. They are funny, furry little creatures that are a little bit creepy when you see their face up close. Later, I got a ride into town and checked out the local farmers market. I have to admit, it pales in comparison to the Harrisonburg Farmers Market. There may have been ten vendors in total. But I met two young farmers who gave me free greens! I may have been playing the "I'm new in town and have no friends" card a little too much but hey, it's actually working. It is comforting to find folks with similar interests. Well, here are the pictures I promised! Hopefully, tomorrow I will head back into town to check out one of the many churches around here. Adios!

 Here is a picture from Lake Placid while on a serene evening stroll.

This is the road coming into ALPO. Imagine 8 dogs running at you the instant they see your car. 

 This is where a lot of my training happened and where I will meet before and after my time in the field.

 This is Jake. He is one of my favorite dogs.

And yes, there is even a garden in the back.

It's already taken me fifteen minutes to download these pictures so I'm gonna call it quites for now. But there shall be more up soon!

Zac Effron, get out of my head please.

Today, I have found my favorite place so far in this new territory. It is the Lake Placid Library. Before I arrived, I asked my housemates if they had been to this library. "Yes," they both replied, "the Saranac Library is much better." But I am not someone to give up on the library system so quickly. I mean, it's a quiet zone filled with free knowledge, stories, and adventures! How could one NOT love being here. So with a skeptical eye I approached what I have now found to be quite the treasure. It is two different building in the middle of downtown connected only by a tiny windowed hallway that peaks out to the street on one side and Lake Placid on the other. You are invited in by deep cedar wood all around and stacks of 1980s books. You know, the hardbacks with that awkward plastic covering. The best part about it is the structure. I imagine it used to be an old house because it is set up as if a maze. Little nooks turn into wide rooms and sudden turns become bare wall. You can sit by one of the large windows facing the lakeside and read your John Grisham while admiring the green trees nearby. The back of the library is an inviting retreat by the lake with wooden one-person chairs and tiny side tables to place your book or lunch while resting. Although it is raining right now, I plan on taking advantage of this spot very often.

Today I feel like a directionless wave of water. Here I am, in this little tourist town, too poor to buy anything from the dozens of boutique shops and too ambivalent to look. Before I left the car (thank you housemate!) I prayed for some kind of holy conversation to occur between me and well, anyone. It hasn't happened yet but I still plan on seeking out a tiny cafe to begin my Humungo wilderness therapy workbook so I have not lost hope. I am tossed like a silly, little wave by what used to be easy decisions. "Should I do my laundry today at the laundromat?" (PS I've never used one before). "And if I do, should I bring back the wet clothes to the cabin and hope that it stops raining so they can dry outside and I can save $3.50?" Or "Should I continue reading Willa Cather at the laundromat? Or write more letters?" When one is given a copious amount of time in which to do anything they'd like with the given limits of my situation they must either make strong choices for their day or go a little crazy. "Should I learn to identify plants today based on the information of my 'Edible Wildplants of the NorthEast' book? Or bake bread? Or attempt to do yoga alone based solely on the little I remember from the three classes I have taken in the past 5 years?" Daily decisions can be overwhelming even when you have been freed from the subtle nuances of life like paying rent or going to work.  I am learning slowly that satisfaction based on one's geography is a silly connection to make. Again, it comes back to the heart, blah blah blah. All that stuff my pastor and leaders spoke of back in the day, well, it's true dang it.

I'm off to continue exploring this little gem. I have been taking pictures of my experiences and hope to be able to post them soon as soon as I can get a hold of the right computer. Blessings my friends!

Two important facts:
1) Today, someone encouraged me to "lead with a reckless love". I really want to.
2) I dreamt I was Hilary Duff in a new version of High School Musical with Zac Effron. I want to know what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

La Loba

Maslow, what are you doing here?

I'm currently sitting in the local library watching my 26 minutes of remaining computer time slowly dwindle. I've biked into town today (about a 15-20 minute ride) and have decided to explore this tiny little town known as Saranac Lake. I sat by one of the little lakes and ate my salad as I watched the fancy water boats zip by. It is so beautiful here! While biking, I recognized a certain frangrance I was long ago acquainted with. It is the smell of deep, coniferous woods in the summer, the scent I recognize from my childhood time spent in the Red Wood Forest of Northern California. I am continually being bombarded with new sites, tastes, smells, sounds and textures.

Today begins my official first day off. I've spent five days in the woods, two days in "Positive Control System" training, and one day learning about blood born pathogens and other important medical knowledge. And yet I am still not done! I will soon go through CPR/First Aid/WFA (Wilderness First Aid) training. But for now I am taking a break from it all and simply being. My five days in the woods turned out to truly be quite an adventure. The whole point of our time hiking (more like bush whacking) was for us to experience first hand what the students go through in this program. I think this is a brilliant idea because not only does it allow us to empathize with them on a deeper level but it also prevents us from abusing our power as field instructors because we know their pain! I have never hiked as far, hard or long as I did over those five days. But I was even more shocked over the emotional discomfort I experienced. Have you heard of Abraham Maslow? He is a famous psychologist who created the concept of a hierarchy of needs. Imagine a pyramid. The bottom layer consists of our basic need for survival including food, shelter, sleep, etc. Then it continues with safety; resources, health, property. Then to love/belonging, then esteem, then at the tippy top is self-actualization.

I wasn't actually sure if my schooling would come in handy (don't tell my parents) but it has! Wherever I was at on this pyramid before this adventure, well, it was stripped away. I was back to step 1: physical needs. It completely threw me off. But more than my time in the woods, this time in my life has proven to take me back to level one. I have no form of transportation other than my blistered feetsies, I know very few people in this new place, I don't even know how to get around town. My cell phone barely works at the place I am staying at and I have no computer. Ok, I know I'm sounding slightly whiny at this point but I want to be realistic with you. I feel that other than the clothes on my back, I have nothing other than the Lord. And it is surprisingly discomforting. I don't even have a pillow. Ok, for real I'll stop whining. My point is that I have to trust trust trust. I have to trust that someone will give me a ride to the grocery store to get food. I have to trust that tonight there will still be room in the cabin for me (don't worry ma, I have a tent). And it is hard my friends! But I do believe that in this way God has been given much room to move. I look forward to the divine and spontaneous conversations I will have with people I don't know. I look forward to being forced to trust that every minute of my day is planned out by God even if I have no idea what I will be eating tonight (don't worry ma, I have rice and spinach). And ultimately, I look forward to understanding His provision within and outside of Maslow's pyramid.

Love, La Loba

Adirondacks

Friends,

I am so sorry for my absence as of late but it has been busy busy! My time has been filled with backpacking through the woods and daily training in preparation for my first week out with students next Thursday. Wanted to let you all know I am whole and alive and semi-thriving. It has been much more of a challenge than I had expected on many different levels and when I have more time I will make sure to share these with you. For now I am relying on the "staff" computer so you know, trying to be "professional" and stuff. On that note, I better jet! But stay posted for a more detailed story of my adventures.

Love, La Loba

Transportation of Choice

Dear Friends,

Minus 45 minutes until departure time. My transportation of choice, you ask? Amtrak! Yes, I am indeed speaking of the train/subway hybrid we Americans have come to love. I decided to take Amtrak for two reasons.

1) Airfare is way too expensive
2) Amtrak is slow.

You see, there is something we miss when we hop on a plane and one hour and some bad food later we find ourselves in Florida. For thousands of years humanity made it simply by feet and wheels. And I believe there is something lost when we steal from time while traveling. Say it with me... "processing".... What a beautiful concept that our fast paced society often neglects. I embrace slow travel because it gives us an opportunity to see what we are passing by, we are forced to acknowledge the great distances we are covering, and upon arrival to our destination there is a newfound appreciation based on where we were and where we are. I plan on doing the following things during the next 24 hours of my travels: reading, writing letters, sleeping, tweezing my eyebrows and hopefully experiencing some divine and spontaneous conversations with those around me.

When I arrive in Saranac Lake Tuesday evening, I will head straight to the staff house to spend the night. The next day I head to the "headquarters" (it's actually referred to as the office but 'headquarters' sounds more mysterious to me) where I will be ushered into a five day series of hiking and learning with the other field instructors in training. After that a two day in door training on good stuff like communication, vision, etc. So dear friends, I don't plan on being back until next Tuesday! After my training I will have a week off to rest and prepare for my first journey into the woods with the baby lambs (what I like to imagine the students as). I look forward to filling you in!

With much love, La Loba

The Myth of the She Wolf

Have you ever heard the myth of La Loba? Let me share it with you. 


As the tale goes, there once was an old, ragged woman who lived in the desert caves of the New Mexican desert. She spent her nights searching for the bones of animals, especially wolves, who have long passed from this world. She had a surprisingly strong, burly voice and after she collected the bones she would return to her cave and sing to them. And as she sang, her life and passion and joy would settle into their bones until alas, they leapt back to life! The dead wolf, now a live wolf, would run into the desert night, turning into a beautiful woman, disappearing into the horizon.


I admit this may seem like an odd way of sharing with you my current life situation but here, let me explain. You see, tomorrow evening I begin a new Journey, a great Adventure, a long Expedition into the Adirondack Mountains. My job? Working with teenage girls who have much pain. I will be leading a group of eight girls, every other week, into the their worst nightmare; woods, bugs, nor mirrors, no bathrooms and dun dun dun... no cell phones. And to be quite honest with you, I am absolutely ecstatic! My goal, with the resources and support of this wilderness therapy program, is to care for them in a way that brings transformation. I will love while challenging, I will listen and speak when necessary, and I will teach while learning. 


And I plan on singing loudly! Ok not literally, for I am the first to admit my mediocre voice, but with the strength I receive from my family and community and the Truth that fills me daily. . . 

When I was a loaf of bones, dried out

Gathering my bones like loose fruit -

sure she had all those precious seeds -

she carried me in her arms back to her cave.

My eye socket saw that dim heaven

like a star that one can’t find a second time.

When my last limb was set down I shone

like a white carving in front of a breathless fire.

La Loba raised her small arms and sang softly.

The sage burned stronger. I felt my bones

swell like a river as the flesh began to spread

over them, along the belly and lips, rippling

on my spine, softly, above the dust.

And the touch of it, amazed - hand on hip,

both touch and thought as I felt my body stretch.

The old woman sang louder and I saw colours,

a glowing orange or a black cinder, a tongue

that leapt above me and said, This is passion,

red as a heart. My hands reached upwards,

as if towards a heaven sensed in the air.

Louder and louder the music moved me

and swept through my lungs like a wish.

I rose from the bald dust with a memory.

Still I heard the song but saw no-one

only my still legs and white arms. Looking up,

I saw the song float like smoke above me.

It chanted so deeply, as if the earth had sighed.

Wrapping my arms around my body I opened

my mouth as the sound moved closer.

It sang to my breath and it sang to my hips,

breaking over me like a host of prayers.

And as it came in luminous bursts

through the desert, from death,

I heard it was coming from my mouth.

-By Leanne O'Sullivan

Love and Peace, La Loba

My address for the next week is 82 Church St Saranac Lake, NY 12983

As soon as I can I will be getting a P.O. box and plan on sharing it with you!

she told the mountains that I was alive.