What's to come...

I just bought my one-way ticket from Cambodia to the US. It's official. 

Let me tell you, it's surreal. I have known this transition was coming, but now it is set in stone. 

I recently  realized that this will be the first time in my life where I know what will be happening 6 months or even a year in advance. The changes in my life have always happened to me or have had a sense of urgency and unknowing. Even when I came to Cambodia, I had no idea whether I would be here for 6 months or 10 years. All of my life transitions have been open-ended and swift. This time I know all the details in advance. I know I will leave Cambodia in 4 months. I know two weeks after I arrive in the US I will being the Living School. I know what my source of income will be. 

Yet despite all this "knowing", this feels like the most uncertain transition I have ever faced. When I originally moved to Cambodia I knew that I could retreat back to the US if things went south, and life would essentiallly be the same. Now, I am going back a different person. I also realize that the people I am going back to have had their own life transitions and changes in these years. What I am going back to is not at all what I left. This known uncertainty is somehow more terrifying the the pure unknown. 

As terrifying as it is... as heartbroken as I am to leave... there is a stirring of excitement in my heart. Like walking the same trail years later after you have gained strength and wisdom. While the terrain is similar, I am different. I am surrounded by different people on this same wild journey. 

I long to use these experiences I have gained to create a brighter future wherever I am. 

I hope my experience with physical poverty helps me better love westerners in emotional poverty. 

I hope my experience as a stranger in a strange land helps me better love the strangers in my homeland. 

I hope the light from my wild dreams helps other brighten the path to their own aspirations. 

Most of all, I hope to continue becoming. I hope this next season will bring about new growth and insights. And for now, I hope to be present and experience every moment left in Cambodia to the fullest. 

This is my home.

Today was a day of housekeeping and errand running. I finally attended to the pile of laundry that has been piling up for nearly three weeks. I went to the market to stock up the fridge, and cleaned out my pantry.

As I reorganized and closed drawers, throwing away or giving away things that no longer belong- I began to cry.

Because this little room of mine is my home. Every night I sleep enclosed in the comfort of my mosquito net. Every morning I wake up and am graced by the quotes I have filled my walls with. I pray in my corner and work at my desk.

It's the first time I have ever had my own space. I can close and open the door as I please, opening up to new possibilities or closing the world off for a moment of peace. I have wept in this room, I have laughed in this room, I have had sleepovers and completed projects. Over the two years of living here I have rearranged the room a number of times. The latest arrangement is my favorite of all. Everything seems to have fallen into its proper place... I realize this as I am realizing I will need to say goodbye to it in a few short months.

It's heartbreaking because the room is a glimpse into my life as a whole. I have made a life that I love, a space that can somehow encompass all of the best parts of me while gently smoothing out the rough spots. I weep because I do not belong in the place where I have found belonging. 

I am excited for this coming season of life, don't take this as a post about regret. I know that I must be shaped further by a new environment and new adventures. But I have to be honest and admit that it is heartbreaking to lose the environment that has made me whole. It's hard to lose my home. 

Upstream

I was first drawn to Cambodia when I heard about the crisis of children being trafficked into sexual slavery. When I came I met an organization whose primary focus was rescuing and rehabilitating these children. They spoke about how after some time of rescuing children from brothels, they asked themselves "how do we stop these children from being trafficked in the first place?". When explaining this they used the analogy of a stream.

If you are standing in a stream and see a drowning child, you rescue them. As more children come downstream you continue to save them. Until it becomes too much and you have to ask yourself, what is happening upstream that is causing this catastrophe? And that is when you dig in your heels and go against the current. That's when you do the hard work of looking at underlying issues and advocating for the innocent.

The prayer for, rescue of, and rehabilitation of these abused children is important and critical. But eventually they needed to move beyond that. 

For each shooting that has happened in recent years, I have wept. I have prayed and cried and mourned for the families and friends who have lost innocent loved ones to gun violence. 

When the Las Vegas shooting happened in October I was speaking to a friend in utter despair. She said she was so angry that people use these terrible events to further political agendas. I didn't fully understand what she was talking about and agreed that there is a time to mourn and a time for politics. 

But what I have learned in my time of working for justice overseas is that we can mourn the loss of today at the same time that we are advocating for a better future; the two are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they go hand in hand. 

It is not enough anymore to send a prayer and shed a tear for lives lost. It is time to say that these lives are valuable enough that we cannot stand to lose another to needless gun violence. 

I used to think it was disrespectful to use catastrophe to discuss politics. 

I now see that we must discuss politics to prevent future catastrophes and honor those we have lost. 

I used to think I could avoid politics and instead advocate for justice. 

I now see that while politics and justice are often enemies, we the people have the power to make them allies. 

The ball is now in our court. How will we use our actions and voices to advocate for the lives lost? Because these empty tears are not enough anymore... Maybe they never were.

http://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-us-canada-41474594/las-vegas-how-us-mass-shootings-are-getting-worse

https://everytown.org/learn/

https://www.gofundme.com/stonemandouglasvictimsfund

Sealed

Seal /siːl/ noun Definition:

1. a device or substance that is used to join two things together so as to prevent them coming apart or to prevent anything passing between them. 

2. a piece of wax, lead, or other material with an individual design stamped into it, attached to a document as a guarantee of authenticity.

I have news! I have been accepted into the Center for Action and Contemplation's Living School.

I applied to this school last fall after an intense month of fasting and prayer. I spent a lot of time trying to understand my motivations, to make sure I wasn't doing this as an escape, a form of validation, or an ego boost. After a lot of soul searching, I decided that I needed to take steps toward things that would bring a greater wholeness and inner healing, rather than outward service. For a time at least, I knew I needed to learn to receive and grow. I realized that I have spent a lot of time trying to bring people a peace and healing that I have not fully received myself. If I truly want to help people and love them and bring about new life, I need to fully experience that within myself.

So I applied, unsure of whether I would be accepted (the tradition of this school generally includes folks who are older and have more life experience). I decided that if I was accepted, I was definitely going to move back to America in July of 2018 when the school began.

Now here I am. To my great surprise, I have been accepted. I am overjoyed at the opportunity to take part in this school with great spiritual teachers that I have followed for years. But at the same time, I am struggling deeply with leaving Cambodia.

Here in Cambodia I have drastically changed on a fundamental level. I was recently reading old private writings from when I first arrived, and I was shocked at how angry and chaotic my poor heart was. I used to carry so much fear, judgment, and shame. There was a disconnectedness within myself. And while I can look back at who I was with love, I also know how terribly broken she was. If I'm being honest, there is a part of me that is afraid of losing all of this growth when I leave the place that was the catalyst for my new life.

I'm still broken, but I am moving toward wholeness. I am learning to unite my spirit and my mind. Learning to be authentic and brave and full. While still struggling with the ego-driven need to explain my decision and validate my experience. In that I've been clinging to these images and analogies of what the next two years will be. I previously talked about how I was given the phrase that it will be a time of "cleaning the sacred spaces".

Yesterday I met an amazing woman who spent 16 years working in South Africa with the AIDS crisis (and a host of social issues stemming from that). She carried such an excitement and support for my journey, even after knowing me for only a few hours. She gave me the image of a seal, and said she believes that's what this journey will be for me. A time of sealing together my bond with the Divine, so that nothing threatens to separate these parts of myself. A time of bringing about unity and authenticity.

I've got to tell you guys- as scary as it is to look ahead to such a huge transition, it's also invigorating to know that there is so much more ahead than I ever could have known. I'm only at the beginning of this grand journey through life, and I am beyond amazed at all I have seen and have yet to see. All I have known and have yet to know. Thank you all for coming alongside me in this grand wilderness. 

The Hardest Part

I had a call with my grandmother this week. She told me she has been diagnosed with cancer and is beginning chemotherapy soon. I have been struggling to understand the severity of the situation. A world away I can only know what other people tell me. I try to read between the lines of their messages, hoping they hold the answer for me. Wishing they would tell me how much I am allowed to worry and how much it is okay to cry..

You see my grandma is radiant. She is the kindest, most loving and optimistic soul that ever lived. I have never once heard her speak a negative or cynical word. Even in immense pain, her words will never show it. The only thing that exposes her is the twinkling sadness in her eyes. But I can't see that from here, I can't know for certain how she is feeling in the depths of her heart. 

Just last week I was speaking to a friend here in Cambodia about my grandmother. I spent some time talking about how lovely she is, and mentioned that I have always imagined I would move to Canada with her when she gets old and sick. "That won't be for a long time though..." I said with certainty. 

Now the time is here and yet I know it's not time for me to be there. In my head I know she is in capable hands, I know she has an amazing community where she is that will care for her as she fights this. 

My whole heart is with her while she goes through these treatments. But my body is here in Cambodia. And that is the hardest part, being torn as my heart is literally a world away. 

The Time that Fear Steals

I am back home, but continuing to pray about and reflect on my time in India. As I do this, one little girl is constantly on my heart. The image of her rare, yet stunning smile is imprinted on my mind. The joy she brought me is infused with regret for the time I missed with her. 

My first day working in this orphanage of handicapped children I heard her before I saw her. She screamed and wailed from her crib. When I went to console her, she attacked me. As the helpers carried her off of me kicking and screaming, they told me to leave her alone when she cries. Unable to ignore her sadness, I later asked one of the nuns if there was something we could do. As the nun tried to help, she also was attacked. The helpers sternly told me to leave her be. 

So I did. For almost two weeks I tried my best to ignore her screams and focus on the other children. 

But eventually it became too much, I couldn't stand by while she wept anymore. So I slowly approached her. I methodically spent a few minutes only standing near her crib, praying under my breath. Then I spent a few minutes with my hand on the bed, then a few minutes with my hand gently on her back. Suddenly she jumped up and grabbed me, pulling me into her crib. Before I knew it she was sobbing into my lap with her arms wrapped around my waist. We sat there until her tears finally stopped flowing. 

Then she looked up at me with her bright eyes, hugged me and then dug her face into my lap once again. 

We were nearly inseparable for the next week and a half. The nuns told me it was difficult to get her out of the crib, so her and I began to go for walks around the room. When she was well enough to handle it, we would play. When she was too overwhelmed to play, she would again lay in my lap and cry until she was ready. 

That last week with her was amazing. Each moment felt like a second and an eternity. As our time came to a close, I mourned all of the time we had lost. I thought about how much more we could have done if I would have come to her sooner. 

My fear kept me from connecting. My fear stole the moments that could have been. 

While this was an extreme example, I realize I do this all of the time. I keep relationships at arms length because I am afraid of being a disappointment, I silence my dreams because I am afraid they will not come to fruition, I stay too long because I am afraid of who I will be when I leave. How often do I let fear win? How often do I wait far too long to follow a calling because it seems out of reach? 

Fear has stolen too much from me. So now I will protect these moments. With a padlock of bravery and openness, I will keep fear out of these decisions of the heart. 

Dear Mercedes,

I have dreamt of working with Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity in Kolkata since I was an 8 year old girl. Seeing this dream fulfilled makes me think of who I was then, before trauma and confusion entered my life. Also recognizing who I am now, and why that trauma was so valuable in the end. In honor of this, I wanted to write a letter to 8 year old Mercedes. 

Dear Mercedes, 

You are such a beautiful soul. It was only a year ago when you had the dream that became your calling. I know you spend the days thinking about different ways you can help others. Don't ever let that go. Your love for others is what will carry you through the most difficult parts of life. 

Keep learning with an open mind. The world is vast and you have so much to see, never let the opportunities for growth pass you by. You will find that the directions you least expected to be fruitful are the ones that will define you. 

Let yourself feel the full spectrum of emotions, even the ones that don't come naturally to you. I know anger, fear, and jealousy are uncomfortable for you. But you need those emotions to stay alive. When you close yourself off to your own feelings, you become numb. I can assure you numbness is the greatest pain. 

Never believe them when they say you are broken or defective. Your life is not a mistake or an afterthought, it's an expression of Love. The cracks you acquire are where the Light comes out, treat them with tenderness and respect. Resist the urge to cover them up and pretend they never happened. 

Always help others with a smile. At the moment you realize you're no longer smiling, step back and take the time to help yourself. You are a force to be reckoned with when you are healthy and whole, but your sickness has the potential to destroy yourself and others if you leave it unchecked. 

Thank you for being who you are- you have taught me how to love myself. 

Sincerely,

Mercy (age 23) 

P.S. You will have the curly hair you dreamt of one day.