in search of stories

 I was chatting with a friend recently when I had a sudden realization: I don't remember things from my own past in terms of stories. 

Let me try and explain this. While some people can narrate incidents in their lives with blow-by-blow description as a series of events from start to finish, I experience past incidents more like snapshots, or "vignettes." For example, I remember walking the three miles to school with my brother when he was 18 and I was 15, during Ramadan, watching the sun rise above the horizon haze of harmattan, the feel of the dust in my mouth and the scent of cookfires wafting around us. There is no series of events, though, no beginning or end. I suppose we started at home and finished at school, but nothing took place in the middle except for our walking. I could describe this to you in detail, but it's not a story. 

From another angle, I can remember on my 13th birthday, the van that took us to school broke down about halfway to school, and we had to walk the rest of the way, making us late. My science teacher, Mr. Busse, was irritated by our being late, and I feel like maybe I missed a quiz or something. And then I had to go out into our class "garden" to water the row of plants I was supposed to be growing with Oksana. In the dry season. Which meant hauling buckets to and from the nearest spigot when the city water was on. That's all. I can remember this happened, but I can't tell it as a story because I have no details in my mind. It's not a narrative with any meaning or message. It just happened.

It's like my memories are one or the other: just a brief explanation of events without detail and sensory memory; or a snapshot of sensory memory without a series of events. I have very, very few memories that include both a series of events and descriptions that I can enmesh into what most people would call a story.

And I know it's not about my age and fading memory. I do remember things, sometimes vividly. Nor is it about my writing ability, as I feel fairly confident in my skills to convey my thoughts. It's just that my memories aren't stored in my brain in story format.

On some level I wonder if this is part of something bigger in my brain. When I was a child, pre-adolescence, I liked to write stories. But as I grew into my writing as a teenager, I started to only enjoy writing memoirs or retelling existing stories. And now I couldn't come up with an interesting story from my imagination to save my life. If you gave me a plot and some key characters, I could probably write you a story, but if you expected me to create something from scratch, I don't think I could do it. Did my imagination just switch off when I turned 13? Or does it have to do with my inability to visualize things in my head, aphantasia? I have no idea.

All I can tell you is that with very few exceptions, I cannot find stories to tell. I can describe to you the sensory memories I have--what things smelled, looked, tasted, sounded, and felt like--but I have no stories. And this makes me incredibly sad.

Star Trek: The Cruise VIII Reflections

Two years ago, my bestie Laura took me on a Star Trek cruise (Cruise VI) to celebrate our being 40 (even though it sailed the year we both turned 41). It was amazing – if a little overwhelming and also exhausting. We thought it would be a “once in a lifetime” experience—and it was, sort of. Apparently, a lot of Star Trek cruisegoers say the same thing… and then rebook for the next year before they even get off the ship! I didn’t do that, but I did follow a Facebook group for the next year’s cruise and enjoyed the excitement of everyone who did rebook. I lived vicariously through their fabulous adventures on Cruise VII. And as soon as booking opened for Cruise VIII, I signed up. It was reckless and foolhardy and fiscally irresponsible, I admit. But I did it. 

And I have no regrets. I booked the cheapest cabin available, hoping that Laura could go with me but knowing in reality it was very unlikely due to her work duties. After a few weeks, I saw a post in the Facebook group advertising a Zoom meeting for anyone who wanted to join, to just ask questions or get to know other people who would be on Cruise VIII. I joined, a little reluctantly, one Sunday afternoon in late spring, and I was greeted by a bunch of random, friendly people. Most of them didn’t know each other, so we did lots of introductions. People who hadn’t been on a cruise before asked questions, and those of us who had been before got to answer. This Zoom meeting happened once a month through the summer, then every other week through the end of the year, and finally it met weekly after the new year until the cruise.

At first, this had been a random group of people who popped in to say hello and ask questions, give recommendations for packing lists, cosplay ideas, input on the shore excursions, helpful hints on door decorations, the works. But over time, the group took on a life of its own and became a crew. No, seriously, one of our Zoom members decided to create a ship, and we were all going to be crew members on the ship. It was named after the person who initiated the Zoom calls (much to her embarrassment—sorry, Martyna!), and we decided Ron had to be our captain since he was the leader on this project. Other Zoom members created artistic designs for the ship, both the exterior and the bridge, and another person started writing our story. Over the months between the first Zoom call and the cruise, a core crew showed up more often than not, always welcoming new members and still continuing to answer questions and generally hype up the cruise. While I only spoke in the Zoom calls when directly addressed (Ron always asks what I’m crocheting), I got to know the other crew members, and we became friends. The crew grew to about 50 people, with a core of maybe 25 who were consistently on the Zoom calls. 

We started messaging each other during the week between Zoom calls, at first about things we planned to do on the cruise. It came up that some of us really enjoyed tea, so a few of the crew offered to put together tea kits for anyone interested. We also chatted about shore excursions and cosplay plans. But the chats were not limited to cruise plans, and they, too, took on a life of their own. We chatted about life and politics and funny memes and food, whatever. 

Many of us had planned to arrive in our departure city, Miami, a couple days before the cruise (always a good idea when traveling in winter), so we planned an in-person meetup at one of our hotels and then a dinner together the night before sailing. One of our crewmates who lives in Miami put in a reservation at a Cuban restaurant for 30 people, but we ended up exceeding our space! Ron presented Martyna with a plaque for the ship’s ready room and presented our author, Britt, with a hand-bound book of our crew’s story; and we celebrated with cake. It was amazing to see these amazing humans in person whom I’d been getting to know slowly over months via Zoom and WhatsApp. They were every bit as lively and kind as I’d come to expect.

The next day, we sailed. Getting to the ship was a headache due to the tunnel closure and unexpected traffic (what should have been a 20-minute drive took over 2 hours), which meant I was not able to meet up with my crewmates as early as I’d hoped. But meet up we did, at the sail-away party. Ron had handmade magnetic badges just for our crew, and the Dutchies brought crew uniform shirts with them all the way from the Netherlands. We got a lovely photo together—as many of us as could make it—up on deck.

The rest of the cruise is a bit of a blur—lots of running around, waiting in line for photo ops, and giggling. The Star Trek cruise is just incredible. Obviously, a huge part of it is getting to see the actors in real life, hear their stories, see their talents (besides acting), and rub shoulders with them in the turbolifts and at the dining hall. But the other huge part of what makes the cruise incredible is the fandom. If you’re not a Star Trek fan, you might not know much about their ideology and value system, so let me give you the briefest explanation: Trekkies are open-minded, compassionate, inclusive thinkers with a shared vision of a future Earth that is inclusive and equitable. One of the fundamental values of Star Trek fans is diversity and inclusion. From its inception, Star Trek was designed to broaden horizons and cross social boundaries. Gene Roddenberry was very clear about the vision. While The Original Series aired during the height of the Civil Rights movement, each series that followed has continued to push boundaries and demand its viewers actively think about deep ethical issues. Sure, it’s entertainment, and on some level, it’s out there to make some big bucks. But on a deeper level, the fans (and many of the actors) truly believe in the values of Star Trek and strive to make the world a better place.

So in this political climate, being on a cruise with 2500+ likeminded people was so soothing. You could strike up a conversation with a stranger while waiting in line and know that not only did they love Star Trek, but they also loved democracy and human rights. You knew they were also tired of the new U.S. regime and would fight for something better. For that one week, even though the schedule was tiring, it was also the most relaxed and seen I’ve felt in years. Of course, not only was I surrounded by thousands of likeminded fans, but I was also a member of a tight-knit crew who accepted and appreciated me as I am. I would always have someone to eat meals with if I wanted company. If I wanted to go to a show or seminar, I just had to reach out in our chat group to find out who was going and had maybe already gotten us seats. Even on my excursion in Mexico, I was adopted by a crewmember and random stranger we met on the shuttle bus to the Mayan ruins. I was not alone. And even though my companion that day was tall and gorgeous and smart and funny, she made me feel special and appreciated instead of fat and ugly. (Thank you, Masha!) 

My crew is amazing. It has been a month since the cruise, and we’re still active in our chats, still doing regular Zoom calls. The others are mostly getting ready for the next cruise (IX), which will be celebrating Star Trek’s 60th birthday. Even though I won’t be joining them, it’s still fun to be part of the crew, part of something special. Yes, these friends may be thousands of miles away and on different continents, but we are a family. It sounds crazy and idyllic and maybe like I’m romanticizing something that was just a fun cruise, but I’m really not. It was that powerful an experience. I’ve literally never in my life wanted to visit Europe because I am monolingual and terrified of being the dumb American who can’t speak French or Spanish, but now I hope that someday I get to visit my new friends in Czechia, Norway, Spain, Belgium, and the Netherlands (and someday Croatia). I’ve never been able to make local friends here, but these are real friends even from far away, and they see me.

I may not be going on the cruise next year, or maybe ever again, but I’m thankful for this magical group of people, my crew. I’m sure the high cannot last, and we will grow apart, but I’m still grateful for the time that we’ve had and the joy that we’ve all shared. It has truly been an awesome experience.

(Cruise X in 2027 will be celebrating 40 years of The Next Generation if anyone wants to plan way ahead…)

My Reflections playlist - Part 8 (2013-2021)

In September 2013, my husband walked out and didn't come back. By that point, having started talking to people about what was going on, I was neither surprised nor even devastated. I was relieved.

64. "Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)" by Kelly Clarkson - The night D called to say he wasn't coming home, I'm sure that I cried. But the next morning, I got online and started applying to jobs, and I started learning how to be independent. I didn't know at the time whether he would come back, or whether this was The End, so I jumped in with both feet and prepared to be a single mom. This song carried me through the next year of divorce proceedings and the year after that of having to learn to co-parent. This is still one of my most loved songs (although I don't actually believe the lyrics).

65. "Evermore" by Dan Stevens - I just love this song. I watched the film three times in the theater (or was it four?). I fell in love with Dan Stevens' voice and memorized the song. The kids probably got sick of it because I listened to it so many times. I wanted to learn the words from listening rather than from reading lyrics. I know the film did weird stuff to his voice, but his actual voice is one of my absolute favorites. I now own two audiobooks that he narrates and will keep looking for more.

66. "I'll Never Love Again" by Lady Gaga (& Bradley Cooper) - The  movie A Star is Born destroyed me. I watched it once and may not be able to ever watch it again. It was so intense and so brutally sad. Not that I didn't love it, and for sure this song and "Shallow" are on my long-term favorite songs list. But the depth of grief I experienced during the film is not something I would choose to go through again anytime soon.

67. "This is Me" by Keala Settle & The Greatest Showman Ensemble - Best. Song. Ever. One of the results of my divorce was - understandably - a feeling of diminished self-worth. I am fat. I am ugly. I am lazy. I'm a horrible mom. I'm apparently also a horrible wife. OK, but even if that were all true (which I know intellectually it's not), this is who I am. I shouldn't have to apologize for who I am. And this song is a reminder that I am worthy of love.

68. "Wonderful Life" by Zendaya - The film Small Foot may seem like just another cute animated flick, but I really appreciated this song and the message that questioning established beliefs is healthy. During 45's presidency and as a result of his being elected by such a large portion of White Evangelicals, I started asking questions, trying to be a "seeker of the truth." This song made me feel validated in my questions. Plus it's Zendaya. That is enough.

69. "Portals" by Alan Silvestri - I was a super latecomer to the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU). After seeing Black Panther in the theater on the recommendation of many friends, I watched the existing 16 films (excluding the Hulk ones) in time to see Avengers: Infinity War before it left theaters two months later. I was hooked. This song from Avengers: Endgame feels to me like the climax of the MCU. It is the triumph of good over evil in the midst of pain and great loss. It is hope.

70. "C'est La Vie" by Khaled - My niece (age 3 at the time) loved this song so much that one evening when we were over at their house visiting (before Covid), she begged my sister to play it for us. And we danced! How can you listen to this song and not dance? Of course, she didn't understand the words, and I don't understand any of the Arabic, but that doesn't in any way diminish our enjoyment of it. Loving and dancing; that's the life!

I don't have any songs for Covid, although I'm sure I could think of some if I wanted to. But these songs really are still echoing in my mind even now, so this will have to be enough for the time being. Thanks for coming on this journey with me!

My Reflections playlist - Part 7 (2006-2013)

In 2006, I returned to Nigeria and got married. It may not have been the happiest day of my life, but my friends and family worked exceedingly hard to make it a lovely and beautiful day. I'm so grateful! And I'm ashamed that my marriage went sideways after all the wonderful people who helped me celebrate its beginning.

56. "One Voice" by The Wailin' Jennys - My brother introduced me to this song, and he sang it together with my sister and me at my wedding. I adore it. 

57. "Back to December" by Taylor Swift - I associate this song with San Diego, and so I thought that it must have come out when I lived there in 2005-2006, and I heard it on the radio during my hour-long commute that year. But it didn't! It came out in 2010, so I have no clue why it makes me think of San Diego. But it does, for whatever reason, and it brings out all the wistful feelings.

58. "Jesus, Take the Wheel" by Carrie Underwood - We moved to the U.S. in January 2009, just after Obama's inauguration. Right away, things were hard. We stayed with my amazing extended family for a couple of months, but finding work and creating a path forward was more challenging than either of us had expected. Without a good job, our first four years in the States put pressure on us as a couple, as a family, and on me as a person. I often felt completely out of control of my life, like all I could do was hang on for the ride.

59. "Rue's Farewell" by James Newton Howard - During this time, when the kids were still super little, I rediscovered my love for books. (I'd had to take an extensive reading break after college.) When Facebook friends mentioned the film The Hunger Games, I immediately went out and bought the books and devoured them. While the whole trilogy is melancholy, this song... Just tears.

60. "Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood - Carrie's got some fantastic jaded-woman songs. This is my favorite, but "Two Black Cadillacs" is right up there, too. While I was not (to my knowledge) the victim of cheating, this song encapsulates all the bitterness and anger that led up to the end of my marriage. Love love love this song. At the time, I created a Pandora station to catch all my favorite angry-woman country songs. It was glorious.

61. "Need You Now (How Many Times)" by Plumb - This was my theme song for 2012 and 2013. Everything was falling apart. This was another scream-the-lyrics-in-the-car-while-sobbing song. 

62. "Dumbledore's Farewell" by Nicholas Hooper - This song is representative in a way the others aren't. I don't even know if I watched Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Price during this period, though I had seen it before. But this song is a stand-in for April 2013, when my grandpa died. I had waited too long to go see him and was literally on my way there when I got the call that he had passed. This song is for Grampa.

63. "The Parting Glass" by The High Kings - After my grandfather died, my family got together in California, including my dad, who flew all the way from Nigeria. I left the kids with relatives in Georgia, where we lived at the time, and flew out by myself. During that week, we watched Waking Ned Devine in my grampa's honor, as my aunt said he had enjoyed the film. I've heard several versions of this song, including the one in the film, but this is my favorite. It speaks to me of that week with my family, of saying a final goodbye to Grampa, but also of coming clean to my family about what was happening in my marriage, and saying goodbye to that, too. 

So here we are in 2013. The week with my family for my grampa's memorial was the end of many things but also a new beginning. Looking back, I can see the signs so clearly that were still murky at the time. 

My Reflections playlist - Part 6 (2003-2006)

 This part covers my last year of college and the two years afterward leading up to my marriage.

49. "American Soldier" by Toby Keith - Let me say right off the bat that I'm not a Toby Keith fan. But this song was my anchor when first, in 2002, my best friend Ruth joined the Army ROTC and transferred to a different college, and then that same year my friend Ethan joined the Army Reserves and was shipped off to Iraq in early 2003. My roommate went off to war protests in downtown Chicago, and I listened to this song and thought of my friends in uniform and cried.

50. "My Immortal" by Evanescence - While I can't say I identify directly with the lyrics to the song, the anguish spoke to me at a time when I was already going through a lot. That is all.

51. "Babylon 5" by Christopher Franke - Sometime in 2003, I met a Wheaton alumnus who lived in the neighborhood, as we had mutual friends, and he invited us all over to his house every week for a meal and Babylon 5. I'd never heard of the show - or maybe I had, in Galaxy Quest? - and I have to admit it took a couple seasons to grow on me. But grow on me it did. During Lent of my senior year, I gave up sweets, so we moved to watching B5 only on Sundays because the tension and stress of the episodes led to my requiring chocolate, and I could only eat chocolate on Sundays. Yes, we were crazy and silly, but gosh darn it, I love the show. Especially Ivanova.

52. "He's a Pirate" by Klaus Badelt - My roommate really liked Pirates of the Caribbean and had the soundtrack, so we listened to this song quite a lot my senior year. I'm not complaining. It was awesome.

53. "Into the West" by Annie Lennox - All three Lord of the Rings films came out while I was in college, and this song, like U2's "Grace" the year before, often took me off to dreamland in tears. I think of Frodo and his pain and his release. I think of the kindred spirits he left behind. I think of Elrond sailing away without his daughter. So. Many. Tears. The only time I've watched the Oscars is in 2004 when Return of the King made a clean sweep. This link is from that night's show.

54. "He Goes to Church" by The Cherryholmes - A year after I graduated, in 2005, I moved to California. I got to spend a lot of time with my grandparents and my aunt and uncle. One weekend, my aunt and uncle took me to a concert for a band I'd never heard of, a family called The Cherryholmes. I had never heard bluegrass before and fell in love with it - well, with this group in particular. And the frosting on the proverbial cake was that Christopher Guest and Jamie Lee Curtis were also in the audience that night! Fangirl squee! (I didn't see them, but just knowing they were there in the same room, breathing the same air, was exhilarating.) For the record, I'm not advocating this song as a true understanding of heaven, but it's sad and sweet, and I like it.

55. "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson - Like "My Immortal," this song may not have spoken to my own life in its lyrics, but I identified with the raw pain and anger. (It's complicated.) And I have since learned that Kelly Clarkson is my birthday twin, so I love this song all the more. (Of course, it means something completely different to me now.)

This brings me up to 2006, when I returned to Nigeria as a bride.

My Reflections playlist - Part 5 (2000-2003)

In June 2000, I came back to the U.S. and prepared for college. This set covers my first three years of college.

40. "God Bless the U.S.A." by Lee Greenwood - In July 2000, I attended a "re-entry seminar" for MKs who were all coming to the U.S. for college after living overseas. We went to Knott's Berry Farm (an amusement park), where they had a patriotic laser and fireworks show for the Fourth. This song played, and as I stood next to the other MKs, I was - perhaps for the first time - actually proud to be an American.

41. "Strangers Like Me" by Phil Collins - As a missionary kid coming "home" to the U.S., I felt like an imposter. This song summed up the experience so well. My best friend Ruth was also an MK, and we both saw ourselves in this film (Tarzan) and loved watching it together.

42. "Hallelujah" by Rufus Wainwright - Sometime during my first two years of college, one of our faculty sang a version of this song in chapel. I didn't know him at the time, I'd never heard the song before, and I was deeply moved. (He later became my favorite prof, and only after I'd taken his class did I find out it was he who had sung in chapel.) I'm now perplexed that they let him sing this in chapel at our Evangelical college.

43. "On My Own" by Samantha Berks - I have never been lucky in love. I get Eponine. I completely get her. Once, while I was studying Anthropology (or was it Geology?) in the hallway with my friend Elisabeth, I started humming this, and she told me she'd sung it in a talent show in high school. I wish I could have heard her sing it! Those first two years of college, I did a lot of walking alone and often sang this to myself as I walked. (The Spotify song is from the film, but this YouTube version is from the 10th anniversary concert, which was actually my first exposure to the show and remains my favorite cast, with Terrence Mann as Javert.)

44. "Where's the Girl?" by Terrence Mann - Speaking of Terrence Mann... I've never seen The Scarlet Pimpernel musical. My friend Megan played this song for me once, and afterward our mutual friend would sing it occasionally. Having not seen the show nor read the book, I'm hazy on the context of the song, but I find it haunting and darkly mesmerizing.

45. "Rise Up, O Men of God" by Heart & Voice - This is the "theme" song of the Wheaton College Men's Glee Club. They started every concert by singing it as they entered the chapel. (Or at least, that's how I remember it.) While I loved all the Wheaton musical groups, especially the Women's Chorale of which I was part my senior year, it was no secret that Glee Club was my favorite. They were treated as kind of a fraternity, which I always found weird and uncomfortable, but their voices were exquisite. (The YouTube version linked here is actually the Men's Glee Club, though not during my time at Wheaton.)

46. "Break in the Cup" by David Wilcox - Halfway through my junior year, I had what you might call a psychological break. I went through a relationship split that led to therapy, and in the fallout from that, I heard the term "codependent" for the very first time. This was life-changing. And as my roommate's David Wilcox CD was the soundtrack for this emotional crisis, this song made me feel seen.

47. "White Flag" by Dido - Recovering from my breakdown took months. I slept a lot. I missed more class than I should have missed. I drove a lot. And I sang this song every time it came on the radio when I drove, putting the volume up as high as it went, belting out the lyrics and sobbing. 

48. "Grace" by U2 - My roommate also had the new U2 album, and the first time she played "Grace" for me, I burst into tears. For weeks after my break, she would gently nudge me into sleep at night by playing "Grace" on repeat until I finally drifted off. And this song gave me strength to push through and move on.

This may seem like a weird place to pause, as it was in the middle of my college years. And since I went to a college that had a conservatory of music, there are lots of songs I could add. But "Grace" marks a change in my life, as I picked up the broken pieces and learned to move forward through pain but to let others help me if I needed it. That was a monumental step for me. It's been so many years, and yet I know to this day that if not for my roommate at the time and for my sister doing her darnedest to help me when I was just so dang reluctant to reach out--without them, I literally wouldn't have survived that experience. So here's to Lisa and Heather, true heroes.

My Reflections playlist - Part 4 (1999-2000)

 My senior year of high school was busy and full. I did crazy things like keep score at basketball games and work on the yearbook. In some ways, it was a hard year, as all but one of my friends were in National Honor Society, but I hadn't gotten in, and that was A Big Deal. But I was on the praise team and starred in the senior play, so that was obviously something. For the most part, it was a fantastic year, so these songs are all pretty upbeat.

34. "Cotton Eye Joe" by Rednex - I haven't the foggiest what this song is about, but every time it came on during a party, it made me start to move my feet. I don't dance; let's be clear on that. And I avoided parties when I could. But this song is all it took to get me at least tapping my foot. It will always make me laugh and remember some party we went to at Sofia's house that year.

35. "Macarena" by Los del Rio - Again, a song that reminds me of the parties I avoided. I mean, geez, they were loud enough that I could hear the music just fine from sitting outside with my cold bottle of Coke and a cup of popcorn or a no-bake, as were the treats at our school parties. But this one I actually learned the dance for - thanks again to Sofia. I'll always associate this song with her.

36. "Baby Shark" by Pinkfong - Yes, OK, so this has become a global phenomenon in the past few years, but I learned this song from William Gordon during my senior year of high school. He first sang it to my little brother Luke, who was a toddler at the time. We'd make the motions and laugh hysterically. And William didn't sing the kid-friendly version...

37. "Speechless" by Steven Curtis Chapman - For whatever reason, this song will always make me think of my friend John, who was a year behind me in school. I can't remember now why, but it had something to do with being in class together - U.S. History or Government - and listening to it together. My memory fails at the details, but it was a happy moment.

38. "Lost in the Wilderness" by Stephen Schwartz and sung by Darius DeHaas - The most significant event of my senior year was our spring musical, Children of Eden. I'd be surprised if you've heard of it, but I highly recommend it. It blew my mind. I got to be part of the Chorus, and it was very possibly the best experience of my teenage years. I laughed. I cried. The cast felt like a family. Spotify doesn't have lots of songs from the show, but this is one of my favorites anyway. For a little Christian international school in Africa, we put together a pretty amazing show. All the feels.

39. "Life is Beautiful" by Michelle Tumes - This was around the time I first heard Michelle Tumes, and this song in particular made its way into my heart. As I wrapped up my childhood and prepared to move back to the U.S., probably permanently, this song seemed to embody my life. 

In June 2000, I graduated from high school and returned to the U.S. for college.

My Reflections playlist - Part 3 (1997-1999)

This part of the playlist only spans for two years, but they were pretty significant years in my life - 10th grade in the U.S. being homeschooled because my compassionate parents agreed not to force me to attend a public high school; and 11th grade back in Nigeria, the first half of which I lived without my parents and four+ months of which I lived in a dorm.

22. "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" by Andrew Lloyd Weber & Emmy Rossum - My mom's college friend took us to New York City in July 1997, when I was 15, and we got to see The Phantom of the Opera. I became obsessed with the musical and listened to the highlights CD (all I had at the time) probably several hundred times over the next year. I'm not sure why, but this was my favorite song from the show.

23. "Hold Me Jesus" by Rich Mullins - I hadn't heard much Rich Mullins music before this. We'd sung the chorus of "Awesome God" in chapel, but I had no idea it was a longer song, nor that it was by Rich Mullins. Then in the fall of 1997, he was killed in a car accident, and suddenly I discovered his music, a treasure trove. This song in particular brought solace during this year of what I considered forced exile from my friends in Nigeria. 

24. "Hymn to the Sea" by James Horner - I went to see Titanic not once, not twice, but three times when it came out. (I have since done this with other films, but at the time, it was considered ridiculous. I don't care.) I love love love this film. It makes me ugly cry every time, and this song rips my heart out of my chest whenever I hear it. Every.Single.Time. Sometimes when I've been in a melancholy mood but haven't been able to cry (this actually happens quite often), I've put on this film just so I can have a good cry. And no, I was not in love with Leo. I just loved the film and its music.

25. "The Message" by 4Him - During this year in the U.S., one of the things that gave me solace was Christian contemporary music. I didn't have much to spend babysitting money on, so I bought lots of CDs. One of my favorite groups was 4Him, and I loved this guy's voice in particular because it was right in my range. I'm not sure exactly why, but this album reminds me of happy times hanging out with a guy who lived next-door for about 6 weeks and made life tolerable at the time.

26. "Star Trek: Voyager - Main Title" by Jerry Goldsmith - While I had discovered Star Trek: Voyager during our furlough in 1994 during its first season and had started watching it any way I could when we went back to Nigeria, this was the first time I could watch it live on UPN each week. We had a rabbit-ear antenna, so the picture wasn't fantastic, but Jonathan and I watched it religiously when it aired and enjoyed reruns when it didn't. Although TNG will always be my first love, VOY is my true favorite.

27. "Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx - This song says it all. "Oceans apart day after day..." This was my theme song during that 10th grade year. I missed my friends desperately.

28.  "And Still" by Reba McEntire - Finally, the summer of '98, I returned to Nigeria. My parents were originally going to join me after a few weeks, but life happened, and I ended up being there without them for seven months. For the first two months, I lived with my best friend's family, who are from Georgia/Louisiana, and I was introduced to country music. We listened to  a lot of country music that summer, but this was definitely my favorite. So wistful and sad. I've sung it to myself dozens of times over the years since. Oh, the angst! (Just watched the music video for the first time ever, and it's a weird one. I'm not sure how the visit to a developing country fits into my idea of the song...)

29. "The Hairbrush Song" by VeggieTales - Another thing I discovered when I returned to Nigeria was VeggieTales. My friends loved it, and we would watch it at sleepovers, just laughing uproariously as we were pumped on on sugar and caffeine. Larryboy was our hero.

30. "Johnny's Camaro" by David Wilcox - I first heard this song in January '97 when it was pretty new, but I associate it with later in high school for some reason. I wanted to be Laura in this song. Somehow it made me feel strong and powerful as a teenage girl growing up in Africa. (While this is fine in Spotify, this YouTube link to a live performance is way better.)

31. "No Need to Argue" by The Cranberries - One thing about having been gone for a year in the middle of high school was that my friendships shifted significantly in by absence. Who knows what happened or why things changed? All I knew was that one of my best friends had changed and would continue to change, taking her farther away from me. 

32. "Common Ground" by Sierra - I listened to this song over and over again, and I even played it for my friend who was drifting away. It didn't help and perhaps pushed her farther away. I didn't understand why, but as a result, this song represents my junior year of high school.

33. "Johnny's Soliloquy" by Harve Presnell - Twenty-plus years later, this song still pulls at my heartstrings. My junior year of high school, we performed The Unsinkable Molly Brown. I had a teeny tiny part, but I still got to be at all the rehearsals. And the guy who played the lead role of Johnny was just outstanding. It's a heart-wrenching song but brings back a flood of memories.

That gets us through 11th grade. My senior year was very full and has lots of songs, so I'm saving a separate post for that year.

My Reflections playlist - Part 2 (1991-1997)

This part covers our first two terms in Nigeria and the year of furlough in between them. 

12. "We Will Rock You" by Queen - This song is at the end of the film Mighty Ducks, which was shown at a movie night at our school in Nigeria. I don't remember watching the film on the big screen, but I do remember this song and our response to it. I'd never heard of Queen (and didn't actually know this was sung by Queen until I was in my early 30s), but this song was so catchy. We loved stomping our feet and clapping but had no idea what any of the words were except "We will, we will rock you." 

13. "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men - I don't honestly think I'd ever listened to this whole song before putting together this playlist. I'm not a fan at all. Not even a little. But the chorus of this song takes me back to the day my friend Ruth drove away for the last time. It was 1993, and she'd been my neighbor and one of my best friends for the two years we'd lived in Nigeria. Her family was moving to Ethiopia, so who knew when we'd see each other again, if ever. So as Ruth and her family drove out the compound gates of Niger Creek (to drive the five hours to the airport city), my friend Meaghan and I ran after the van, singing "We've come to the end of the road..." It felt like an ending. I had no way of knowing my family would stay in touch with Ruth's over the next few decades, and I'd even get to line dance at Ruth's wedding 11 years later.

14. "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin - This was the first non-Sunday-school song that I memorized from start to finish. It was one of the songs on a family mixtape of '70s music that we called "the pop tape." I'm not sure why I decided to memorize it, aside from its being mellow and mentioning cats. But we were on a family vacation at a river down south, and I used a portable tape recorder to play the song over and over again until I learned all the words. (The next song on the tape was "Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver.)

15. "Hero" by Mariah Carey - We came back to the U.S. halfway through my sixth grade year due to a family medical emergency. I spent 1994 at a public middle school in L.A., and it was a pretty crummy year for the most part. But I got to be in Chorus as an elective, and this is one of the songs we sang. I'd never heard of Mariah Carey and didn't even know this was her song until years later, but I loved it right away.

16. "Star Trek: The Next Generation Main Title" by Jerry Goldsmith - During this year of furlough, we had cable TV for the first (and last) time ever. Before we moved to Nigeria, I'd been accustomed to PBS shows and cartoons. Now I could watch other things, like Get Smart on Nick at Nite. (Mom wouldn't let me watch Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie because they were about magic.) And I discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation and immediately fell in love with it. I have loved Star Trek ever since.

17. "I'll Be There" by The Escape Club - I heard this song sometime in seventh grade while I was in the U.S. I had exactly one true friend that year, Stephanie, and all the others were still in Nigeria. I missed them with every beat of my heart. I associate this song with being in Stephanie's house, so we must have listened to it on her radio, but the angst in the song made me incredibly homesick.

18. "(Everything I Do) I Do It for You" by Bryan Adams - I fell in love with this song once I returned to Nigeria and was surrounded by my friends again (and had a crush on a cute guy). I didn't see the film associated with this song until I was in college, but the song was on the radio in Nigeria quite a lot.  

 19. "Another Day in Paradise" by Phil Collins - When I think of this song, I think of realizing my privilege for the first time. I was probably 12 or 13 when I started to understand how privileged I was. In the U.S., I always felt poor. Kids made fun of my second-hand clothes and stupid hair. But when we went back to Nigeria and I finally started looking outside of myself, I began to see my life in contrast to those around me. So this is my epiphany song.

20. "Main Title (Seven Brides for Seven Brothers)" by Adolph Deutsch - To be fair, I haven't seen this film since high school, and I have a feeling the sexism would make me crazy nowadays. But I included this song because when I was in eighth grade, I got to be in the orchestra when my school performed this musical, and my brother had the lead role of Adam. Even though I was only in middle school, I got to go to school in the evening for rehearsals with Jonathan, and I loved it. We had a wonderful time! 

21. "Forgiving Eyes" by Michael Card - Can I just say that I love that Michael Card wrote a song from the perspective of the "adulterous" woman from John 8? I'd been listening to Michael Card's The Life for years by this point, but for whatever reason, this song struck me in a new way in about ninth grade. This song tells of a Jesus of compassion and empathy, who loves and forgives. It is the Jesus I want to love. 

This takes us up through the end of ninth grade, when my brother graduated from high school and we left Nigeria to return to the U.S. for another year.

My Reflections playlist - Part 1 (1982-1991)

 My brother recently created a playlist that represented his life, and I loved the idea so much I had to make my own "mixtape." I only started today, so it's still in process, but it provided lots of food for thought. Diving into my past to identify specific songs opened a floodgate of memories--both the good and the bad. And floodgates of memories lead me to want to write, almost always. So I'm going to tell you what songs I put on my playlist and why. After I've gone through the whole playlist, I'll post the Spotify link, but until then, here are YouTube links.

1. "Sing" by The Carpenters - This is probably one of the first songs I ever heard, and I'm almost positive I heard it on vinyl. We had a record player when I was little, and in nursery school and Sunday school, we sometimes got little kid-sized records of church songs to sing. This song brings back happy memories of being a little kid and being surrounded by music and singing.
2. "He Will Not Let You Fall" by the Worship Community (formerly Maranatha Music) - This is a song on an album we had called Psalms Alive! It is literally psalms from the Bible put to upbeat music. I don't know any of the words to this song except the chorus, but it reminds me of being little.
3. "1974" by Amy Grant - My siblings and I grew up on Amy Grant's early albums, and while this isn't necessarily my favorite of her songs, it's the one that takes me back to first hearing Christian contemporary music. Even just the first few beats of the song sweep me away to our apartment in Los Angeles circa 1989.
4. "Luke and Leia" by John Williams - The first movie I remember watching is Return of the Jedi (aka Star Wars Episode VI). My brother had a little stuffed animal Ewok (Wicket), and I adored Leia's hair in the scene of this song. It was so long and wavy and perfect. I wanted hair like hers, but I wasn't good at brushing it, and my mom hacked it off. So little Sara lived vicariously through Leia in this scene and its song.
5. "Are You Goin' to Narnia" by the 2nd Chapter of Acts - One of our family favorite albums was Roar of Love by 2nd Chapter of Acts. It uses music to tell the story of C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and I have loved it for as long as I can remember. I heard this album well before I read the book, so in some ways, this is more beloved.
6. "Gabriel's Oboe" by Ennio Morricone - I saw bits and pieces of this movie from the place just inside the hallway where my parents couldn't see me from the couch. I was probably 7 or 8. It wasn't long before I got to see the full movie, as it's one of our family favorites, and this song has haunted me ever since. It is why the oboe is my favorite wind instrument. 
7. "So You Wanna Go Back to Egypt" by Keith Green - Keith Green died just after I was born. We had a 2-disc album of his greatest hits, and this was my personal favorite because I found it hilarious. I mean, you can imagine how funny "ba-manna bread" was when I was little. I loved that the song was about the Bible but was also funny. 
8. "Love Crusade" by Michael W. Smith - Like my token Amy Grant song in these early years, this is not my favorite MWS song. But it's the first song for which I consciously made an effort to learn the lyrics. My older brother learned the rap part in the middle, so of course I also had to learn it. This wasn't the first MWS album I listened to, either, but I have very specific memories of learning this song in our L.A. apartment when the album was brand new in 1990.
9. "The Man from Snowy River Concert Suite" by Bruce Rowland - This is another of the earliest movies I remember watching and a family favorite. It was also my first exposure to Australia. Little did I know that we'd soon move into a house with Australian neighbors.
10. "African Sanctus: 1. African Sanctus" by David Fanshawe -I can't fully express how this song makes me feel. I guess in the context of this list, I consider it my introduction to the idea of moving to Nigeria. It's so much more, but that's all I can say for now.
11. "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul, & Mary - Last but not least in this section, this song was our family theme in 1991 when we left the U.S. to make our home in Nigeria. (For the record, I know this is a John Denver song, but I didn't even hear his version until I was 17. I always associate this song with Peter, Paul, & Mary.) So OK, the whole song doesn't fit our situation at all, but we'd sing the chorus together. It was our song.

So that brings us to 1991 when we moved to Nigeria. I was nine years old.

What I didn't get to say

 Dear friend,

I read your name today and painfully remembered the last conversation we had. It was an exchange of text messages, and we were both hurting. I wanted you to understand, to not take his side, to back me up--but mostly to understand. I wanted you to see my pain and acknowledge it was legitimate. But you were hurt indirectly by my words against him. We were both so hurt, and instead of responding in a patient and loving manner, I avoided you. And within a couple of months, I'd moved away. We lost touch--mostly because I was so resentful--and I often wondered about you. Not enough to pick up my phone and send a text. Not enough to ask about you from the others I left behind. There was still that pain. 

And now that pain has turned to regret. If I had known that your days were so numbered, would I have reached out to you? Moved beyond my pain and asked your forgiveness? 

Our friendship was so short, and yet you brought me to life in a way I'd forgotten was possible. You made me laugh with your goofiness and got me through long days at work with wacky text messages. You were positive and made me feel likable at a time when I was struggling through recent divorce and raising two kids on my own. You were a deep thinker and made me examine my own thoughts and assumptions about life. You were a shoulder to lean on, with gentle hands to help untangle my yarn. I wish I had known you longer, known you sooner, before it all fell apart. I wish we could have been true friends. I wish we could have weathered the storm together instead of letting it tear us apart.

It's possible you never thought of me after we moved, after everything ended. You were social and surrounded by friends all the time, so maybe you didn't remember me. That would be OK. But I remembered you. And I wish I had taken the time to tell you I was sorry, to reach out again and enjoy your smile.

You believed your soul will live on with Jesus, so I'll hope that in some way you get a chance to see this. For whatever it's worth, I wanted to tell you I loved you, and that I'm sorry I didn't love you better. 

I miss you.

Saralynn

Hiding

Yesterday I didn’t say happy birthday to a friend on Facebook, even though their family was once very close to mine and I still love them like family. It’s not that I forgot to wish them a happy birthday; it’s that I was embarrassed. Why?

Because I’m divorced.

One of the hardest things about being divorced has been facing those I knew in my old evangelical life, all of whom I’ve disappointed by dissolving my marriage. If I took time to explain the emotional and psychological abuse, the gaslighting, they might—might—feel sorry for me and offer to pray for me. One or two might actually think the end of my marriage was the right thing (though still probably not "good"). But every one of them is disappointed. Even if I never see these people from my past ever again, or even hear from them, I know in my bones, and in the depths of my soul, that I have failed them. 

I was a “good” girl. I never drank or smoked. I saved myself for marriage, didn’t even kiss a boy ever until my wedding night. I did all the right things. And yet my marriage failed. Either I picked the wrong person and was foolish in following my heart, or I picked the right person but was foolish in letting it end. Either way, I failed. I’m a single mom, and I bear the unbelievably heavy weight of disappointment from everyone who’s ever loved me.

It’s heavy. So heavy. The shame is overwhelming. Never mind that half of marriages in the country end in divorce. Never mind that just as many of those divorces are of Christian couples. That doesn’t matter. In my evangelical upbringing, divorce is sinful, and a divorced person is someone to be pitied and avoided. And as an exvangelical, I am struggling against the weight and chains that bind me to this anguish of shame. I have left the Church but will need years to process now to break the chains.

And until then, I will continue to hide from the Christian men and women I respect, those who loved me when I was “good.” Interacting with them is just too painful. Even if we never speak of my marriage or divorce, I will feel their disappointment and slowly cave in upon myself while murmuring my mantra: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Hot yoga and sitting with your pain

I recently listened to Glennon Doyle’s book Love Warrior (which I highly recommend) and was struck by Doyle’s recollection of an experience she faced during her separation from her husband. She describes how one day, she accidentally found herself in a hot yoga class, expecting it to be a regular air-conditioned yoga class. Instead of joining the others in the stretches, she sat on her mat and let herself feel her pain. She had been distracting herself from it, keeping busy with her children and with writing, and this was the first time she sat and faced it. She chose to not run away.

And I realized how guilty I am and have often been of distracting myself from my pain. I’m a private person and prefer to grieve alone, and these days, I am hardly ever alone. But even when I do have time to myself—after the kids are in bed, for example—I do whatever is fun or engaging. It’s not even necessarily that I am currently in pain or grieving any recent loss, although right now I am. Sometimes the pain is years old and has just never been felt because I’ve pushed it away.

There are so many losses I have not let myself fully grieve, actually sitting with my pain. My favorite person in the world, my grandpa, passed away six years ago, and I foolishly missed my chance to say goodbye. I came home from his memorial service directly into a separation from my husband that led, several months later, to divorce.

When my husband left us, I didn’t have--make--time to grieve. I jumped right into the job search and taking care of my kids as a single mom.

A year later, another of my favorite people, my high school mentor, died after a five-year fight against ALS.

When my coworker Sarah died suddenly this past May during the birth of her beautiful baby girl, I actually sat in my pain. The people around me pushed me to feel the grief and made space to process the loss. I didn’t know Sarah half as well as I’d have liked, but she was so precious, and knowing how much the others around me were hurting actually validated my own pain. I wept for Sarah and those she left behind. And the act of weeping in itself was healing.

But grief doesn’t just come in the deaths of loved ones; it comes in transitions, in losses of ability, losses of fellowship, losses of stability. When a friendly coworker moved away to pursue graduate studies, I experienced loss that I never processed. Even in this, our most recent move, leaving people and a job I loved—and faculty who really got me—I experienced loss.

I used to consider myself a pessimist. Then I referred to myself as a realist. My psychology faculty last year let me know that realists aren’t on the spectrum of optimism to pessimism, that “realists” are actually pessimists. I’m still not entirely convinced, but in the consideration of the point, I’ve begun to classify myself as a reluctant optimist. Don’t get me wrong: I still get depressed about certain things, such as the state of our presidency and the plight of people in Syria. But in day-to-day things, I have forced myself to be positive, to hope for the best, to tell myself, “It will all work out somehow.” And I actually believe it. Maybe this is because of a family history of clinical depression. Maybe I’m just frightened that if I lower myself into my pain, I won’t be able to climb out again and will only sink deeper and deeper into darkness. Maybe. But whatever the reason, I make myself face forward probably more often than is healthy. I have no desire to wallow in despair for the things in my past I cannot change, but moving forward in a healthy way does require acknowledging and experiencing the pain.

Since Sarah’s death in May, I have lost two other people I liked and respected—a caring therapist who doubled as one of my Psychology faculty, and a mission-field “uncle” I’ve known since I was nine years old who doubled as one of my Family Medicine faculty. Both deaths were sudden, and my heart aches in their loss. So I will choose to make time this week—maybe even tonight—to sit with my pain, to let myself feel their loss. 

It will perhaps be my final act of love.

Cross-Country Cruisin 2019 - Day 4

Day 4: Idaho Falls, Idaho, to Red Lodge, Montana
Miles: 309
States: Idaho, Wyoming, Montana

Day 4: Yellowstone National Park (July 7)

Today, we went to Yellowstone! We drove to Montana from Idaho Falls. Took a few pictures of the Montana sign, and drove to Yellowstone.

Yellowstone isn’t like Zion. In Zion, you park, get in a shuttle, and you’re in Zion. The only way to get to things is the shuttle. In Yellowstone, you’re driving around and looking at things from your car. You can get out, though. We saw elk, bison, and rabbits. The first animal I saw was a bison. We took pictures of it. We then saw geysers. There were a bunch of them!!

The best thing was Old Faithful. We saw that after lunch, which was a very fancy bison burger at a very fancy restaurant(I was not made for a fancy restaurant). We went to the gift shop and got a few keychains and postcards. After that, we were heading toward the exit, which was about 100 miles from where we were. Luckily, we had a book to listen to called Cress.

Yellowstone Lake

After we finally got out of the park, we went towards the mountains, where there was a bunch of snow.

We were so high up!! We were 11,000 feet high.

It was amazing. It took us a while to get to our hotel. After we got there, we put our stuff down and went swimmin’.

Wyoming-Montana border on the Beartooth Hwy

Cross-Country Cruisin' 2019 - Day 3

Day 3: St. George, Utah, to Idaho Falls, Idaho
Miles: 514
States: Utah, Idaho

From Tim:

Day 3: Driving again (July 6)

Today, we were driving from St. George, UT, to Idaho Falls, ID. It was a long day. We drove for about seven hours. It took us nine hours total to actually get there. We watched Iron Man and Captain America: Winter Soldier. We also listened to my playlist on the way. It wasn’t a very active day.

Here’s a link to my playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6s42Lk4mjfKObJL57pFxZ7

Cross-Country Cruisin' 2019 - Day 2

Day 2: St. George, Utah, to Zion National Park and back
Miles: 88
States: Utah

Here's Tim's entry from Day 2.

Day 2: Zion National Park (July 5)

The journey to Zion took us about an hour. I was asleep for most of it because I was awake late the night before. Once we got there, we parked in the nearest town and waited for a shuttle to come and take us to the entrance to Zion. We had gotten to the entrance when we realized we had forgotten our National Parks Passports, so they couldn’t be stamped. We got the annual pass so that we could go to any National Park for free for one year. 

We walked to the bathrooms first and passed an enormous line. I thought, “Lucky we don’t have to wait in that line.” We went to the bathrooms and headed toward the visitors center to look around. We looked around and left. We realized that the line was for the shuttle, which was the only way to get anywhere. We had to wait in the line for an hour and a half, standing in the hot sun. For some parts, it was shady. After the wait, we finally got onto the shuttle and headed toward the Zion Lodge, where we could eat. We went to the restaurant and bought (overpriced) burgers. Anna got pizza (typical Anna). After eating, we went to the bathroom and got on a shuttle. We got off at the last stop. There is an entrance to a riverside hike at the last stop. We didn’t go on the hike, but we did get into the water. It was really cold!! I eventually got used to it, though. I got completely wet. We spent 45 minutes to an hour there. When we finally got back to the shuttle stop, there was a long line again. Luckily, it wasn’t as long as the one in the beginning. We got back to the front of the park and bought a few postcards and a puzzle at the store. We left the park and headed home/hotel. We swam for 30 minutes and then left. After that, we went to bed.

Cross-Country Cruisin' 2019 - Day 1

If you read my blog but don't follow me on Facebook, you may not already know that the kids and I are moving to Fairfax, VA, in the greater DC area, for a year or two. We're currently on our way across the country, seeing what and whom we can along the way!

Day 1: Bakersfield, California, to St. George, Utah
Miles: 412
States: California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah

Here's Timothy's take on our first day of traveling.

Day 1: Driving (July 4)

After days of packing, the day came. We left just before 10:30 this morning. We had to do multiple sweeps before we were sure that we were good to go. I had made a playlist to listen to on the way to Utah. We had just started driving and listening to the playlist when Grandpa told us that there was a 6.6 earthquake in the Mojave Desert. We were heading there and had just missed it. The trip was going to take around six hours and for the first few hours, I was fine just listening to the music, but then the playlist ended, and I didn’t want to eat all of our food in one drive. After the playlist ended, it started to get boring because nobody wanted to play the games I wanted to play. We couldn’t find the visitors center going into Nevada, so we decided to try the one leaving Nevada. Unfortunately, it was closed for the 4th of July. We had just gotten back on the road when we realized we were now in Arizona. We hadn’t realized that we had to go through a little bit of Arizona to get to Utah. The scenery in Arizona was beautiful!! We passed through a mountain river gorge, and the view was remarkable.

Virgin River Gorge, AZ

We got to our hotel and went to Cracker Barrel for dinner. After that, we went swimming! We weren’t there for very long (Anna got cold), so we went to bed.

Broken-hearted

I want to be real. I want to be authentic. Today that means being raw and bleeding. I am caught amid anger and frustration and pain beyond description.

I used to be one of many white middle-class Americans who could afford to be apolitical. I didn't vote for Obama because I thought being pro-life was too important, but I couldn't vote against him because I knew he was a good president. Oh, what I would give to go back and vote for him not once but twice! I used to be able to afford to ignore the issues and go on living a quiet, unobtrusive life. That was before Trayvon Martin, before Weinstein, before a racist misogynist became president. The more time goes by, the less apolitical I can be, and the more angry and deeply wounded I become.

I wish I could put on a thick skin and ignore it all. I wish all of the events on the news didn't trigger the fire of emotion in me. I wish I were not terrified about my son's being the victim of police brutality. I wish I were not terrified of my daughter's being the victim of sexual assault from an acquaintance. But I am terrified.

I wish I could dismiss the stories of children being separated from their parents at the U.S.-Mexico border. I wish I could ignore the stories of people fighting for survival in Syria, where the U.S. has denied funding and aid. I wish I didn't care. But I do care.

I feel helpless and hopeless. I'm only one person, and the darkness around me is closing in, trapping me. Every conversation I have seems to deepen the despair. I've been called disrespectful, irrational, overemotional, rude, hypocritical, curt, sharp. It is true that I am most offensive when I am hurting most.

I admit I can't see it from your perspective. I don't want to. Even trying to think the way you do makes me feel physically ill. I am hard-headed and stubborn. I don't want to understand why you support our president. I don't want to understand why you loathe Colin Kaepernick. I don't want to understand how you can rationalize owning semi-automatic weapons. I don't want to understand how you can justify the confirmation of Kavanaugh. It's true; I don't want to understand. I don't want to climb inside your head and find common ground. How can there be any?

And I'm tired of the trite admonition to pray for peace, to let Jesus handle it all, to give it to God. As if that actually solved anything, as though Jesus were a fairy godmother brandishing a wand so we could all marry a rich prince. Praying for peace doesn't keep bad things from happening. Trusting in God won't keep Tim from getting shot by a cop for doing absolutely nothing wrong, or keep Anna from being assaulted by a drunk boy from school. Leaving it in God's hands means we are either despairing at effecting change or admitting we don't care enough to say or do anything.

My heart is full of despair, but I don't want to give up, and I do care. I want to be active. I don't know how yet, but if I don't get off my sorry little butt and get involved, I will continue to spiral down into the darkness of despair.

As for this blog, maybe it is time for it to die. Everything I want to say John Pavlovitz or Jen Hatmaker has pretty much already said. I can't be eloquent when I am so discouraged. Everything else in my life seems petty compared to the Big Picture. My words are gone. They've all dried up, and all I am left with is ashes.

Staying put

In the past 13 years, I have moved a lot. Really, a lot. I have said many farewells. I grew up on farewells, so in some ways, they're just a part of the life I've always known - more so than for most people, I think. But for the past 13 years, I've usually been the one doing the leaving. Somehow this has made goodbyes much more bearable, less traumatic. I couldn't say why, but it's much easier to say goodbye when I'm the one leaving, when the departure is at least partially my own choice.

For the first time in over a decade - maybe even since college - I'm saying farewells because I am being left behind. This time, the people I hold dear are moving on to bigger and better things, and I am stuck here without them. Don't misunderstand me: I am thrilled that the ones I love and respect have opportunities to grow and enrich their lives. I am thankful and excited for them. I would not want them to stay here without room to grow. But the moving on, as always, is bittersweet. And because if has been so long since I've been the one left behind, my heart is beginning to break in a way that had become almost entirely unfamiliar to me. It has been so long that I honestly don't know how I'm going to cope.

Until the final farewells are said, I will just have to treasure each moment, each laugh, and steel myself for the coming emptiness, the impending silence.

For silence will fall.

A taxi to market

One Saturday, Mom tells Lisa and me that we're going downtown to the market to buy cloth to make us each a Nigerian outfit. We have to put on long skirts and sneakers, she says, because we'll be doing a lot of walking. 

"Are we walking all the way downtown?" I ask, my eyes wide. Mom smiles and shakes her head. 

"No," she says, "Aunt Janne is going to show us how to get a taxi." I have never ridden in a taxi before and start to skip around the house, putting a long skirt on over my shorts and tying on a pair of sneakers. I hate skirts, but I must wear one whenever I leave the compound—except when we go to school. The sneakers are still mostly new, and I wonder if they will need to last me for the next four years until we return to the U.S. 

Aunt Janne knocks on the screen door, and we grab umbrellas and start down the dirt road toward the compound gate. Aunt Janne isn't my aunt; she is our Australian neighbour, Shelley's mum. But here, the children call all adults except teachers "aunt" and "uncle." Shelley and Kimmie are going downtown with us, too. It's a 10-minute walk to the gate, skirting potholes and puddles, and I am hot by the time we greet the guards in Hausa and move onto the road that passes by the hospital compound where we live.  

We turn left, and my senses are assailed from all sides. Horns honk from passing cars and trucks. Reggae music blares from a shop across the street. (The electricity must have come back on since we left our house.) Exhaust clouds around us as we walk along the muddy shoulder toward the roundabout where our road meets the road that runs south into town. Cars here don't have to do emissions tests, apparently, and I cough on the fumes. There is colour everywhere: grass greener than I ever saw in California, brilliant azure sky, and vivid—even garish—patterns in women's clothing.We veer left at the roundabout, and I see a gaggle of green cars parked in a grassy area, each with a wide yellow stripe painted horizontally all the way around the car below the door handle. I'm reminded of making a similar stripe while dyeing Easter eggs by putting a rubber band around the egg before dipping it. Aunt Janne tells us that taxis from different states have different colour patterns. Taxis from Kano, for example, are blue with a white stripe. 

Aunt Janne walks up to a parked taxi, an old Peugeot 504 station wagon, and negotiates with the driver. I hear her say, "Terminus" but am not sure if that's a place or a price. The taxi looks a lot like the station wagon we used to own in California, except it's more beat-up. The paint is scratched in numerous places, and I see dents along the passenger side. The back bumper is twisted and rusty. Aunt Janne gives the driver a few notes of currency—naira—and we clamber in. There is a row of seats behind the bench seat that I would normally call "the back seat." One of the back seats pushes forward with the lifting of a little handle, and Shelley and I climb in the way back. Aunt Janne sits in the front seat, and Mom, Lisa, and Kimmie sit in the middle seat. Aunt Janne explains that normally the taxi driver would stop along the way to pick up more clients, but she has paid up-front for a direct ride to the centre of town, Terminus. 

The taxi looks older on the inside than it does on the outside. The seat cushions beneath us are torn in several places, and I can see the springs inside. The windows are cracked—the windshield looks almost shattered over in the lower right corner. The doors are missing panels to cover their innards, leaving metal rods and gears exposed. The driver's side back door has no handle on the inside at all. The upholstery smells odd. Kimmie scrunches up her nose and tells me it's a goat smell. Aunt Janne shushes her as the driver shifts gears and we leave the car park. 

It isn't a long ride, but I have never been this direction in town before. Most of the women we pass—even the young girls my age or smaller—wear a head-covering that covers all but the face. In other parts of town where I've been, the women cover their hair with an elaborately tied piece of colourful cloth. Here, however, the women's heads and shoulders are completely covered by a single draped solid-colour cloth—grey or white. It reminds me of pictures I've seen of girls in Saudi Arabia, except the girls' faces are visible. I wonder about this but am too shy to ask. We pass a man pushing a wheelbarrow that is full to nearly overflowing with huge white sacks. Another man pulls a two-wheeled cart filled with 10-gallon plastic water jugs. At an intersection we are passed by a motorcycle carrying a man and two children—one in front of him and one behind. None of them are wearing helmets. I can't believe how many people are on the streets. I'm sure there are more people on foot than there are in cars. 

And then we are at the roundabout they call Terminus. It's jam-packed with vehicles—taxis like ours, vans big and small, bicycles, big trucks, motorcycles, and private vehicles. The driver pulls over, blocking two other cars, and Aunt Janne gets out and opens the back door. We clamber out, and she hands the driver another note.  

"Mun gode," she says, nodding her head, and we move back from the taxi. 

"That's Main Market over there," Aunt Janne tells us, gesturing with her chin towards a huge multi-story building to our left. "Stay together." We start walking in that direction, Shelley, Kimmie, and I linking arms as we follow our moms and Lisa through the crowds. There are just so many people—men, women, children, old people, young people, all shifting and cutting each other off. I've lived in Los Angeles, but I've never been downtown, and this is new to me.  

We walk a short way and then turn to cross the intersection diagonally, first to the roundabout and then to the market building corner. There is no traffic light, no crosswalk, no policeman to direct traffic. It is a free-for-all, every-man-for-himself fight against traffic. Fortunately, Aunt Janne is a pro and makes sure we all cross safely amid the tide of people and push of cars. The traffic is actually an advantage, as it's easier to pick our way between cars going only 5 miles an hour than dashing between speeding cars. Still, I'm relieved when we reach the opposite corner without injury.  

This is where the fun really begins.