I listened, but forgot to hear...

Forgive me God, for I have forgotten. I spent five months of slowed down life in New Zealand, creating space for You to speak and spoke You did. I heard the same message over and over, slow down. Annika, slow down. New Zealand taught me the peace and wisdom that can come from creating space. The Lord will crawl into the spaces, brining joy and life. When space was created, the Lord would affirm that I was enough. No accomplishments or schedule needed. I was to strip off expectations, all of them, those put on by society, those given by peer, family pressures, and worst of all our own expectations. I was to rest in idea that the Lord loves me where I am. I am loved and worthy of celebration. Re-reading my blog from NZ, over and over again I heard the Lord speaking, stripping life down to simplicity and rebuilding what was truly important. Looking at my life now one would think I had fully forgotten. Five months of teaching, listening and experiences, what has changed? Life is chaotic, overly committed, overly excited, overly ambitious, and I will soon become overly exhausted. I leave no spaces. I neither read or pray or rest enough, expecting the Lord will give me grace because of my busy schedule. Grace, I need to give myself grace. Grace to know that I won’t live up to expectations, not my own, not my professors, not my peers, nor societies, so I can stop trying. Grace to remember what I spent five months learning and grace while I attempt to apply all I learned.

I-5 accident-turned dance party and post-finals chaos, but smiling, alway smiling

Saturday night 1:45 in the morning, I was driving back from grabbing a drink with a friends in Portland. He headed north and I headed south down I-5. I was about a mile from my exit was stuck in accident traffic. All three lanes were blocked. I was about the twentieth car on the scene and sat there watching a dozen police cars, fire engines and ambiances wiz past. After about thirty minutes people began to climb out of their cars and check out the action, relaying the stories they heard through the line of traffic in a classic game of telephone. The further down the line of traffic, the wilder the stories became. I’m sure the cars about a mile back heard that a helicopter crashed into a spaceship which was trying to land on 1-5, the explosion overturned seventeen cars, one carrying the mayor of Oregon, while another carrying a lady in labor who was forced to deliver the baby among the wreckage...

The crazy stories were only the beginning of the party that soon broke out along the highway. It was young crowd, everyone back from school and were out with old friends in Portland. Cars synchronized radio stations, cranked up the volume and dance parties began. Beer bottles began to appear, while other where throwing up from too much earlier that night. Others were looking desperately to buy some smokes off anyone who was willing. Girls were prancing around in mini skirts and heals, stopping by the crowds to shake it. Cars had to pull perpendicular to traffic, making room for police to reach the scene. Tension finally exploded between a stubborn driver refusing to move their car and those attempting to direct traffic, racist comments went flying as well as fists. With all the car shuffling, I found out my car died, I had to get a jump in the middle lane of the freeway from my friendly neighbors. I met dozens of people, all in their twenties. Everyone was either beside themselves upset at the delay, or embarrassing the humor of the situation, joining the social scene and super friendly. I even developed a slight crush on one of them, how is that for an ironic meeting? All of my new friends, random strangers and I had a white-elephant gift exchange, all pulling random items from our cars. I walked away with gum, DD batteries and used chapstik. We contemplated caroling from car-door to car-door. It was unbelievable! It was such a bizarre but hilarious experience. Over two hours later traffic finally began to clear, my new friends and I exchanged numbers, hugged goodbye and continued down the freeway, back to life.

Well, my freeway adventure only added to my collection of happenings, randomness, travel and adventure thus far. Break has been slightly chaotic (to follow the chaos of finals week…) Since Friday I have been in four states, eight cities, used four types of transportation, moved my luggage over ten times, been to two church services, three pre-Christmas parties, three Christmas eve/day parties with my 22 family members, baked three traditional Swedish meals. Had a workout date, beer date, errand running date and walking date. Spent two hours in a traffic accident turned dance party on 1-5. I have played in soccer game, danced to keep warm on DU campus at two in the morning, read 100 pages of John Stienbeck’s East of Eden, eaten too much delicious food and slept way too little. Life is chaotic but good. It is a chaos that is oh too familiar... I finally arrived at our cabin in the Colorado Mountains. As soon as we entered the house my body relaxed.. I am now sitting by a fire, listening to music and breathing. Snow is falling, life is slowing, slopes are waiting and I am smiling.

a simple request

Play with me, please. Put down your books, turn off the tv, log off Facebook, stop wandering, stop procrastinating, stop making excuses and play. Let your mind rest and give your body a chance to work. Snow covered mountains crave fresh tracks, caves are waiting to be explored, peaks to be climbed with views that will make problems shrink and wonder grow. Let out your adventure, laugh, fall, twirl, run, climb, ride, free your soul. We have mountains and rivers within an hour’s reach, waterfront only blocks away, dozens of friend’s next-door and healthy bodies that are able to thrive. Allow yourself to be refreshed and remotivated. School-work will get done, it always does. Stop getting sucked into stress, pause life for a few hours, and lets go play.

craving more.

I am caught it the middle of depth and fluff (yes, fluff). My heart is living two distinctive places. The first is a yearning desire for depth, depth of thought, depth of passion. I want to be transformed by Christ; I want to be overwhelmed with Him. I want to find a place were my passions can be used, where I can be challenged and stretched. I desire a place where I can think big but also act. I desire people to travel to those depths with me, not just to talk but also to make change. I feel stir crazy and frustrated with such an intangible and impossible to explain feeling. I often feel like I’m going to explode with passion, joy, frustration, excitement, love, life, but never know how to let it out, so often implode. Or go back to where I spend the other half of life, in the fluff.

Living in the fluff of life. In the puddle-jumping, twirling, costume wearing parts of life. I love my friends. I love hanging out, eating soupy brownies, laughing, wasting time, making memories, dressing up as burritos, eating terrible home-cooked meals, losing our voices screaming to scary movies, dance parties and just living life. I love spending time on the surface of life. Tasting the sweetness of the familiar and enjoying friendships four years in the making. I love exploring and resting in place that feels more and more like home. I love late nights and long runs, where I can make of a healthy body that will function on no sleep. Savoring the last drops of freedom before real life.

So, where does life leave me at the end of the day? Stir crazy, but never wanting a day to end. I feel frustrated and unsatisfied, yet joyful and content. Most of all, it leaves me craving more... more depth, more fluff, more laughter, more Christ, more challenge, more fun, more life.

scratching an itch

I spend most days looking at molecular structures, internal body systems and the brain. I can certainly say we are quite spectacular beings. Yet my long science filled days often leave me with a creative itch while life is constantly leaving me with perplexing thoughts and challenges. So I'm back in the blogging world, scratching an itch and sharing life with everyone or no one.

one last hoorah...and back home

I’ve spent the last ten nights sleeping in my down jacket, long underwear, fleece pants and wool hat. Winter is in full force in New Zealand. It is freezing! My last final exam finished up on June 30^th, then a few friends and I decided to take on the cold and spend my last ten days claiming my final memories. We named ourselves “Team Encore” and began our adventure with a three day backpack through Arthurs Pass, a set of mountains about two hours west. From the second through the fourth, we climbed through two spectacular saddles, surrounded by snowcapped peaks, trudged through forests and waded icy streams. On the morning of the fourth there was no barbecue, beer and watermelon, instead we awoke in a slightly frigid hut in the middle of the mountains. I sang “happy birthday” to America before eating our oatmeal and hitting the trail. In an attempt of patriotism, we tried to sing American songs as we headed down the trail, but realized we some issues…you know when you’re little, and you don’t know the words to a song, so you fill it in with words that most likely make no sense but fit the tune, and then sometime when your older and someone points out the real words-its quite embarrassing? Well, this was the problem we all faced. “O, Beautiful, for gracious sight in amber waves of grace…” I began to sing, and realized that no matter how hard I tried, my first-grade, half-humm, half-sing-a-long version of the songs were all I had put to memory. Needless to say, our patriotic trail sining was short lived. Thickly buried between layers was our patriotic colors where a little red lied in a t-shit, blue strip on underwear and white logo on our jacket, an attempt almost as pathetic as the singing.

By dinner we gave up hope, eating Indian food, followed by a Jazz Bar (with live music) and a beer after a long glorious day in the mountains. It was no traditional forth, but diffinentally unforgettable.

Our Encore trip headed south, where we climbed Mt. Fox through rain forest, using roots and rotted trees to pull and hoist ourselves straight up the mountain (switchbacks are in no way a part of New Zealand trail blazing). We ended up on top Mt. Fox, overlooking Fox glacier, Mt. Cook, the Tasman Sea and surrounding area, one of the most spectacular lunch spots in my lifetime.

The view from lunch a few days later closely rivaled that on top Mt. Fox. Skiing in Wanaka at a resort called Treble Cone, we experience an epic day in my ski history. All above tree line, the mountain had previously received over a foot of fresh, light powder. Although most was chopped up, we were able to hike up and get some fresh tracks and spectacular views. From the top, the dozens of peak of mt. Aspiring national park stood glowing under the blue-bird sky, while Lake Wanaka and surrounding mountains lay on the other. It was unbelievable.

Since it was New Zealand’s “winter holiday” we were unable to find a place to stay in the ski town, Wanaka, so decided (at seven-thirty) to make the five and a half hour trip back to Christchurch. Although we had called Christchurch our home for the past five months, we all had to have checked out of our rooms before our trip, so were homeless. We ended up sleeping in the living room and on the floors in my old flat, seeing how new students had already moved and were fully living in each of our rooms! It was weird to be in my flat, yet have it no longer feel like home. I was diffinentally getting the hint, my time in New Zealand was ending. The next day, doing last minute souvenir shopping, the hints only became louder as the new students left for the orientation program, the cloudless days turned to drizzle and there was no one left in Christchurch that I could ask to take me to the airport. It was time.

I’m home now, sweating, it was ninety-five when I was picked up from the airport last night! None of my flights were on time, causing panic sprints between terminals, in order to keep my nalgine water bottle I was forced to chug half-a liter of water outside security before barely making it to final boarding call. It was a hilarious panic-chugging image. Anyways, I was greeting my entire family with hugs and a handmade sign. Home to a delicious barbecue and fresh Oregon berry pie that was enjoyed on the deck as I watched the long summer day finally end, exposing the northern constellations. No more southern cross, but I’ve got the big dipper back! It feels good to be home and knowing that New Zealand is a place that pictures can never do justice, only means I'll have to go back someday!

will you hold your finger here so i can tie a nice neat bow?

Almost five months have unraveled, leaving only ten paper chain links until home. The month of June has been filled with “lasts” and “goodbyes” to both relationships and adventures. Since the 18^th of June, friends have gradually been packing their overly warn t-shirts, kiwi branded souvenirs and broken-in boots, while trying to unpack their last five months spent in NZ. As I am not leaving for ten more days, I have been walking with dozens of friends through the leaving process and have been reflecting on patterns I’ve seen within each goodbye. We all want goodbyes to be extravagant, the final peak to an ever-building adventure. We want one final night, one final adventure, one final word that will tie a shiny satin ribbon around an experience we have been building over the past months. But goodbyes are not neat and tidy. Instead they are haggard and discombobulated. Filled with emotions, flowing in unrhythmic and unstoppable waves; nervous, excited, scared, anxious, tears, laughter, deep sorrow, heart-felt appreciation, riveting joy, cutting regret, invited anticipation. Each person embodies a different feeling at different time, leading to mismatched hugs of clashing sentiment. Endings are often just as awkward as beginnings, the initial introductions- thick emotions that won’t fit in the space between an initial handshake. Yet it isn’t the goodbye that matters, the ribbon will be untied and it is the present we get to keep, the laughter, the memories, the adventure. Those things that can’t be polished and won’t be tainted through “an amazing last night” or the “perfect goodbye.” So I’ll continue to walk through the next ten days trying to stop my ribbon-tying tendencies, knowing that I have had an indescribable experience that can’t be touched. Knowing that with the end of one adventure, a new one begins. Maybe it won’t have the glorious title, but sometimes the joys hidden in the pockets of ordinary days are the sweetest.