Relationship Status: In a long-distance relationship with Oxford

It isn’t until one steps into another world that the differences are starkly seen and it isn’t until one lives in another world that the differences become life, and life-changing.

England. I’ve learned about the country, it’s political and educational systems, the stereotypes, the overall attitudes of the English… but those are facts and facts are to be memorized. England is to be experienced, and experiencing England is what taught me the most. To live in England is to sit at a pub with friends instead of your laptop. To live in England is to walk to class instead of driving. To live in England is to spend time at University Park instead of playing video games. To live in England is to not eat corn syrup. To live in England is to have tea-breaks during class. To live in England is to walk to the local grocery store instead of a superstore, buy something that expires within the week and return the next instead of buying in bulk. That is the England I experienced and the England I fell in love with.

Anyone who visits another country will have different experiences than the next person. I can say I’ve learned much about England, but I may not have experienced it the same way others will. My experience is my own and it has taught me things that no one can every fully understand, nor could I ever fully explain… things about myself, my faith, my friends and the world… things that have shaped me and changed me and I can honestly say that I will never be the same after studying abroad in Oxford.

I stopped blogging about halfway through the semester, partly out of laziness, partly out of the desire to be with the people in my house or go to the park or play soccer instead of spending time on the computer. Journaling is important. Writing is important. But experiencing life is the most important thing of all.

For our final assignment in our International Studies class, we were asked to write a paper on our experiences. I could’ve written a novel, but for lack of time, space and for the sake of those who read this, I’ll summarize it, perhaps using a few of the topics our professor asked us to cover as an rough outline.

Upon the start of this trip, I expected to be changed and influenced most by the places I visited and the sites I saw. About halfway through the semester, I realized it was not these things that had been affecting me most, but the people I was constantly surrounded by. Living in a house with twenty-plus people can be a challenge. It can be chaos. It can be smelly. It can be dirty. It can be frustrating and annoying.

It can also be one of the best experiences of your life.

I can’t even begin to say how the relationships I strengthened and formed on this trip changed me in so many ways. Never have such deep bonds with people formed so quickly. Living in a dorm is one thing. There is a campus to escape to, another hall to visit, another room to go to. A house is an entirely different arena… forced to be with each other nearly every hour of every day, share one shower between 8 girls, keep a kitchen clean (or not), keep our rooms clean and try our best not to (or to) disturb the studiers and somehow manage to be friends by the end of each day. It is through the ups and downs that came with this living situation that I formed some of the deepest, most substantial relationships I’ve ever had.

Relationships are not easy. As much as we would like to have friendships that just work, that is “very simply” not the case. Relationships take work and I have seen that played out more this semester than ever. I have seen that to truly form unbreakable bonds with people, I must be ready and willing to make sacrifices to keep a friendship in tact. Living in a community is about caring for those in the community, being willing to help in any way and keeping each other accountable even when it hurts.

Living in community is about living in love.

Through this community, I learned much about who I am as a person, a woman of God, an individual. It has been a long time since I’ve seen such a drastic change in who I am as a person. In many ways, I feel I am more me than I ever have been. The people I’ve developed friendships with and the things I’ve seen and experienced have given me a self-confidence that I’d long been lacking. I’ve been given a new perspective on life and faith and a clearer view of what I value and am searching for in life. I feel stronger, emotionally and spiritually, than ever.

So much of this is still in the processing stages. I am only just beginning to unwrap everything that happened this semester and I think I am a long ways away from understanding it all. God did so much work on my heart.

What I have found, spiritually, is that my view on Christ was so limited. I limited His power and put Him in a box, taking His responsibility of changing people’s hearts upon myself. I grew up bombarded by Westernized, fundamentalist ideas so, needless to say, I came into college extremely close-minded. I can’t even begin to say how much change happened in that area of my life this semester. Part of me doesn’t even want to go into it because there is no way I can truly convey what my heart is feeling.

I know these things…

• I know that my mind has been opened to knew ways of thinking.
• I know that before this semester I sorely (and still do, in many ways) underestimated just how big God is.
• I know that my Western culture infected my faith like a virus and that I must separate the two in my mind to truly love and accept others as they are.
• I know that the Lord does work in miraculous ways, with or without my “help” and that He will reunite His bride.
• I know that the Body of Christ is not a Caucasian, American male, but a beautifully diverse being made of all people of all cultures and colors and ways of believing.
• I know that I am a Christ-follower and that living in love is the greatest call on my life.

As I look back on this semester and try to process everything that happened, as I listen to Towers by Bon Iver and cry and as I try to get used to American accents and American attitudes once again, I can’t help but ask myself if it all really happened, because at this point, it all feels like a dream.

It really does feel like only yesterday, I was taking a picture of the big plane I would board and sending it to my baby sister. It seems only yesterday that I was looking over the mountains in Cinque Terre, Italy eating an orange and enjoying the sunshine. It seems only yesterday that I sat in a barrack at Auschwitz, horrified by the monstrosities that occurred there. It seems only yesterday that our group was gathered in the hostel in Carrcassone , having a Spades tournament.

I’ve just had the experience of a lifetime, one that no one but those who took part in it alongside me will ever understand. There are jokes and phrases that have become a part of my daily conversation, emotions and feelings, memories, thoughts, stories and experiences that I have had and am having that no one but my Oxfordians will get.

Palmer’s green beans. Perfect. Hey bud? Scoutmaster Garrison. Canterbury Tales. Never gonna happen.

These are things I will never be able to quite convey to those who did not experience Oxford with me.

In the same way, I cannot possibly convey my emotions at this moment as I sit at home, in America, writing this blog post. There is so much sadness in my heart because I am away from my closest friends. There is so much joy as I reminisce on the best of memories. There are so many other feelings that I cannot even put into words and so I’m sorry, but I cannot do my experience justice for those who ask.

I know people will want to know. I have already been asked, “how was it?” And I am left speechless. I cannot answer, especially not in a short conversation. How does one go about explaining four months of one’s life where so much happened? Where life was so different? How does one describe the feeling that life before Oxford almost feels non-existent, or like a different reality, because Oxford had become reality? It is impossible.

Coming home was bitter. I am still sad and may be for a while. There will be times where I miss Oxford a whole awful lot, where I want to drink tea and cry, where I look through pictures and reminisce, where I call up a friend and talk about our semester abroad, where I desperately want the whole group to be back together because honestly, right now that is what I want more than anything.

Coming home was bitter, but it was also sweet. I am with my family that I love. Most of those who I studied abroad with, I will see again. I have pictures and memories to share and I still have my Oxford friends to reminisce with, joke with, play Spades with, look through pictures with. For the rest of my life, I know there will be moments where I remember something from the semester and laugh, or cry or smile as I do whatever I am doing at that stage in my life. The semester is over but there is so much ahead of me that I cannot wait for.

Heck, I’m only twenty. If I’ve done this much by this age, who knows what else is in store, where else I will go, what else I will experience and what other friendships are to come in the future? A huge milestone in my life was just crossed and it has left me a different person.

Now, on to the next adventure, whatever it may be.

I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.  ~Lillian Smith

Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.  ~Benjamin Disraeli

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.  ~Anatole France

I think I’ve found it

…my favorite place.

Edinburgh, Scotland.

In brief, it’s the cozy, quaintness of Oxford, the upbeat atmosphere of Barcelona and the nice people from the Cotswolds all packed into one city that is balanced out by the mountain known as Arthur’s Seat. At least in my brief experience, that is what I discovered.

The funny thing is, this trip wasn’t even planned. The only reason it happened in the first place was because two friends wanted to go on a trip and (being a boy and a girl) were not allowed to go alone according to the program regulations. So… we went.

View from Arthur’s Seat.

It was the best location so far.

The journey there, however, was a little less enjoyable. Taking a ten-hour bus in the middle of the night is probably not the best idea. Taking a ten-hour bus ride back when all you really want is to be home is even a worse idea.

But when those twenty hours on a bus are half the price of any plane tickets, why not?

I’ll admit, I popped a few sleeping pills on the way there. They lasted the first six hours.

I was lucky enough to get a spot next to a friend but since we were some of the last to arrived (literally minutes before the bus departed because our train to London was cancelled…) there was limited seat room. It wasn’t until we’d left the station that we were told half of our group didn’t make it on and was put on another bus that would arrive two hours later than ours.

Despite that hiccup, we waited those two hours out at the McDonald’s down the street before returning to the station to meet them.

We checked into the hostel and then ventured out to begin our exploration of Edinburgh. Part of our group was staying at a friend’s house so we made plans to meet them at the Edinburgh castle and until then, ventured to the Camera Obscura museum… of optical illusions.

What really got us was the mirror maze and the spinning tunnel. Talk about weird. They’re pretty common in fun-houses but this was a spinning tunnel on steroids. The best part? Sitting outside and watching the others trying to come through. The ground doesn’t move, but they’re falling all over the place.

After that, I got married. Yep, by a machine called Auto-Wed, complete with rings and certificates.

A cafe came next, followed by the Edinburgh castle where we met up with the rest of our group. Then, we made the courageous decision to climb Arthur’s Seat… which turned out to be Arthur’s footstool. Someone in our group made the unfortunate decision to choose the wrong path to get to the top. Turns out there are two very large hills (mountains in the eyes of a Texan) right next to each other.

We climbed the wrong one.

Nevertheless, it was a beautiful view of Edinburgh and the sea. We had a few tumbles down the mountain and some Lord of the Rings reenactments so in the end, it was worth it.

And of course, we rewarded ourselves with food. Mexican food, actually. Not the most “local” food, but when you’re in Europe and you see a decent-looking Mexican restaurant, you have to take advantage. You never know when you might get another enchilada. Dinner was followed by a visit to a pub and turning in relatively early for the night.

Saturday, we started by seeing the National Museum of Edinburgh complete with a virtual race car game, mega sloth and ching-ching the Panda. And Dolly the sheep.

Next, we did the typical American-tourist thing and had lunch at the cafe where J.K. Rowling was inspired to write Harry Potter.

One of my favorite things about Edinburgh actually was all the music and street performers on the Royal Mile. We heard a lot of bagpipes, a man playing the saw (yes, the tool) and saw a man escape chains (after making us wait at least fifteen minutes to listen to his stories, jokes and his plea for a £20 donation…)

In the center of the city there is a monument dedicated to a writer that you can climb. The story we were told is that a professional rugby player tried to climb it and got stuck, thus having to be rescued by firemen. So we said ‘challenge accepted’. We were told it was a narrow stairway, nearly 300 steps. It was pretty narrow to begin with, but it wasn’t until we started ascending that we realized it kept getting narrower.

But we made it. I was stuck in the staircase for a while because there was very little room to accommodate all of us, but eventually we were all able to squeeze onto the top level. I would say the view made everything worth it (which it did) but the best part was the chaotic climb to the top… and then back down, during which a friend realized how many hands had probably touched the walls and squirmed his way down the stairs without using the walls for balance. Our reward? Certificates and a £3 deficit in our wallets.

Our group split up then with plans to meet back for dinner and a ghost tour around Edinburgh and the underground vaults. Me and three others went back to attempt to conquer the actual Arthur’s Seat. We were successful and if we’d thought the view from the “footstool” was good, I can hardly put into words how incredible the view from the actual Seat was, (where the first picture in this post was taken).

Unfortunately, my camera died at this point. No more pictures, but I was able to get the most important events.

That night we went to have dinner at a pub called Robbie Burns (after the Scottish poet, Robert Burns, I assume) and then went to a pub for none other than… KARAOKE NIGHT. I did not sing, but my friends did. (You know it’s bad when they turn the mics off without telling you…)

Finally, we took a ghost tour of Edinburgh, heard some gruesome stories about the city’s past (witch hunts, etc…), walked through a graveyard and into the “underground city” which isn’t really a city, but big vaults where (supposedly) people used to be tortured, killed… all that good stuff. Now a lot of them are just bars and pubs.

Finally we made it back to the hostel which was hosting a “Tribal Night”… we didn’t attend, but we might as well have since the music was blaring through our bedroom. Not good when you have to wake up to ride a ten hour bus back to London.

Which, I might add, randomly stopped on the way only to move us to a different bus, not to let us get food. Needless to say, I ate two cheeseburgers from McDonald’s when we got back.

Scotland was by far my favorite place. There is no doubt in my mind that I could come back and live there.

My friend, the illegal immigrant

Before departure, our program director said “every year, there is someone who loses their passport.”

Well, that person happened to be a dear friend of mine who happened to be on a trip with me when she happened to lose her passport.

Everything started out smoothly enough. We left our house at eleven or so Wednesday night to catch a two hour bus ride to the Gatwick airport that departed at six-something the next morning. During check-in, we were told that, due to our late ticket-purchase, we had to go to another desk to do some other paperwork, blah, blah. So we waited. And waited.

Apparently when you’re told the desk opens at four, they really mean four thirty and when they tell you you need to go to the desk, it really isn’t necessary.

So we went back to the check-in, which had now formed a line and finally boarded the plane about an hour and a half later after walking to probably the furthest terminal from check-in.

We landed in Barcelona around ten, Thursday morning. When we’d booked our hostel, we’d found that the cheapest room was titled “single bed – mixed”. Why they needed to say “mixed”, we didn’t know, since obviously there would only be one person in the room anyway.

Wrong.

The hostel doesn’t have single beds, as the description deceptively reads. So we all got put into dorm rooms with random people. This would’ve been fine if it had been in our plans, but it hadn’t been. Fortunately, three of us were able to get a room together while me and another friend were put into a mixed dorm together.

The first time staying in a mixed dorm was… interesting. One roommate was an older gentleman who apparently travels around the world teaching English. Every morning he’d wake up and do aerobics in the middle of the room. There was also a guy from Turkey, a guy from New York and another girl who I didn’t get to meet. The hostel ended up being a blast and I would recommend it to anyone traveling to Barcelona. Casa Gracia.

We ate and walked around a bit before going to Mojito, a local salsa club for salsa night.

May I point out that we don’t know how to salsa… and it was very obvious. Despite that, it was fun to watch everyone else. It was fascinating that many of the people there had grown up “salsa-ing”… just like people here have grown up two-stepping or line dancing.

The next day, we had took a Fat Tire bike tour with the best tour guide ever… Jim, complete with a mustache.

Crossing busy streets on a bike is probably one of the most exhilarating things ever, especially when you’d just begun to get used to people driving on the other side of the street, and now you have to mentally switch back to looking the other direction for oncoming traffic.

We learned quite a bit of history on our tour and saw everything from the beach, to the steps where Columbus met Isabella and Ferdinand after discovering America, to Sagrada Familia and the Barcelona cathedral.

We met another group for dinner that night and had Tapas… which, for the first-time Tapas eater, is really confusing to order. And of course, we followed up with our third out of four gelato purchases.

The best day was Saturday. We started out by going into Sagrada Familia, which is so different from every other cathedral we’d visited on any of our trips. It literally feels like it’s a part of the earth, just like Gaudí had intended. Beautifully organic. We saw even more of Gaudí’s work at Park Guell, which it extremely hard to find. Eventually we had to ask the locals and were led there by a woman who knew no English, but walked us about half-way there instead.

The park had a beautiful view of Barcelona and after following a winding path down to the main area, we had baguettinni’s for lunch and gawked at the incredible mosaics surrounding the park. It was full of musicians and costumed people trying to earn a few spare euros.

After the park, we walked down to the beach and had dinner on La Rambla (Tapas) and then, probably the best thing I’ve eaten in my entire life… (insert drum roll, here)…

Hot Chocolate.

There is a very good reason why hot chocolate is considered the national drink Spain. Whether, that’s official or not, I don’t know, but either way, I was in awe of how good it was. Words cannot to it justice, but it was basically like drinking melted, gourmet chocolate.

We had a fun night at the hostel that night and woke up on Sunday to visit the Barcelona Cathedral where dancing and celebrations were going on outside because of the festival. We happened to be in Barcelona the weekend before Carnival, as well as during the festival of Saint Dolores, the saint of the Cathedral. Then we tried the History of Barcelona Museum and the Picasso Museum, both of which our travel guide had said were free… but turns out that means after three o’clock. So no museums for us poor college students.

After stuffing our faces with tapas and paella, we were in the mood for something not-so-local… so we tried burgers. I don’t know what kind of meat Barcelona puts in their hamburgers but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t beef.

And then my friend became an illegal immigrant.

We arrived at the airport and boarded our plane after I took a short nap in the terminal.

We’d planned to catch the 9:15 bus in London, but knew we’d be cutting it close so we knew there was a 10:15 bus we could catch. Any chance of getting the 9:15 was ruined when the pilot came on the speakers and told us something was wrong with the plane and so they had to shut the whole thing down and restart. Twice.

So 10:15 it would be. Whatever, no big deal. We’d still get back around midnight.

Upon landing, we were told again that the chute that is used to connect the plane to the terminal to let people off was broken and they had to call an engineer.

So 10:15 was still a maybe, but 11:15 might be more realistic at this point. After the 11:15 buses, though, the next one wouldn’t be until 1:15, so we had to at least get the 11:15.

After a quick panic over a lost bus ticket (which we found) we ran to customs, filled out the landing cards and got in line… only for my friend to find out she doesn’t have her passport.

Note to self: copies of your passport will not get you into the UK.

So this friend, Lizzie, who is probably the most organized one out of all of us (and probably the sweetest and most trustworthy) is put in airport jail, which we affectionately called “the gates of Hell” for the next three hours.

The rest of us sat outside the customs area, waiting.

Of course the border patrol was kind enough to come tell us she may have to be sent back to Spain and that we can go ahead and leave.

Uh, what? What kind of friends does he think we are? “Okay, Lizzie, see you later. Have fun in Spain.”

No.

So they made some calls to the passport agency and whatnot… they had to deny her official entrance into the UK but allowed her in on temporary entrance for five days instead of sending her back to Spain. Needless to say, she’ll be visiting the Embassy this week and returning to the airport to get her passport stamped.

So for this week, she is an illegal immigrant.

And, of course, we missed the 9:15, the 10:15 and the 11:15 bus and arrived in Oxford around four in the morning, just a few hours before Monday classes.

And that was Barcelona.

Just as a side note… a friend and I were on a walk through University Park and came upon a helicopter with the Queen’s emblem on the side. We stood staring for about half an hour and found out today that the man inside was actually Prince Charles. No joke. I saw royalty.

Camden and Cyberdog

My calves are on aching from over twenty miles of walking this weekend. London is an enormous city. I don’t think spending a month there would allow me to see it all, but we did our best.

For my International Studies class, me and my fellow classmates were sent out into different boroughs around London to experience different cultures. My group was assigned The Camden Market.

Wow. Words fail me when I try to explain all that we saw there but I will definitely try. Camden appeared to be of the lower middle class and was the central hub for the goths of London. Every other store was a tattoo and piercing parlor, eccentrically decked out with dark angels, dragons, demons, zombies and all other sorts of creatures and gore.

It was fantastic. Even living in England, a completely different culture than my home, I feel some sort of connection to the community and lifestyle. Camden on the other hand, was a completely different monster. Never had I experienced a culture like this. It is an unbelievable enormous market. Vendors had everything from body jewelry, to bongs, zombie memorabilia to horror-movie prints. The food vendors were mainly Indian and Asian food… delicious, I might add, even though I only dared get a sample.

Perhaps the most interesting store we stumbled upon was… *insert drum roll*… CYBERDOG.

Where to begin? I can only describe it as the most epic rave store I’ve ever seen. My professor called it “Spencer’s on crack”. Complete with giant metallic robots outside the store, rave dancers on platforms inside, bumping techno music, neon, light up and “Zenon-esque” clothing, alien mannequins and employees with dyed hair, piercings, wild clothing and makeup. Did I mention it was two stories?

 

It was wild. The whole experience was wild, one I wouldn’t trade. What I love is that this isn’t the most touristy place. This isn’t where people who are visiting London plan to go. They go to Big Ben, Buckingham palace and the London Eye… all of which I visited, but Camden was probably one of the most memorable parts of the trip and it was somewhere I would never have chosen to go on my own.

When everything is closed

Sometimes the best trips are the ones where not a thing goes as you expected. (Excuse the cheesiness).

On our first official weekend, me and a few friends had originally planned to go to Edinburgh. That didn’t happen. We waited too long to buy tickets so prices had shot through the roof and turns out, pretty much everyone was staying in town.

Instead, we decided to take a day trip to Bath, England. We had an early train ride (which I slept through) and arrived in Bath around ten in the morning.

We had planned to take a bus to Stonehenge. The bus was full.

We had planned to go to a Rugby game. Tickets were too expensive.

We were going to tour the Abbey. It was closed.

We were going to the park

Well… so much for those plans. But if I’m being honest, I think our trip was better because everything we did was unexpected. We toured the Roman baths and had an awesome (free) tour guide, Dennis. It was a beautiful experience, even more so because we weren’t rushed.

Afterwards, we found a quaint bakery called Jacob’s. The building looked to have been a house at some point, with seating upstairs in different rooms. The bakery was right near an open court in front of the Abbey and the Baths where we found a few quirky street performers… a flame juggler, musicians and a man painted gray who gave us pigeon food to make the birds sit on our arms. That’s when we found out the Abbey was closed and so we rambled around and found an alley where we met a very kind Polish man selling bags before making our way to the Fashion Museum and then an art gallery.

Probably my favorite (an unexpected) part of the trip was attending Evensong at the Bath Abbey. I’d never been to a Catholic service before, so it was cool to experience different religious practices.

We ate dinner at a pub (where it was made very obvious we were Texan after some guys shouted “yeehaw” and tried to lasso us), had fish and chips and then made our way back.

Again, in all honesty, I was so glad that our original plans ended up changing. We got to experience things that we normally wouldn’t have done. I think that’s what these trips are all about… “going with the flow” and experiencing things that the normal tourist with everything scheduled, normally wouldn’t experience. That’s the way to see the world and see the culture.

 

Calmer Miles

Back at ACU, I complained about walking from my dorm to the JMC building… a 10 minute walk. Now, I’m walking everywhere.

This city doesn’t seem to revolve around speed and instant gratification, much like Dallas, the Metroplex and even (sometimes) Abilene tend to do. Back home we take the fastest route, go over the speed limit, and dread walking anywhere… even to the mailbox. Sometimes I would literally sprint down my dorm hall because walking “takes too long…” Ha! Every minute counts at home. Every red light adds minutes. We get frustrated at everyone who drives below (or at) the speed limit. We get annoyed at people who walk slow, drive slow, talk slow…

What’s the rush?

Here, I am now walking six miles or more every day, carrying my groceries home and walking across town to get to class and church. At home, I know it takes exactly six minutes to get to work, as long as I make that first green light. Since arriving in Oxford, I haven’t wasted a single thought trying to figure out how long it takes to walk somewhere.

It’s refreshing. Despite the bitter cold and slippery ice, walking is enjoyable. Time isn’t of the essence. We’ve got plenty of it. Maybe that will change once homework starts piling up, but somehow I think I’ll still find time to walk around or sit down in a pub and just talk. Somehow I think I’ll always be “guesstimating” the time it takes to get somewhere rather than calculating the journey to the exact minute.

Life, as far as I’ve seen in the short week here, is calmer… slower… quieter. It’s much more peaceful, even when the streets are filled with people. The pubs are full, but people are talking between bites rather than inhaling their food, not looking at who they’re with.

You’ve probably heard this cliche before, but I’ll say it anyway… It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. And it feels true here.

Back home, it’s definitely not about the journey, but it’s almost not even about the destination, either. At home, it’s about being at the next place. You’re at home, you’ve got to get to work. You’re at work, you want to go home. You’re at school, you want class to end. You’re in the dorm, you’re rushing to class to get there on time.

It’s always the next thing and we’re left ignoring not only the journey but the destination as well. What a sorry life!

Why can we not enjoy the walk to the pub, the meal and people at the pub and the walk back from the pub? Every part of that journey can be enjoyable if we just decide to slow down, look around and focus on the people we’re with and where we are and the beauty that surrounds us.

Oxford, House 9 and… Todd?

I’m in Oxford.

Excuse me, what? I’m not sure where the time went. These past few days felt like they’d never end (although they were good ones). I felt like it was never actually going to happen.

And now it’s happening. I’m here. I’m in Oxford… for four months.

After a three hour bus ride and a nine hour plane ride, we finally landed at London Heathrow airport. Then we took a bus to Oxford, whose driver acted as a tour guide along the way. (Did I mention a wheel broke off my suitcase? Try rolling that around the airport).

Me and three other girls share a room in “House 9″, one of two houses that ACU owns. It’s been snowing the nearly the entire time we’ve been here. Even though the temperature is colder than Abilene, the wind isn’t nearly as strong… so it actually feels pretty good. Then again, I had to defrost my fingers to type this.

Even though it was only 8 in the morning, my mind was set to about 2 in the morning because of the time difference. Nevertheless, we took a short tour around Oxford, went into town and were set lose to do what we wanted. Me and a few girls headed straight to Blackwell’s, a giant bookstore that goes levels and levels underground… talk about dream come true. And then of course we had to grab groceries.

After playing a round of Cranium (in which most of the rules were broken) and introducing ourselves to each other, we went back out for dinner. Me and three friends ate at a pub called The Grape… all ordered fish and chips. Yum! We got to talk a bit to our waiter and tell him what we were doing in Oxford.

As far as thoughts and feelings go… it’s been up and down. I am so excited to be here and so ready to see what lies ahead. I can’t wait to explore and travel, to see what God has in store for me and my classmates. His glory is already revealing itself around every corner and it’s only been a day.

Lack of sleep has left my emotions high, but I’m sure (or at least hoping) that sleep is the cure.

I’m already beginning to see how different the culture is here. The fun (and sometimes nerve-wracking) part is trying to find out how everything works… all on your own. It’s a different world, and yet much the same in many ways. It will be interesting to see how quickly we get used to the differences. The weirdest part is the fact that this isn’t just a vacation. This is our home. We’re living here and have to find out how things tick.

Oh, and there is apparently someone named Todd I should know about. My bunk is covered in notes to him. Who is Todd? It’s an on-going mystery. Perhaps some of my previous study abroad-ers can inform me?

First World Problems

I posted this video a few weeks back but was at a loss for time to say anything about it.

Here’s the deal… I used to say “ugh, first world problems” all the time. After seeing this video… I don’t. Watch it, and I HOPE you’ll see why.

When you think about it, our problems are not actually problems. Seeing these people, people with REAL problems, people who struggle to find food for the day, find clean water, find shelter… people who struggle to survive every day of their lives, I realize how miniscule and irrelevant it is that I left the milk out overnight or tripped up the stairs or… well, here are some examples from a blog all about first world problems:

“I can’t find the right balance between my fan and my electric blanket.”

“I went to go babysit for an hour and the kids didn’t know what their own wifi password was.”

“I type so fast that my fake nails keep hitting the wrong keys.”

“My iPad 3 doesn’t warm my lap as much as my MacBook Pro.”

My heart started to ache after watching this video, realizing how carelessly I’d thrown around the phrase “first world problems.” It’s a sad… that we comically throw around the phrase, thinking it’s FUNNY to make our problems bigger than they are.

What’s also odd… is that the fact “first world problems” even exists proves that we KNOW other people are much worse off than we are. We know there are true, heartbreaking “third world problems”, even in our own neighborhoods and what do we do to combat it? Make ourselves feel better by adding humor to the issue.

Am I saying we should feel guilty about being so blessed? Of course not. I truly believe God can bless people financially.

Having guilt because of wealth is the opposite extreme of being proud of it.

I do NOT believe that He blesses so that we can hoard it and laugh at the fact that our problems are so miniscule. He blesses so that we can bless others… like the people in the video.

You can see their faces… some are disgusted at what we THINK are problems. Others are just confused.

Let’s take our blessings and DO something with them. Let’s use our lack of true “problems” to maybe, somehow relieve the true problems of others.

Just a thought.