Deep, dark secret...

I’m using you.

Yes, it’s true.

Or, at the very least, it’s possible.

It’s been a long while since I’ve blogged, and though you might think you’ve suffered for not having your regular dose of Andi’s babblings, I’ve suffered more.

Turns out I’m still an external processer, and without my regular blogging-induced stop-and-process time… Well, I simply don’t process. Whoops.

I think journaling is a good way to keep yourself accountable in your walk—a good way of checking up on yourself to see if you’re acting on/growing from what God is/has been teaching you.

So, this whole journaling-for-the-whole-world-to-see thing really puts me out there. Each one of you can hold me accountable or press me about where I’m at.

And I think I’ve been missing that.

I’ve been missing…. using you? Hmm. Curious.

From the living word...

“We who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.”
-Hebrews 6:18b-20

Wow. That’s really good stuff, eh?

Bjerkaas Buffet

So, I went to Eric’s family’s thing in Ohio for Thanksgiving. (See previous post about being rejected by my own family.)

You can imagine, with my tendency to be a bit neurotic and socially awkward, that this did present itself as a bit of a reason to absolutely freak out.

(Eric pointed out that I say oxymoronic things like that—“a bit of a reason to absolutely freak out”—a lot. Huh. I’m just really funny like that, sort of. I guess.)

But I survived our Ohio adventure.

It actually was a really good time. I was surprised by how not uncomfortable I was, most of the time. Weird.

Meeting Eric’s brothers, sisters-in-law and parents was cool and all, but the best part was getting to know Eric better as I got to know them and watch them all interact.

You should know—all three Bjerkaas boys are sharp. They’ve got all these degrees and life experiences that far outnumber and outshine any of mine. I was the loser with just a bachelor’s. Not a masters. Or two masters. I felt rather boring and bland and basic, not to mention inarticulate. (Oh, and, don’t fret—the boys’ wives and parents were equally extraordinary… whimper.)

But, yeah, I got to learn more and more about how cool Eric is. Oh, yeah, which reminds me—not to brag or anything, but… I’ve got a pretty cool boyfriend.

Now you know.

And it’s hard to know, because he’s all humble and (in my conspiracy-theory-esque opinion) actually keeps his coolness secret. But secrets don’t last through a dozen or so hours in the car and five full-on days of togetherness. And they especially don’t last when family is around.

His mom was talking about all this hardcore stuff he did in the Army—stuff I’d never heard about before. (I do believe I have a regular John Wayne on my hands.) And his brothers would reminisce about visiting him when he was stationed in Germany, and about their gallivanting around Europe. And then Eric himself would do things like offhandedly mention his history of jumping out of planes.

And, even cooler, I began to see the unique strengths and… things… Eric brings to the family picture. (“Things” is my attempt to define some certain indefinable traits...)

And the biggest E-revealing moment?

When the brothers broke out this insanely nerdy Star Wars trivia game and Eric started to absolutely destroy them in it. I just sat there slack-jawed—stunned, really—as he pulled out all this ultra-geeky knowledge about movies I’ve never had the slightest bit of interest in. I’m talking obscure, obscure stuff. Wow. There just weren’t words to describe the shock/wonder that induced…

So, yeah, my boyfriend is a bit of a nerd. More than I even knew, apparently. But we both are nerds when it comes right down to it.

And, in some circles, that is also cool.

So… win, win.

And win, again—by having a really great Thanksgiving.

Thanks(giving) for the slight...

Did I tell you my parents didn’t invite me to Thanksgiving?

Yup, that happened.

A few weeks back, we were sitting in the kitchen with my brother Kev and sister-in-law Riss, and they established that Riss was hosting the big day at their house in Wisconsin, and my parents were invited. And the—my parents, brother and sisters, that is—went on to talk about details… and left me sitting there, befuddled.

I mean, hello? Not to take on a princess complex or anything, but—umm?—this is my first Thanksgiving back stateside and you’re not even going to acknowledge that I’m around? I wasn’t expecting fanfare or a throne or confetti, but at least an invite? Hilarious.

I intend to keep telling this story—with a growing theme of “poor me”—for years to come.

But, even though my parents ditched me, I knew Thanksgiving had to be better than last year’s. I made the mistake of opening up some of my posts from last year this time. Wow. What a different world. You can go back and read them yourself if you want, and remember with me what was going on in Lopitland then. But I can spare you the work by simply saying, compared to last year, the holidays have nowhere to go but up… ;)

 

Summon the Hedgehog....

(I actually wrote this little ditty a week or two ago, but then it got lost in the recesses of my computer... So you're getting it now... And, fyi, I'm still not really sure what this settling business should look like.)

If you know me (or, I guess, if you've been reading this blog long enough), you know I don't like to do things halfway.

In a leadership book I read, the author called it the "hedgehog approach" (or something very much like that). I like that word picture. It suits me. Basically, it's focusing on a certain thing and going after it with all your energy.

Right now, I'm hedgehogging on settling into La Salle-Peru.

My deal is, though, what does settling into a place look like? I've never really done it before. It was college—a new place each year and summer—then a quick stop in Decatur, then a whirlwind handful of months at home preparing to leave, then a mud/dung house (maybe the very definition of impermanent?) in Sudan. And then, bam, I'm here. And staying. (Yeah, still funny…)

So, what is settling in, exactly? I mean, outside of hanging picture frames. Or buying an area rug. Or stocking up on stuff in bulk.

'Cause that's all I can think of, and none of that is really an option. My mother sat looking at me mournfully the other day, when I dared to set up a little table for my computer in my nephew's room, which is what they call what is really my room—the nomenclature pointedly and purposefully unwelcoming. So picture frames are certainly out of the question.

I'm suddenly wide open to take responsibilities and make on-going commitments. To get involved. Yea even to get employed (Lord willing!). To belong—whether it is at a church or in a group of friends or at the Y or a Scrabble club.

And that's exciting. That's big. That's something to hedgehog toward.

But it's also a bit overwhelming and I don't know what it should look like here.

And that might be reason enough to concede to something as simple as picture frames and area rugs and jumbo-sized boxes of… whatever.

Change of Plans. (?!?!)

I think I’ve talked with a lot of you in the past few days, but I figure it’s high time to drop a blog about my really recent and kind of giant change of plans.

So, last week—after a lot of counsel and prayer—I resigned from Jesus Film and Campus Crusade.

I know, you’re probably thinking, “What in the world, Andi?!?!”

Welp, here’s the dealio: I’m staying home to see about this boy.

Like I said, I met a wonderful fella here who loves the Lord. And who, apparently, doesn’t mind having me around. So I’m going to just go ahead and do that—be around.

And see what God has for me.

Or—well—us.

And, yeah, that might be a bit crazy.

But, surprisingly, you all have been less surprised than I expected. In fact, that a good number of you apparently saw this coming well before I did alarms me.

Am I so hardheaded?

To be sure, getting to this point, to make this call, did take a pretty impressive working by the Holy Spirit in my heart. And it didn’t come without a fair share of trashing and squirming about. But finally I was forced to rip my eyes off the Jesus Film and focus them instead on Jesus himself—exchange my plans for His.

And so I resigned.

I’m settling into La Salle-Peru, settling into this new path God has for me, settling into trusting the Lord to give me the grace to serve Him faithfully, even here.

Through this whole thing, I’ve fallen more in love with the fact that God is so good as to allow His people to learn more about His character at every turn in life.

I’ve learned that sometimes He will lead you so far enough down one path, just to show you it’s not the way He wants you to go. He’ll test your faithfulness and willingness in one direction, only to turn you around and bless your steps in another direction.

And, I’m just amazed that my God is so sovereign in men’s hearts as to be able to take the thing I wanted least—yea, even my worst fear: to be tripped up on the way to Jesus Film, to be “stuck” at home for any significant amount of time —and to change it into the thing I want most, the thing that’s best for me. And turn that same “unwanted” thing into an answer to focused, fervent prayer.

Honestly, how thrilling, how praiseworthy, how awesome is that? Gets me pretty excited about my God—my Abba, Father.

So, that’s it. That’s my news.

Sometime really soon I’ll get out my last prayer letter, to the same effect. (Probably this blog, nearly to the letter, to be honest.) And I’ll get you the details of my resignation (official sometime in December, as I understand it) and of what to do if you’re on my financial team and all that good stuff.

(Gunning) For the birds...

I came upon a whole rafter of wild turkeys out on 71 this morning.

It reminded me of when we’d chance upon a family of guinea foul on the road out of Sudan—when we hadn’t eaten meat in a long time—and everyone would hungrily (and sometimes loudly) cheer on Daniel as he pushed on the gas and tried to hit one just right, so we could have bird for dinner in Loki.

 

I felt a similar excitement rise in me today when I saw those fat turkeys. Especially with Thanksgiving so close at hand.

 

But I remembered in plenty of time that such behavior/thinking is not OK in the U.S. of A.

 

I’m so adjusted.

Subbing: my personal social experiment...

High school kids are so mysterious. Intriguing in a way.

They talk about the most bizarre things. Treat each other in the strangest ways. Esteem (and exalt, really) peculiar stuff. They'll strike up the strangest conversations with me--about anything, really. Especially about Africa--they ask great questions.

I'm kind of a people watcher, so you can imagine how much fun this whole thing is for me. I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what exactly is going through these kids' heads--why they say the things they say, why they feel so compelled to act the way they do. When students are particularly naughty or show such little respect for their fellow students or me as human beings, I spend a lot of time ruminating on what anger, missing thing, insecurity or uncertainty that's all rooted in.

And a lot of time wishing they knew Christ.

("Wishing" is a deliberate word choice. I'm still developing my discipline of turning that wishing into active, fervent prayer.)

But some of it is fun. I get to be a fly on the wall, especially in my old high school. I get to hear all about how it's pasta day, a reason for excitement at LP that--it seems--is older than the students are. (Pasta was "exciting" back in 1997, too.) I get/have to hear about so-and-so and so-and-so. I hear echos of my own classmates, as these current students complain about the same teachers we did.

And, interestingly and recently, I've got to hear from the girls about how attractive the LP faculty is. Oh yes. A group of girls walked into "my" Spanish class last week gushing about how hot Mr. B is.

I found it super difficult to keep a straight face and not gawk or burst out into laughter. The poor things didn't have a clue that their precious, hot Mr. B is my Eric. Haha. Oh wow. I did manage, however--in the conversation they started with me, in which they were urging me to check out for myself the famously attractive teachers of the math hallway--to ask if perhaps the likes of Mr. B and their other favorite faculty eye candy wasn't a touch too old for them. Doesn't matter, apparently. They're just that hot. Wow. (Said opinions, of course, further extinguish any concerns I might have had about ol' Mr. B being too old for me...)

So, wow, that's definitely my new favorite subbing story. And one I try to tell as much as possible in Eric's presence. Obviously.

:)

Back to the basics...

Yesterday, at OHS, I subbed for a chem teacher.

The students watched “Charlie Brown and the NASA Space Station.” A Snoopy movie.

This is advanced chem, might I add.

(To their credit, though, the kids were also working on some sort of molecular equations... but, still...)

But that I simply got to show this movie—for four periods, with increasing enjoyment in each showing, to be sure—afforded me a lot of time to study.

I was able to work through the entire Affirmation of Faith from Desiring God, a quality ministry that’s blessed me with good spiritual eatin’ since I first became a Christian. I was going through the Affirmation of Faith—basically a boiled-down, straight-forward “Here’s what we believe” from DG—for a couple reasons, but really came away with a firmer hold on and deeper understanding of my own faith.

It’s really just a compilation of the basics, you see—and it was just so great to get back to the basics.

And get back to meditating on the basics.

Rejoicing in the basics.

Savoring the basics.

Good stuff, indeed.

Real Sex.

Subbing at the high school can be kind of boring--I've told you this. So I bring a book to read, for when I'm not grading Eric's papers.

Generally, I'm reading something obviously Christian, so I don't mind the kids getting a peek at the book's title. But things got a little crazy with this last book I'm reading--a book my friend read and loved and suggested.

It’s a book that's turning out to be a surprisingly honest, refreshingly different look at Christians and chastity--how we should talk about sex, how we should teach about chastity, and how we as a church body need to/can nurture singles in pursuing a chaste lifestyle. I’m actually quite impressed with the author—a Christian woman who wasn’t married at 21 and actually has a sexual history, who doesn’t gloss over the fact that sexual desire is real, who doesn’t simply spout clichés and who has so clearly poured over the Text and other teachings with a critical eye.

Anyway, it’s a good read. I think this would be a valuable teaching tool, were I ever to get back to campus ministry. But that’s not really the point.

The point is I was reading it at school, like I said. And that’s normally not a problem, like I said.

But the title of said book happens to be—in shiny red letters printed on the ultra-black spine of the book—“REAL SEX.”

No one has ever given a second glance at any book I’m reading. No one has ever cared. But all of a sudden--though I was careful not to flash the title and actually ended up covering it with electrical tape, just to avoid any confusion—everyone is curious to know what I’m reading.

Students casually ask me. Teachers, unprovoked, chum up to me in the hallway while I’m working lunch duty, tip their chin at my book and want to know.

I sputter a bit. Probably turn a light crimson. Make a super awkward face. Hem. Haw. Fidget. “Errr, it’s a Christian book.” About what? “Ummmm… Welp, it’s actually called ‘Real Sex: the naked truth about chastity.’ ”

Wow. Laying it all out there. Awkward moment.

So, long story short--now I’m the substitute teacher reading the sex book.

Excellent.

Just excellent.

still kmandie...

 

Together again.

 

Minnesot-ah.

So I took a spur-of-the-moment trip up to Minnesota last week, to see KP. She’s been uber-sick for what seems like forever, so I was hoping to bring some cheer. Instead, I brought my own bug and spent a day and a half of my two-day stay on cold medicine, loopy as anything. Figures. Haha.

Still, it was good to see my Kimmie. I really miss having her just a mud wall away, always there. Life’s so busy and wild these days, I worry my most important people will get lost in the shuffles—theirs and mine. It’s hard to even connect on the phone anymore. I’m working so hard to “be where I’m at,” but sometimes it seems you really do need to be in two places at once.

(Disclaimer: I know this isn’t an earth-shattering idea for any of you—it’s simply about life, as is most of what I write on here these days. But I’m just putting the pen to the paper—it’s what I do. And I guess you’re welcome to be a part of that…)

That’s why I got in the car and drove the seven hours to Cambridge, MN. I figured that’s about as far as we’d drive to get mediocre potatoes in Sudan… so no big deal.

And in an amazing twist, we actually got to reconnect with Pattie, as well. She’s from Texas, but was randomly about an hour away from KP. How sweet is that?

Imagine, Kim and I tearing out of the mall doors and into the parking lot to give Pattie Chapatti her welcoming hugs. We were tempted to actually tackle her, but thought better of it—what, with all the wet pavement and people watching and all.

All in all, it was a good, quick trip, despite being sick and all that driving. Staying out at KP’s farmhouse with her folks felt like coming home. Being with the roommates, understanding their struggles and being really understood, and swapping stories was—now that I think about it—just what I needed.

My teensy-weensy, blogworthy someone...

My mom’s been poking at me the last few days, questioning my transparency on the ol’ blog, because of one teensy-weensy thing I haven’t exactly mentioned yet.

And, yeah, I guess, to be honest, it’s not all that teensy or weensy.

He’s actually kind of a big deal.

Nearly a foot taller than I am, at least.

So, meet Eric.

I ran into him one day not so long ago in the halls of my old high school—he’s a teacher, not a student—and haven’t been able to shake him since. And I don’t mind. Not really at all.

There you have it—transparency. I hope you’re happy. I’m not one to admit easily to myself that I’m excited about a fella, let alone to the entire blogging community. So forgive my foot-dragging on the intro. (Mom.)

He’s a godly, godly man—you don’t find many/any of those in younger models around the Illinois Valley—and absolutely great to be around.

Not too shabby. Not too shabby, indeed.

You even get a picture. (I’m amazing even myself.) I like that one up there ‘cause my Dad’s in it—and, honestly, how weird is that? We definitely hang with the ‘rents a lot. So cool.

November Prayer Letter...

Actually, kind of a lame one. But I do what I can. Sigh.

More pumpkins....

Kira and Allison.

Kolton, as serious as ever.

My little pun'kins...

One of the things I missed the most about not being around for the last two years was carving pumpkins with Lara and the kiddos. It’s a tradition that goes way back, and one I’ve always enjoyed. So, here we go. Pumpkin carving pictures.

Lara and I, clearly having a good time gutting our pumpkins.

Kyla and "her" Tommy.

Kaden. Future lady-killer. I was just looking back at the first pictures we took carving pumpkins, way back in... 2003? He looks so teensy then! Now he's all grown up and adorable. Sigh.

On Wisconsin...

(As in, “On (the subject matter of) Wisconsin.” Not as in, “On, (to victory) Wisconsin.” Because that’d be just disgusting.)

I thought I’d pluck a few pictures from my desktop and plaster ‘em up here for ya. None of these is anywhere near as great as an Ellen picture, but I suppose they do give a glimpse into my life at the moment. Which I guess is the point of this here blog. I guess.

So, here ya go. Pictures from the Illinois-Wisconsin game I went to with Kev, Riss and their friend, Rob. Here we're just... eating. But you should know those bleachers were freezing.

Alabaster jar...

Golly, I’ve been learning a lot lately.

Just so much.

And it’s not all that pretty.

God and I went on a little date last week. A morning in the Starved Rock lodge with our favorite Book and a cozy sweatshirt.

That’s sort of where the cozy stopped, though—at the sweatshirt.

I got into the Word and I got into journaling, talking with the Lord. And things got rocky.

Rock in a good way—if I can say that—because the Holy Spirit started poking at me some, showing me some sin in my life—thing I’m holding on to, really.

I have a death grip on some things, to be honest. The white-knuckled variety.

Whoops.

So God led me to the Scripture about the woman at Bethany who anointed Jesus’ feet with expensive ointment and wiped his feet with her hair. She broke this alabaster jar—filled with something so precious—at this feet. And it was worth it. She understood that nothing in that jar could be so precious as worshipping and honoring the Savior by giving it all over to him.

So I took an inventory of all that I’m holding on to in my own jar, all that I’m not trusting God with. And, at the risk of toppling the (undue) missionary pedestal, I’ll say it wasn’t a short list. It was shamefully long. And I took that jar and stared at it. Gave it and its “precious” contents a good, long look.  

Then I looked at my Savior.

And I’m not sure if you’ve ever done that before—looked intently at all the worldly, temporary things you hold dear, then gazed into the eyes, the character of the One who died for you, so you could have everything, for eternity—but it’s just not a good idea if you’re wanting to hold on to that jar.

It is a great idea, however, if you want to smash that thing for his glory, or pour it out all over his feet. And so that’s what I’m working on doing.

 

Today I missed Lopit. A lot.

I dug out the blanket I had in Sudan, curled up on the couch with my picture of Ellen and gave the blanket a good, deep breath in, just to see if I could still smell our little mountainside.

This, of course, makes very little sense. Because, let’s be honest, the smell of Lopit wasn’t a good one. Really, nothing about Sudan smelled particularly good.

But, either way, I looked at that picture, snuggled in and took a beautiful, beautiful nap.

Missing a place can just be exhausting.