It happens so quickly I am often left a little stunned myself. These words, hurtful and abrasive, somewhat unintentional, fly from a dark corner of my mind, and shoot out with a dagger-like sharpness. I know what they can do, but it's as if I don't have control over my own tongue.

I lost it for a while. This unexplainable power of using my words to make others feel as hurt as I do. It's crazy to think that this problem was actually worse when I was younger. I prided myself on the fact that I could turn most arguments around with one quick, witty yet malicious, remark. This continued on until I recognized this disgusting norm of mine around my second year of college. Before then, I considered this habit an endearing quirk of my personality. I would tell myself, "everyone is different, this is how I process, I have the right to speak my mind". How self righteous and thoughtless I became over the extensive period of time I lived this way.

As I mentioned before, it disappeared for a while. I found a medium between being honest about my feelings, and expressing them in more considerate ways. It felt good. But, I think there is a responsibility in recognizing nasty habits, changing them, but also monitoring them long after the change. Otherwise, they could return as quickly as they left.

And so mine has. At first I blamed it on being here. Living on minimal needs in terms of food, clothing, sanitation, and communication, weather that kills handfuls of people every season, and being a female in a country where my gender automatically objectifies me in the eyes of local men. Most days I feel like a walking target. And so living with a higher amount of fear mixed with repressed anger, as a result of frustrating encounters, has led me to once again use harsh words as a mechanism or means of feeling in control. The important thing to remember is that my circumstances are not the issue, my complete lack of trust and this pursuit for control are the means in which my actions stem. These motives, these hidden objectives are what spur any action I do, whether it be the words I speak or the way in which I serve or withhold serving others. This is what needs to be fixed. Not the conditions in which I am in. My actions essentially provide a recognition of the bigger issue. When I lash out with my words, as unintentional as they may seem in my own mind, they are acting as a mirror to who I really am.

Acknowledging the ugly acts we do is not merely enough. Even seeking forgiveness for those acts is just one step closer to the real work that should be done. We must seek what our actions are evidence of. What is provoking us in the tiniest of ways. What bigger issues are we masking? It's learning to see ourselves in the light of our sin because often sin is fueled by the love of self. And so these sinful, self-seeking ways are what must be pulled out by the root. It's what we must surrender and trust that we are incapable of fixing on our own. In our own human weakness, we are quicker to bury than we are to kill, especially if it means killing more of ourselves for the sake of Christ.

I came across what has to be one of my favorite piece of writing by C.S. Lewis in his book, Mere Christianity. I think it does a wonderful job of verbalizing the relationship between action and incentive.

Here is a snippet of what he says:

"We begin to notice, besides our particular sinful acts, our sinfulness; begin to be alarmed not only about what we do, but about what we are. When I come to my evening prayers and try to reckon up the sins of the day, nine times out of ten the most obvious one is some sin against charity; I have sulked or snapped or sneered or snubbed or stormed. And the excuse that immediately springs to my mind is that the provocation was so sudden and unexpected; I was caught off my guard, I had not time to collect myself. Now that may be an extenuating circumstances as regards those particular acts: they would obviously be worse if they had been deliberate and premeditated. On the other hand, surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of a man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in a cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding. In the same way the suddenness of the provocation does not make me an ill-tempered man: it only shows me what an ill-tempered man I am.

What we are mattes even more than what we do. What we do matters chiefly as evidence of what we are- then it follows that the change which I most need to undergo is a change that my own direct, voluntary efforts cannot bring about. And this applies to my good actions too. How many of them were done for the right motive? How many for fear of public opinion, or a desire to show off? How many from a sort of obstinacy or sense of superiority which, in different circumstances, might equally have led to some very bad act? But I cannot, by direct moral effort, give myself new motives. After the first few steps in the Christian life we realize that everything which really needs to be done in our souls can be done only by God."

It's one of my favorite calls to receive.

I see the two little words "Post Office" flash across the back-lighten screen of my discordant, vibrating phone, equipped with two tiny hand-made decorations hanging from the battery clip. I speedily answer, "bain yy?"

The miniature ornaments swing to and fro, displaying the excitement that I am unable to make obvious, since I don't want to frighten the person on the other end of the conversation. This same conversation, that lasts approximately ten seconds, has once again made my day. The call normally comes around 9 am. I am left to steep in my suspense and delight until noon.

I leave the house or office a few minutes early to be sure that someone is actually working behind the desk, and that the previous call hasn't been some cruel joke played on me by the local post office workers - as has happened on more than one occasion.

Over the clerk's shoulder I can see the blue logo on the front and sides of the white box. The all too familiar packaging tape, that keeps everything in tact, glistens from its dark corner of the room, as this beauty has seen more of the world than most people will in their lifetime. It's becoming more and more challenging to contain my anticipation. Pieces of it begin to creep along the corners of my mouth until my lips can do nothing but blast into an all out smile. She laughs at me every time as I can barely keep my eyes off the prize long enough to sign my name in the small, right hand square of her booklet.

She weights it, if she feels like it, then tosses it onto the tiny wooden window seal that separates her work from my joy. I carry it over to customs to follow the same routine sequence of questions and demands, regardless of who is sitting at the desk,

"Show me your passport."

"Where's this from?"

"Open it."

"What's in it?"

"Tell me in both languages."

"What is that?!"

"Let me see it."

"Where do you live?"

"What's your phone number?"

"Sign here."

I take our half-opened belonging, bear-hugging it to my chest, and make a mad dash for the front door. I hold the opened end tightly in hopes that pieces of the treasure do not spill out during the half-mile hike home.

My heart pounds with each step closer to the finish line as I round the corner and make my way up the three flights of stairs to our cement block apartment. I balance the box on my left knobby knee as I jiggle the key into the lock, closer to unlocking the mystery of what's inside (mainly what is in the middle and bottom layer because the customs worker has already strewn the first layer to bits).

The door opens. I lunge inside, barely taking time to remove my key from its position in the door. I throw down my purse or whatever else has been weighing me down along the journey home and dart immediately into the kitchen, allowing the package to catch its breath on the kitchen table. I stare at it. After a moment more, I gently pull back the four tiny flaps that had worked so hard at transporting the contents from one end of the world to the other.

I begin to dig.

With each pull back my hand unlocks another piece to the puzzle.

I reach in again.

Every time my hand goes back for more, it is met with yet another remarkable encounter.

Again. And again. And again.

The feeling resembles digging into an oversized, square version of a Christmas stocking stuffed by a professional packer. I can see the bottom of the box from the outside, but when my fingers begin to investigate, it feels like the goodies will never end. I keep going, and my imagination is met with a tangible item.

I take out each piece of the collection and line them up on the kitchen counter as if making a nutritional army. After many "Whoas! Wows! and Ooooos!" I put each product into its place on the upper shelf.

Each cardboard bliss-box has its own personality. Some are hilarious and filled with inside jokes, photos, notes, or things that you may not even know what to do with; while others have this warm nurturance that is undeniably the feeling of home. Some have check lists with hand-written reminders that people are missing you; while others have items that have undergone major sharpie surgery in that familiar handwriting you have admired since childhood.

No matter the box's characteristics one thing is certain; each one leaves you feeling encouraged, loved, and missing home a little more.

For all of you who make this possible, we are beyond thankful for the ways in which you provide. Until the day comes when we can return and tell you in person how grateful we are, here is your long overdue thank you.

thank you.

thank you.

thank YOU.

It has been quite a while since I have written any thing in regards to my work here. This saddens me considering I started this blog with the intention of updating you all as much as possible, in hopes that you may experience things with me as they were happening. But, I guess intentions are meaningless unless carried out. Sorry that you have only been given the details after the face. But...

This update will be no different. : )

When I arrived here over a year ago, I tried to fool myself into believing I had no expectations. While in some aspects this may have been true, such as living with a host family and studying the language, I must confess that in other ways I was subtly setting myself up for misery. As arrogant as it may sound, I thought no matter what my work may turn out to be, surely I can keep myself busy doing things I have done before. Maybe I could help start a shelter for prostitutes or work with kids at the local orphanage, start a mentor program, etc. It's a shame when we hinder our ability to serve based solely on the feeling that we would rather move or work in areas where we know we are capable. Am I that afraid of failure? And if so, why? Because of the way others may perceive me or even how I perceive myself? Should those thoughts really be the motivation behind any type of work I do?

Lets be honest.

In our laziness, we would rather spend our time in an area where we feel we are qualified or know the material (whether we enjoy the practice or not) rather than taking the time to exercise new areas of study/work at the risk of failure. What cowards we are. We like our safety net. Our bubble. Satisfaction in the mere act of doing.

That was my first struggle with work here.

Then you add my cowardice to the fact that I was placed in two different organizations, splitting my time, effort, and project ideas between both, with the weight of corrupt school systems, low attendance, lack of motivation from both agencies for change, and people in power that should not be. In the beginning, I thought the most difficult part would be the language barrier. Unable to express my ideas or communicate with both co-workers and students. While that was extremely difficult, the bigger problems were in the foundation of even the most basic operations, almost all of which I was unable to even speak about, let alone call for change. So I puddled around, doing random side projects outside of school, slowly killing time, and constantly battling my inability to move in a new direction with the unwillingness to want to help the crookedly doings of my agencies.

Flash forward eight months into service and I had one of the most rewarding meetings since being here, although my regional managers may not have seen it as such. But after almost two hours of tense, agitated discussion, I was pulled from my positions at both schools. That's right. In a matter of hours I was able to leave both agencies. For a block of time I didn't know if Nick and I would be sent home, relocated, or able to find a new job that would adhere to all of the requirements of having a volunteer. Turns out the latter one happened. After a couple of meetings I was placed with the local children's center. Though I have only been there for three months, in a matter of days, I felt more at ease and excited about this center than the eight months combined at the other agencies.

That catches you up to now. Since being there, I have come to terms that no matter where I work here, I will be forced to teach or lead at least some activities that I either don't know anything about, don't think I am capable of doing, or just don't want to do. Maybe that is just how things work when you volunteer. It's as if you don't fully know what you are volunteering for, even if you are given a job statement, book to follow, and pushed through rigorous training in advance. I feel as though I put my life and work in the hands of others around me every day. All of which is terrifying, humbling, and humorous at the same time.

Since it is summer, there are only some of the local youth, the cleaning lady, and myself left at work. That's right. Everyone, in every position, of every profession, gets at least half of the summer off to do whatever they want. No exaggeration. No joke. So all of my work is out. But since some of the kids from the center are around, we have been having English and computer classes lately. It's been mellow but nice.

Soon everything will be back to the normal chaos. Photography class will pick up again. I will be doing seminars on AIDS training, child labor, and interactive teaching, on top of the usual English conversation club and life skills classes. But the busier the better. It will help the winter pass more quickly when it begins to arrive in a couple of months.

Other than that, Nick and I have been taking it easy. We went to the countryside with his work for a holiday and took pictures for our friends wedding last weekend. We also battled a great combination of food poisoning/heat stroke/the flu for six days back and forth. That was special.

So that is the update for now. I will do my best to not fall into the same absent update routine that I have in the past. It's all about stretching yourself, right?:)

I stood there in the midst of the summer breeze in front of the large, double paned window, frozen with the same feeling I had that night- the last night I saw him.

It was somewhere on that curve-ish path that winds itself through the main street of the theme park. I remember holding the hand of my mother's friend who so kindly extended her generosity to my brother and I, allowing us to tag along with her family that day, insisting that every child should go to Disneyland. It was beginning to get dark. That perfect time of day in the park when the sun just finished setting and all the night lights come on, illuminating the tiniest of details that you somehow missed before. Maybe it's because in the summer heat you beg for shade as you wait in line for hours before receiving the fulfillment of wrapping your fingers around the bars in front of you, as the worker makes his last check that everyone is buckled in. Or maybe my five-year-old eyes just enjoyed all the bright colors of the lights as they dashed around sign to sign and ride to ride. But something made it more enjoyable to wait in the beginning hours of darkness around the park for me. It was then, with Splash Mountain to my left, that I saw him. It was the first time since "the incident". He seemed so happy with his other family that it infuriated me. Part of me wanted to run over and kick him, step on his foot, or maybe give one good punch to the back of his knee, anything at all to make him feel the pain of abandonment and hurt that he has selfishly imposed upon the three of us, leaving us in agony before fleeing to his get away car with her in the passenger seat.

But I did nothing.

I don't think I even told anyone that I saw him that night until years later. I just stood there- helpless and silent- like I did the night of "the incident".

"The incident" happened one year earlier. My brother was to my right, also inaudible except for the tiny whimpers between the tears streaming down his face that he wiped immediately, refusing to let anyone see that he had an ounce of sensitive emotions in him, even at the age of six. I stood next to him, muted and wide eyed, confused at what had just happened. Both of us looked down at our mother who screamed for help, paralyzed with pain because of him. I was in my pajamas, ready for bed.

It's eighteen years later and these images crash into me like an blindside sack knocks the wind out of a quarterback. Again I am in my pajamas, on a late summer evening, with the lights above me revealing an all too familiar scene. Only this time, it is not my family in the privacy of my front yard. And not even my home country but a land that I still realize I neither understand or connect with fully. But there I was, three stories above them, watching the chaos of a domestic violence dispute happening in the middle of the street. I feel the rage of unspoken questions and anger slowly make their way from the knot in my gut, up my chest, to that tiny spot in the back of my throat. This is the first time they have every made their way this high. They are so close to spilling over. They want out. Her screams get louder and louder, the sounds of their fists clobbering pound harder and harder. People pass them constantly in small groups pretending that nothing is happening. Four drunk men sit watching in between their sips of vodka on the bench below my window when they came out. The screams that have been bottled in for years flowed out in the native tongue of the people below me, with a sort of intensity that almost scared myself had I not known the tiring process it took to muster them up.

"STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! LEAVE HER ALONE! GO HOME NOW! SOMEONE HELP HER!" I shouted.

The street became silent and her crying stopped. But it only lasted a moment.

The drunk men below yell at me to go inside and mind my own business.

I decline.

A younger couple of teenage boys, finally come to break up the fight that had been lasting a good five minutes by now.

My throat burned from screaming so loud. It felt as if the tiny cords had been melted like a hot plastic wire.

Though I wanted to feel satisfaction for finally gathering courage to shout all the words I never said as a child, I just couldn't. Instead, the sense of accomplishment was met with a question.

Which is worse- hiding abuse in the privacy of your own home or make believing that nothing is happening when evidence is right before your eyes, calling for help, from the middle of a street?

Either way, in these cases, silence is useless.

...14 months to go!

That's right. I am writing on the same exact day that I arrived to Mongolia one year ago. My mind cannot even begin to wrap around what I have learned and seen in this short but compact time of growth in my life. I left all that was familiar to me with a rather different mindset than the one I have now. Tonight, there will be a group of over 60 Volunteers from the States (the largest group to ever come here in the 18 years PC has been working in Mongolia) beginning exactly where I had to a year ago. I remember all the excitement of going to a new place with an open mind for what is to come, mixed with the sadness of leaving those you love and care for back home, topped off with the dreariness of completing the 18 hour flight (not including layovers) and the 16 hour time change of your life. The whole world seems a little upside down, but your mind is still racing trying to imagine what Mongolia looks like in the daylight. (We arrived at 11:30 pm and were taken by bus, in total darkness, to the countryside for our first night).

So, in honor of those coming today, here is, in no particular order, a small list of the lessons I have learned in my first year here, followed by things I hope to never take for granted in the United States. All of which are true, regardless of how silly they may seem. : )

1. Though the host family's pots look rusty, as if they are used for cleaning, they are in fact used for cooking, so washing your underwear in them is a very bad idea.

2. Carrying cookies in your pockets keeps you from getting rabies. Not because they have special power, but because all dogs like them, no matter how much they may be foaming at the mouth.

3. It takes approximately two women and three trips to the water pump, a half mile down the road, to fill the 20 gallon, metal trash can, used as a water supply inside the house for the following week.

4: I can use my body to tell the temperature in the winter. For example:

-5 to -10: My hands turn purple, even with my mittens on, by the time I reach the sports complex, approximately a five minute walk from my home.

-10 to -15: After being outside for around 30 seconds, snot-cicles begin to form. This is where every ounce of fluid contained inside your nose, freezes together to create rather sharp and frozen sticks, resembling icicles that I once admired on the roofs of cabins in Big Bear.

-15 to - 20: It becomes so cold that my eyes water uncontrollably; however, it is also the temperature range at which small amounts of fluids freeze almost immediately. This means that within seconds, my eyelashes stick themselves together. On these days I look like I have a bad case of tics, as my only defense is to blink, extremely hard, in hopes that my lashes will unstick themselves during my 12 minute walk to work.

- 20 to - 40: I am forced to wear so many layers that I waddle like a penguin. This range of temperature also contains all the other strange discomforts of the pervious levels. You really just can't feel anything. And any bodily form that is exposed, for long periods of time, is a likely candidate for frostbite. We all get to walk around, with everything, including our faces wrapped, resembling colorful ninjas.

5. Your water distiller can, in fact, be a fire hazard.

6. Public forms of exercise are not common in all countries. You run a high risk of herdsmen asking you, "what is chasing you?" or "what are you running from?" and the option of children throwing rocks at you, if you decide to go for a jog.

7. Changing the temperature on an oven is a luxury. Other ovens, can and will, electrocute you...twice.

8. Every taxi ride you take, will inevitably take three times longer than expected. There is also a possibility that the driver will take you up a mountain, visit a friend/family members ger, make you eat freshly killed goat out of a pan, ride their horse, and milk their cow.

9. Two-headed cows do exist. There is one inside my city's museum. However, they take it as a miraculous surprise. I can't help but look at the mine down the road, near where the cow was found, and think of my water supply as a threat.

10. Camels are living dinosaurs. And there are still theories about birds.

11. The long-winded, scientific names for dinosaurs are boring. The better names include: big dinosaur, little dinosaur, and the ostrich like dinosaur.

12. All people love basketball. Including the fingerless, drunk man that wants to take a shot.

13. If you are white, you are automatically Russian.

14. The best pick up line I have ever heard evolved from this:

Rachel and I were teaching our photography class about motion and movement. We decided a great project would be, combining photography with earth day, to use recyclable items and teach them how to make and decorate kites. After running around on the top of a mountain in the chaos known as Mongolian Spring wind, a teenage boy drives past on his way to who knows where, see us flying our kites, and decides to take a detour. He then drives his vehicle up the side of the mountain, flinging up dirt, rocks and dust, leaving us momentarily blind, rolls down his window, and in a sly and seductive manner asks in Mongolian:

" you wanna tie your kites to my car?"

--------------------------------------------------

In no particular order, I vow to never again take the following for granted:

1. The FDA and ADA

2. personal space and single file lines

3. OPTIONS, OPTIONS, OPTIONS!!

4. grocery stores and supermarkets...being able to buy most of what you need in a single place.

5. selections of shoes made especially for people that are taller than 5'2" or have a shoe size larger than a 5.

6. anything and everything antibacterial.

7. BOOK STORES!

8. thick walls in your house.

9. shower heads.

10. being able to control the temperature inside your house.

11. the combination of the washer AND dryer. Particularly, the magical lint catcher that is attached to the dryer.

12. ovens, microwaves, pots, pans, and anything else that helps cook the foods I love.

13. the option of good health care

14. the dentist. (oh how i love and miss you so)

15. the efficiency of the United States Postal Service, including having mail delivered to your door.

16. mattresses and beds that are longer than a child's size twin.

17. fast, working, consistent internet

18. paved roads

19. safety laws, especially for drivers and pedestrians.

20. Coffee shops!

21. alcohol limits.

22. various forms of entertainment.

23. being able to work out or even be outside (without getting heat stroke or freezing to death) for more than 2-3 months a year.

24. wearing flip flops or sandals of any form, shape, and color!

and last but far from least...

25. THE OCEAN!

____________________________

So there it is. Believe me, the list grows on a daily basis. I try to absorb or soak in as much as possible, each and every day. There are always surprises as this opportunity most often resembles a roller coaster, with twists, turns, and loops that leave you breathless yet begging for more. New lessons and stories are bound to come and I promise to store some up to share with you, in person, upon our return. I am sure Nick has some of his own as well.

Regardless of how silly or minor some of these lessons and longings seem, each one leads to a more expansive understanding of God, myself, this culture, and the undeserving blessing bestowed upon me to have been born in America. There are incalculable deeper lessons that have resulted from all these humorous/ minor comprehensions. Ones that humble my spirit, quiet my soul, and protect the flickering yet constant burning desire to live in faith. And those are what have made this first year worth while and supply me fuel for the upcoming months.

in the words of my adorable husband...

more to come.

Kim

I am beginning to think that I will never have marriage figured out. I know it is beyond new to me, not only in terms of Nick and I still being newlyweds, but because the only examples of "good" marriages I saw while growing up were extremely limited and lived vicariously through the lives of my friends.

I am currently reading a book called, Sacred Marriage: What If God Designed Marriage to Make Us Holy More Than to Make Us Happy. The book breaks down the areas of spiritual life that could and should be enhanced by the unity of marriage. There is something all together fascinating about what happens to you as a result of the patterns your spouse notices in your behaviors. We are often too blinded by our own sin (or maybe it is easier to ignore when we are single) to recognize the darkest places, habits, and oddities of who we are. This can be evident in who or what we worship, how we lack the ability to truly forgive, the inability to embrace difficulty in order to build character, and the fearfulness of exposing our sin.

I am not sure if this more "holy" behavior was God's intention when He first created woman for man. After all, I seem to realize, at least once a day, how incapable I am of knowing what God has in store for me, let alone all of mankind. Regardless, the generalities of behaviors and thought patterns that the book points out leave me convicted, confessing, and seeking forgiveness in ways I never dared to do before marriage. I praise God for giving me a patient and great communicator as a partner. I couldn't have reached any of these understandings without him.

One of my favorite things (insert sarcasm here) about much of my thought process, is the cycle of telling myself I have no expectations for what I am embarking on, only to realize later once my inner needs (which can be seen as expectations) are not being met, I become hurt, angry, frustrated, or withdraw. I believe we try to convince ourselves that we have no expectations, in hopes that we may not feel disappointment in case things do not go according to plan. I would have to argue that denying expectations is denying the very fact that we are creative, thinking, self-seeking human beings where motive drives us and failure or mistakes help us better understand what we may want to improve. Regardless of how tiny or hidden expectations are, I believe they exist in almost all activities of our lives. Whether or not we choose to express, examine, or invest in them is how they differ.

My issue comes when I fail to dig deeper into what I thought marriage might be like with Nick. After many discussions, I have realized not only what these ideals were, but why and how they were made. I don't know if all women tend to do this, but there is an overwhelming sense of fantasy that exists in my brain. My ideas come about after making a very concrete and visual example in my head with a little outside influence.

I will give you an illustration of how this played itself out in my marriage so far.

Nick and I knew that communication would be extremely difficult as soon as I left for Mongolia. Considering the distance, lack of resources, and both of us feeling loved through the use of words, we decided to set up a private blog where we would write each other as often as possible throughout the week. Nick would update regularly while I would write for weeks at a time on my computer until I could find internet and upload all that I had documented. These updates included everything from daily tasks to spiritual struggles. It was full of confession, experience, longing, honesty, trust, and anticipation. Nick's words about us, marriage, and our future together would stick in my mind for days at a time. They were descriptive and exciting. I loved every one of those posts and am extremely grateful for the time and effort that went into making our communication work as best it could given the circumstances.

The issue came after the "I do". Suddenly, all that was written was not exactly as I envisioned it in my head and I could not figure out why I was so upset for what appeared to be nothing. There was an overwhelming sense of confusion somewhere between what had been happening in our marriage and my disguised expectations. The tiniest details of who I was that thrilled Nick before now seemed mundane and unnoticed. After the wedding and the big move, it started to become more apparent that my expectations were far from being met. Let me say here that I never really discussed my expectations with Nick because they seemed inevitable due to what was written to me. So, I began questioning myself. If he wrote these things to me, why are they not showing up? Have I done something wrong? Is Nick not happy with the decision he made?

For a good month, these thoughts bounced in my head throughout the day. The more I questioned, the more I allowed for my tiniest insecurities to creep in and nip at my heels. It was draining on both of us. Since I didn't spend time trying to figure out what my expectations were, they had freedom to play themselves out in the ugliest of ways. Most commonly, they showed themselves through my words.

I believe the mode in which we hurt those we care about is through the way they perceive love most easily. For Nick, it comes verbally. This can either be when I withhold from speaking to him or when I say the sharp, damaging words that I know will not only catch his attention but make him feel as hurt as I do. Both of which I believe can jeopardize our marriage, destroy the foundation we are trying to build, and most importantly, disobey what God tells us marriage should be.

So often I find myself thinking one-sided. I believe that only my actions have the capability to destroy all that I find beautiful and sacred within my marriage and friendships. What I fail to recognize is that my tongue and the absence of a guard on my mouth can be just as detrimental.

There is a song I have been listening to by Maria Taylor that describes this relationship between words and action. It is called "replay" and incidentally it has been replaying on my headphones for the last 5 days. In the song she says, "the weight of our words is what we don't understand. Or the tasks and the part of every woman and every man."

Within a relationship, especially a marriage, each partner is in charge of doing their part in keeping it revered and helping it grow. I don't believe a marriage can move in any direction without first recognizing the sin that will hinder it from doing so.

As I mentioned before, the book I am reading is helping me understand that regardless of what Nick may or may not be doing, there comes a point where I have to give in to the fact that I can't change him. I cannot force him to see me in a certain way. I can't make him do or say the little things that would leave me breathless and giddy like a schoolgirl before. I can only try to love him into the man and husband that I think he is capable of being, and I do this by trying to be the wife that God calls me to be, the partner Nick deserves, and putting the covenant I made with both of them before any expectations I may have. All of which helps me view Nick not as an opponent, but as a living design to help sharpen and reveal where I lack maturity in living faithfully before God.

learning one lesson at a time,

Kim

here are some photos to give your eyes some visual stimulation instead of constantly reading my thoughts.

enjoy.

with love and peace,

mrs. B

I have been told on more than one occasion that I live in the past.

At first, I was offended by these offhanded comments because I’ve always considered myself an active planner and go-getter, not some dweller of events from an earlier time. Then I realized that my definition of living in the past was not only rigid, but also filled with hostility and disdain. It should have been a clue to me that there was some truth in what they were saying, simply by my reaction. Funny how we can so easily dislike what we think we shouldn’t be, merely because of who or where the idea is coming from. Too often we let the diminutive definitions we have been taught since childhood carry the only forms of truth instead of investigating newfound meanings or understandings. In the same way we allow relationships, hobbies, faith, and even our jobs to be questioned or catechized, we should allow the same examinations to take place within ourselves.

All that to say, I believe there is a lot to be learned about ourselves from those closest to us. After somewhat reaching a point of settling in here, I began to rest and relive time I have recently spent back in the States. While reflecting on various moments and conversations I shared with some of you, I was able to find truth in what had previously made me uneasy.

I don’t think I live in the past, but I do spend an awful lot of time there. However, I use the past not as a dwelling mechanism, but as a way of tracing God’s plan and coloring in the gaps that I missed before. Almost as if I am 5 years old again, sitting at a table, painting by numbers. In most aspects of my life, I seem to be blind to the greater picture that God is trying to teach me, mainly because my own selfish motives, expectations, or circumstances cause me to focus on other irrelevant details. Not to say details are insignificant (I believe they are what help create the bigger picture), but it’s when we are zoomed in on the tiny factors that we are unable to trace how each moment fits together to create this uniformed piece of God’s majestic hand at work in our lives. I start by looking back and seeing what I was unable to see before. By understanding where I was, from the perspective I stand at now, what was foggy becomes more clear. What I thought was the issue becomes erased with the outcome that I was unwilling to recognize while living in that moment.

But it doesn’t stop there.

I take those happenings and follow them like clues to a mystery until I see where they find me in my new state of mind. The mind that is still planning, still seeking, still tenacious. Only then do those occurrences become applicable, the past useful, and another layer added to the foundation of my faith. I see God clearly in those lessons. Each one becomes another exemplar of His sovereignty, even when I am blind and faithless. It’s there that I add a little more color or connect another dot to the patient God that works through others and myself for the greater good of His Kingdom. It’s there that I learn to redefine or stretch my basic definitions. And it’s there where I am able to see how much mercy I have been given and how much grace I do not deserve.

It is when we allow our past to hinder us from learning, letting go of our shame, and finding peace in confession, that our stories becomes useless and our memory used to our disadvantage. Instead, we should allow it to be a bridge toward change, redefining what we thought we knew, and finding truth behind what others may be showing us, regardless of how defensive we desire to become. In doing so, we become less afraid to question ourselves, but even more so, strengthened to move in a new direction because of what we had been shown before.

painting one number at a time,

Kim

Hello!

I am officially back in action here in Erdenet. With the wedding planning, community building, and project starting followed by a trip to the States, I sort of lost contact with you all here on my little corner of the internet.

Sadly enough, I do not have a full update for you all just yet, but promise to have one by the end of the week.

In the meantime, enjoy this lovely video that Nick and I complied together. Hope it gives a little glimpse into our life here.

love and miss you all.

kimba

http://youtube.com/watch?v=rMMO5Peabs8

It was surreal walking to the gym in the snow. I guess it would be normal for someone living on the east coast who works out, but there was something rather odd about bundling up in a bulky, black jacket and scarf to walk 100 yards, only to take it all off, sweat something fierce, and put it all back on. The white snowflakes would drift to the tips of my eyelashes and cling to what tiny space of open skin they could find. After a few seconds the wind would pick up, sliding the snow down the slopes of my cheeks, eventually sticking to the top of my jacket, right where the hood met the bottom of my neck.

What made today extra special, aside from it being the second snowfall this month, is that in our aerobics class, they played, not once but twice, The Final Countdown! I was laughing hysterically. Rachel was also rather amused. There we were, in a room full of Mongolians, flailing our arms about to this classic tune. I felt like I was trapped in an episode of the Twilight Zone. It was nothing short of dreamlike, and worth every tugrik.

I can’t tell you how out of my element I felt when I signed up for aerobics class. All my life I have been a “give me a ball and let me charge it down the court” kind of girl. Never have I pranced around, stretched, and used a mat on the floor in a room full of women. Granted, I have no other frame of reference, but I have not given this form of exercise enough credit. My body hurts in the strangest of places and the instructor is fantastic. I am used to a 250 lb coach yelling at me to “get down the court and D up”, but I have never moved so fast as when this tiny lady screams at me in Mongolian. I definitely look forward to it 4 days a week. If nothing else, it allows for some rather hilarious inside jokes to erupt between Rachel and I.

As for work, things have been pretty difficult the last couple of weeks. There are these inspectors in town, they visit once every 5 years, and so a ton of my lessons have gotten cancelled, etc. However, I had meetings at both my schools to sort of brainstorm future projects and the outcome looks pretty promising. I just want to use my creativity and get involved. Rach and I are going to start an art club really soon and next week I am holding a competition for a drug and alcohol free campaign at one school which should be fun. These kids are fantastic artists but there is absolutely no art curriculum here.

I also have been spending my Friday nights at this café doing an English conversation hour. Each week we read a new story with a moral message and dive into how that may apply to our lives and how that contrasts between America and here. I have to say, I have learned more about love, giving, attitude, and honesty with this group of girls than I have making my own decisions throughout my life. It is yet another part of my week that is absolutely irreplaceable.

On another note, Rach and I have fun night Thursdays at her place because she has a TV and there was this random channel that would play reruns of the office, seinfield and scrubs. It was absolutely fantastic. We would work out, cook a delicious meal, curl up in her comfy chairs and laugh till our sides ached. As of this past Sunday, Mongolian television has taken away our joy to Thursday nights. We are on a mission to get it back. That’s right. Operation humor is in full effect. We will see how it all turns out.

--

Oh I almost forgot! So the school I work at now just hired a young Chinese teacher. She is one year older than me and absolutely adorable. We officially share an office and our common language is Mongolian. =) This has been quite interesting because she is fluent and I am still on intermediate level. Aside from that already being a hilarious challenge, all teachers (including myself) are now learning Chinese from her. Our first class was yesterday and I was cracking up because I couldn’t figure out who was at more of a disadvantage. Juan, the Chinese teacher, obviously conducted the entire class in Mongolian. So, I had absolutely no idea what I was repeating pretty much the entire lecture. Plus, the actual Chinese script takes me hours to try and write out. I have no clue how they are combined so I will just have to memorize the lines. I was literally describing them to myself like this: “two lines across, make a ziggity mabobbity, slashity slash, dot, line, scribble. Done.” It was out of control. However, the great thing is that Chinese dialect is transcribed into English alphabet phonetics. So, I hadn’t the slightest clue what I was saying but I could sound it out pretty well. It was quite a hilarious hour.

Later last night I was talking to Uugii, my best Mongolian friend, about how many languages I have tried to learn and we were laughing hysterically about how little I know in each. There is a joke we have about when you know a language well, you can be considered one of those people. We decided last night, since I know only a little of each, maybe just parts of my body are that type of person. For example, Uugii said my face is Italian, my back American, my upper torso is Spanish, my arms are Mongolian, my legs are Chinese, and my feet Russian. I found this rather amusing.

I seriously could not be happier right now. I am having an incredible time integrating, and basking in the relationships that I have been so blessed with in this short amount of time. Everyday I am get more excited and encouraged about what I am able to do here. I am beyond grateful for this experience. I can only hope that those I am in daily contact with feel the same. That in some way I can offer them as much joy, love, and knowledge as they have so graciously bestowed upon me. If nothing else, I hope a few perceptions can change for the better as I know mine have in just four months time.

Now I must clip some pictures out of Newsweek for tomorrow’s lesson and then watch the snow fall while I eat my fresh cut kiwi in vanilla yogurt.

Hope everyone is warm and cozy.

Love love love,

Me.

worst translated shirt of the week goes to:

I love firsts.

There is something so remarkable about experiencing something for the first time. It is almost as if revolutionary information strikes you like a lightening bolt during first familiarities. You can never experience something for the first time twice. I think that is fantastic and altogether exhilarating within itself. Think about the first time you touched something hot and burned yourself. Or the first car you owned. What about the first time you lived on your own. Or your first road trip to an unknown land. Your first sunset on the beach. Or sunrise on a mountain top.

No matter the occurrence, there is a peculiar enlightenment that is a direct result of each incidence. You may not understand exactly how those feelings play out in life until later (like how I realized that hell is probably similar to working in a restaurant, waiting tables for a corporate chain); nonetheless, firsts are fresh. They are new. They are irreversible. And they become the building blocks for experiences in the future.

Today I saw my first snowfall.

It was one of those moments where you can’t help but laugh at the timing between conversation and nature’s own course. I was in my kitchen baking bread when my friend Uugii walked in. She had finished her classes for the day and I had yet to leave my flat. She shook in my doorway from bitter chill that accompanied her on her walk over.

“It’s so cold outside!” she exclaimed. “Do you have scarf? You will need.”

Unable to fathom the dramatic drop in temperature from the day before, I leaned over and touched the slightly torn screen on my window to test the wind chill factor beating against the other side of the wooden frame. As soon as my hand made contact and the words, “Is it really that cold?” left my lips; snow began to fall from the sky.

I ran around my house, room to room, window to window, for at least 5 minutes, jumping up and down and yelling, “Snow! Snow! Snow! It’s here! It’s here! It’s here!” During this frivolous time, my friend Uugii (who has grown up seeing snowfall each year and was rather surprised by my reaction) was laughing hysterically and announcing to those outside my window that her friend was crazy.

Later, as we were skipping to the market and singing the new 4-lined song in Mongolian that I wrote about the weather (those that know me well, know that I tend to put regular sentences into melodic stands of nonsense), I could feel any credibility I have created in this town, escaping my body with each word. =) Not that I have much left after getting onstage and dancing with a famous Mongolian pop star a few weeks ago. (My students have yet to let me live that one down). Still, with each new snowflake that found its way to my face and proceeded to melt on my eyelashes and nose, I realized that my first snowfall could not have happened in a better place. It is one more first that I can add to the long list that I have begun to compile since arriving in Mongolia. I know it will only continue to grow, much like my excitement at the thought of more snow, and I am forever grateful for that.

I hope you guys are as warm and cozy in the States as I am under my new camel wool blanket. I encourage you to try something new. Find a first for the day and embrace it with every atom in your body.

With every snowflake that falls, I love and miss you guys more.

Kimba*

uugii and me.

home. and the new tooth hospital (as it is directly translated)

view from the balacony.

YUM! i love it.

who's excited?!

haha. here ya go!

this is what nick and i found in the exact place where he proposed a few days earlier. crazy huh?

this is what i found a few days after he left.

this is what the cross looks like now. i can't explain any of it.

early morning hike.

hope the dog!

the apartment

mongolian traffic jam outside my window. haha

my friend uugii and i cooking dinner. yum!

ready for work!

miss and love you all tons!

mwah**

hello my loves!

everything is pretty much the same here in E town. Teaching, teaching, cooking, playing, more teaching. I love it. The kids are amazing. Teachers are hilarious. My fellow volunteers rock my world, etc. It's great.

Rachel and I are planning on combining efforts on two different projects that we hope to see do some good. One is an art class and the other is story hour at the local library. There is much planning and organizing to be done in the meantime.

In other news, there is now a new addition to my apartment. I went in search for a pet rabbit and came home with a dog. Her name is etgel (hope) and she is quite the character. I washed her 3 times, cut off massive amounts of her tangled fur, and she seems to enjoy not having to hunt for food. She shows me her appreciation by peeing near my bed. It's love. =)

I hope all of you are also busy and focused Enjoy the warmth of the states. I was sitting at the Peace Corps office the other day after a conference and my eyes caught a glimpse of the thermometer. It read 32 degrees. Mind you, this was 2 in the afternoon. I thought of how cold i was in that moment, then traced the lines that counted down to - 45 degrees. I have a long way to go and a very short window to enjoy the heat associated with 30 degrees above zero. I do however own a camel wool blanket. Bring on the snow! =)

Kim

p.s. here is my new and improved address for those of you who want it. mwah!

Орхон аймаг

Эрдэнэт хот

Мэргэжлийн Сургалт

Үйлдвэрлэлийн Төвийн

Мэргэжилтэн

Кимберли Луис

Kimberly Lewis

Vocational Training School

Orkhan aimag

Erdenet, Mongolia (via China)

Home.

It is amazing how much more meaning that word has taken on since I met Nick. I will explain why a little later but first I feel I must catch you guys up on what has happened over this last week.

Nick was set to arrive in Mongolia on August 30th at 10 pm. The only problem was that it was a weekday and the airport he was flying in to was over 6 hours away from my new place. Since his visit was scheduled during what was supposed to be my first week of teaching, it seemed impossible for me to be able to meet him at airport. I definitely wouldn’t have made it there in time without him having to wait for a few hours and then we would not have been able to find a ride home that night, causing me to have to miss my lesson the next day. So, after a little discussion and the help of one of my teachers, we decided I would have someone meet Nick at the airport and help him find me the next day.

But, in the common trend of my relationship with Nick, things came together in unexpected ways. Two mornings before Nick would be arriving, my director came to me and said that he would be leaving for a conference in UB (where nick was flying in to) and there would be no need for me to sit at the school without him since my classes were not finalized yet. A few hours after that conversation, I received a text message from my teacher saying she was actually in my town getting her daughter settled in to her new University and that she would be leaving tonight for UB to prepare for Nick’s arrival. After a little discussion, I decided to hang back for a few hours and leave with my teacher and not my director. I frantically and excitedly threw a few items in my backpack and was out the door to catch the next meeker ride with my teacher and her youngest daughter to Darkhaan where we would take the overnight train to UB. Nick was still unaware of the entire situation.

The train ride was quite the experience, equipped with conversations with drunk men, holding the hand of an 8 year old and running up and down the platform as we frantically tried to find our train, and then fighting other people off before finally pushing our way through the door to find her mom and a bunk where we would crash for the night. We stayed up playing games with a string that I had torn away from my bag, laughing, and eating almonds. As interesting, awkward, and terrifying as the experience was, it looks rather dull in comparison to the excitement that sat inside my chest. In two days I would soon get to look into the eyes of the man that models courage in ways I only dreamed of. The one that has shown me more than anyone that love is a verb. It is choice. It is challenge. And it is a fight. I stayed up most of the night, long after my teacher and her daughter began to find rest. Part of me trying to imagine what that reunion would look like, the other part terrified that my bag would get stolen from where it lay beneath my head. =)

I spent the next day doing a little shopping, reading, catching up with a fellow Volunteer, who is one of the most giving, compassionate and incredible females I have ever met, and sitting at my favorite coffee shop in town. The anxiousness was almost overwhelming as the hours ticked away, leading to the moment I have been waiting for the last 3 months. Everything was planned and almost felt surreal as I watched Nick walk off the plane and into the same airport where I was waiting. No words of mine could do justice to what I felt in that moment. As he walked through the double doors, I hide behind a pillar and watched my plan take effect. I snuck up behind him, tapped his shoulder, and witnessed by far the greatest look of surprise I have ever seen. I don’t think I have ever hugged someone so hard in my life.

The next day we set out toward Erdenet where we would settle for the next 2 weeks together. However, we had no idea what sort of adventure we were in for when we climbed into the backseat of the taxi that would take us to our destination. After about 30 minutes into the 6-hour drive, it came to our attention that there was some sort of oil leak or problematic situation with the engine. We continued to stop about every hour or two to check gages and keep the car from overheating. Nick and I didn’t mind. This gave us ample time to stretch, explore many mountains, street side temples, and take plenty of pictures. The last pit-stop exceeded every expectation or hope I had of ever showing Nick the heart of Mongolian culture, and the best part is that it was all unplanned. Our driver proceeded to off-road the taxi up a random mountain, through dry river beds, weaving in and out of herds of sheep, and eventually squeaking to a halt at the front door of a typical Mongolian ger. We sat in silence, faces stiff with confusion, unable to move for the fear that the first noise out of our bodies would be a laughter so eruptive, it would alarm the 8 Mongolians that surrounded us. We looked out the cracked, dusty windows and into the eyes of complete strangers. The events that followed were so surreal and bizarre that I can only list them and allow you to create matching images on your own.

-We ate an inside out goat out of a big metal bowl.

-We rode a white Mongolian pony with a saddle fit for a 5 year old. This led to some complications for Nick when the horse began to trot.

-The family then brought us inside of the ger for the drinking and eating of fresh yogurt and airag (fermented horse’s milk). We exchanged phone numbers and attempted to teach them how to work a Canon digital camera.

-I was then dressed in a herder’s del, set down on thimble-sized stool, and placed underneath an aggravated cow. For the fear of being trampled if I waited too long, I tugged on those utters like a child playing with silly putty. The milked shot out making a noise similar to rain against a tin roof as it landed in the bucket that I squeezed between my knees.

-Nick stepped up next. Apparently annoyed animal faces are a universal language because the herders erupted into laugher as the cow looked back at Nick, grunted, and took 5 steps forward. Nick looked up at us helplessly from his seat and whispered, “It’s not working.”

--

Since that wonderful escapade I have started working at both of my schools and getting acquainted with the beautiful land of Erdenet. It feels incredible to have Nick with me. To understand what I have been living in and around the last few months. Someone that actually speaks my language and knows me just as well, if not better, than I do myself. That sort of comfort was hard enough to find in America. And over the past few days I have come to realize just how valuable the most simplistic forms of communication are. I wish you could all be here with me to see what I see. Smell what I smell. Touch what I touch. I want to share smiles, laughs, fears, nervousness, excitement, joy, and hugs with you. I completely understand that this type of living is not for everyone. But, the fact that I am unable (due to time, money, and resources) to communicate and share every occurrence, incident and happening with you makes my heart hurt. I hope you get it. I hope you can wrap your mind around how desperate I am to share all of this with you. If only I could record each moment and play them back for all to see. It kills me to know that my words will never do justice to what I see and feel. And it may take years to unravel and unpack how this experience will affect my life. Bear with me cause this quest for understanding is just beginning. I apologize in advance if I make no sense. It is not because I do not understand, but rather that my mind has yet to catch up with my senses.

--

This last week was my first week of teaching. So far it has just been a few English classes and 1 life skills class. I couldn’t help but giggle on the first day because I was under the impression that I would have 10-15 students. As time passed and more bodies piled into each chair that lined the room, I realized that my counterpart and director lied to me. Before beginning the lesson, I had 32 names on my role sheet. And some students were even filtering in throughout the lesson. That is more students than a typical class at APU. We had a great time and I look forward to getting to know them as the year goes on. They are super intelligent and their desire for knowledge is unbeatable. Not just the students but Mongolians as a whole. They blow my mind. I want that thirst. That drive. It is undoubtedly admirable and hopefully contagious.

--

So two days ago was the first birthday I have ever celebrated outside the U.S. border. Nick and I baked a German chocolate cake- my favorite- (thanks mom!), and spend time shopping, hiking, and cooking. The most exciting moment however came at the end of the night. Nick and I decided to pack a dinner and hike to the top of a mountain to watch the sun set. Little did I know that Nick had a few other intentions. We threw some steaks, rice and veggies in a Tupperware and headed out. After completing the hike of death, we threw down the blanket and broke out the food. We chatted for a bit, took some pictures and enjoyed the night’s cool air that brushed against our cheeks. Periodically, Nick would reach into his backpack and pull out another surprise. First was the wine (2001 Faustino de Crianza- YUM!), equipped with 2 wine glasses we used when we shared a bottle together in a park and watched the sunrise in the beginning of our relationship . He had somehow managed to bring them all the way from the States. Then was the candles and later the ring that now rests gently on a finger that will only belong to him. That’s right. As the sun went down, tears soaked my cheeks and I agreed to one day be Mrs. Bogardus. I am sure many of you have questions and I wish I had time to address all of them but I don’t. We don’t have many of the details mapped out just yet but I promise to give them to you as they unfold. All I know is that I look at Nick and see my future. He is home. He is courage, strength, love, compassion, trust, and hope embodied into one soul. I admire and love him in ways I never thought possible and it will be my greatest honor and blessing to call myself his wife.

For now, I will leave you with some pictures of our many adventures in Mongolia thus far.

All my love,

Kim

reunited and it feels so good!

my little accomplice.

best teacher ever.

the taxi.

pit stop number 476,309,786.

saddle up!

yogurt. YUM.

how do i work these?

friendship monument between Russia and Erdenet.

on the way up.

dinner in the apt.

breakfast. (look at those sweet new blankets and sheets! thanks mr. and mrs. bogardus and mom)

engagement view

magnets.

wine. ring. candles. check. check. aaaand check.

ring!

home.

Erdenet

is

Fantastic.

I honestly can say that my life has not been this mellow since I was 12. =)

After leaving UB, I went to the camp that I will be working at in the summer for a few days before coming to Erdenet and moving in. Now I am completely settled in, equipped with my laundry haning lines on my apartment balacany.

Did i mention that I have hot running water? I am pretty sure I almost cried when I felt the steam coming out of the pipes. It was a fantastic surprise.

Other than that, nothing is happening. School doesn't start until next week so I have just been organizing my classroom and meeting my fellow teachers. I did however cut the mess out of my arm the other day when i decided to take on 4 boys in a game of basketball. The gravel here is brutal. It was still incredible and they got a kick out of seeing a big white girl play ball. I have a feeling it will become my Saturday ritual.

In 2 days I will be reunited with most fantastic man on the planet. Nick flies in to visit me for the next two weeks and watch me completely butcher the Mongolian language as I give a speech at my school's opening ceremony. He also gets the great pleasure of watching me bake my first birthday cake in Mongolia using a toaster oven. Yup. Good times ahead for all. =)

I miss you all so much. The interent in Erdenet isn't too bad so the blogging will most definitely continue. Brace yourself for the many hilarious stories that are about to take place when they put me in charge of people's education.

Hope all is well in the States.

all my love,

kim

So today was day 1 with my supervisors. They both rock my world. I can't wait to jump in and just fill myself with work. It shall be an adventure to be had. I will be working Mondays and Tuesdays at the Nonformal Education Center with vulnerable children (orphans and those that dropped out of school). Then Wednesday - Friday I will be at the Vocational School teaching English, lifeskills, and some computer classes. So rad. My plate will be full starting September 1st. I am in for quite a ride.

However, I will not be having internet after today for a little while because my directors are taking me straight to the summer camp to spend some time in the countryside riding horses, hiking, reading, resting, and studying Mongolian. It will be a great way to just process all of the events that have accumulated over the past 3 months of training and prepare myself for what is to come.

However...I do have a new address. Those of you that have my old one, throw it away. I am pretty sure Peace Corps will not keep packages or forward them to me after training. So your best bet is to copy the address below, throw it in a word document, blow it up, print it out, and seal it to the envelope or package with some glue, tape, love, or all of the above. =) I would love to hear from all of you. Here it is:

Kim Lewis, PCV

Монгол Улс

Орхон аймаг, Баян-Өндөр сум

Албан бус боловсролын төв

Mongolia via China

In the meantime, I am enjoying eating food in the capital that I can't find anywhere else. I never thought I would see the day where a bagel or piece of chicken would make my heart do cartwheels. Well it has arrived and after tomorrow it will disappear until the next time I come to UB. However, my city is amazing and just opened up a pizza place. Oh. Yeah. Life is good. Hope everyone is well. I miss and love you mucho.

Kimba*

Well, well, well.

My predictions were correct. I definitely received the site and job that I thought I would. For the next 2 years my location will be Erdenet, Mongolia. It is actually a great city to be in. It is the 2nd largest city in the entire country equipped with many NGO’s, great markets, and awesome co-workers. It will be super easy to plug myself into many different organizations and the possibilities are a lot less restrictive in comparison to smaller cities. This will be fantastic when it comes to my secondary projects, such as working at an orphanage, sport and or art clubs, etc.

On the other hand, I am responsible for following in the footsteps of a fantastic and highly productive volunteer. I am replacing Danny who just finished his service here. I actually work at 2 organizations in contrast to most volunteers who are in charge of one. I am placed at both a non-formal education center and a vocational school. I can’t wait. I might be doing anything from a life-skills radio show to teaching photoshop classes. Who knows. I am just stoked to plug myself in and get to work. It is time to finally put all this training to use. It is also a relief because my bosses asked for me specifically. This means they will be more likely to support my work and ideas. It feels great getting to enter into a job knowing that you are wanted and needed. This makes for a smoother transition. Plus, that camp that I was able to visit not too long ago will now become my summer job. Danny did a fantastic job of showing me the ropes when I was there, and I look forward to spending my time in that beautiful countryside again. Needless to say, it will be a glorious adventure filled with many challenges and tasks.

On a sidenote, I only have one other site mate that is a M18 (Mongolia volunteer, 18th year). The only other Peace Corps Volunteers in my town came last year and will be leaving next year. He and I trained together in Sukhbaatar so we know each other extremely well. I will be working with children and he is working with businesses so hopefully we can create some sort of amazing secondary project and combine efforts. Have I mentioned that him and I could not have had more diverse childhoods? It has been quite a riot getting to openly express our experiences and see them completely baffle the other person. And if he truly wants it, I will teach him how to be independent and self-sufficient. It shall be a fascinating side development and experiment. I might take notes, pictures, and documentation of this process to later publish in order to help other reliant boys across the globe. =)

I am also proud to announce that I jumped not 1 but 2 levels on my language proficiency exam. I guess tutoring truly helps. It is a process I plan to maintain while at site. One of my agencies speaks no English so I will be forced to advance and push myself. I want to continue to excel in order to adapt to this culture and truly communicate properly. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, I must go enjoy time with my fellow volunteers. Right now we are in Darkhaan for 2 more days before heading to the capital, swearing in, and then getting split up. I will miss some of them dearly and look forward to traveling to their sites and seeing what work they are a part of later.

p.s. our last day here in Darkhaan is family appreciation day. Our host families are coming into town and we will perform Mongolian dances, songs, and compete in a volleyball tournament. I can’t wait to see their faces again. I already miss them. Little things like kicking a ball around with my brother, cooking with my sister, or watching Korean dramas with mom. And my family is in for a surprise. Everyone else decided to learn these beautiful traditional songs….Robin and I took it upon ourselves to cause a little ruckus and decided to learn a choreographed routine to a Mongolia rap song. It is hysterical. We can’t wait to throw on our black, zip-up hoodies and jump around to a song that we have no idea what they are saying. Hahahaa. It shall make for some change of expressions in the audience. Hopefully someone can take video or pictures so I can show you guys later.

I hope everyone is well and enjoying their summer. In a few short months here, I will not be able to walk long distances for fear that my lungs will freeze. I pray that my apartment is a warm one (I have no control over the heat) that way my laptop does not freeze and break. I am just stoked to know that I will have running water again. Oh yeah. No more walking to the well.

It might be a while before I can write again but know that I miss and love you all. I think of you daily and can’t wait to continue to keep you informed on what I will be doing.

All my love,

Kimba

Hello friends.

First, let me apologize for the lack of updating. To make up for it, I will give you an information overload as of right now. =)

It has been insanely busy here in Sukhbaatar, Mongolia. In the last couple of weeks, I have taken a trip to a monastery, taught an English class to adults in the government building, finished a community project which consisted of a game day and painting checker boards on the cement tile outside of a local school, learning a Mongolian rap dance that I will perform in a few days, and studying for my LPI (language proficiency interview) which I took today. This was all aside from my 8 hours of classes every day. Let me tell you, it feels great to actually dust my computer off and try to gather my thoughts.

Today marks the end of my pre-service training. My test is taken and the packing begins. In a few days, I must part ways with Sukhbaatar and my host family and head into Darkhaan to meet up with fellow Volunteers. This is when I get to find out where I will actually be living and working on my own for the next 2 years. I already have a hunch so we will see how it plays out. Peace Corps is pretty good about keeping it hush hush until the moment we find out. I look forward to that.

After Darkhaan we all head into UB, the capital, for swearing in. We get to stock up on any sort of goodies we might want for a while. This includes name brand juices, real toilet paper, and perhaps some cereal, or fruit. Most of us will be unable to get such things cause we will be scattered throughout the country and the weather will soon be changing. (side note- winter here is 6-8 months long with temperatures reaching -40 degrees Celsius. California did not prepare me for this. Haha) Aside from being the place of import, Ulaanbaatar also has real food restaurants. That’s right folks. We are talking Mexican, Indian, and a place called “California”. I hear they have amazing hamburgers. I am stoked. It will be nice to have something besides goat and vegetable soup. However, I will miss my mom’s суу таи будаа in the mornings. (that is milk and rice- or Mongolian oatmeal as Robin and I like to call it). It is the perfect morning meal.

I couldn't have asked for a better training site. The sky, landscapes, teachers, and families have been incredible. I almost feel like I am leaving for my first day of kindergarden or something. It is as if I am little sail boat and they are pushing me away from the dock. Off I go with the little I know about ropes, the wind, and sails to embark on my own journey. It is just beginning and I could not be more excited.

In other news, I finally had my first encounter with a theif. Yoomie and I went to the market the other day to do a little shopping and I didn't feel like carrying a purse or my backpack with me so all I had was my keycahin attached to my back beltloop. No worries, I was not robbed of my housekeys and lock out of my house for hours. Oh no, no. This theif decided to ignore the 4 different keys and chapstick that hung near my back right pocket. Instead, he went straight for my mase. =) As of right now, someone in Mongolia has their own pepperspray supply. So much for my securtity blanket at night. Lesson learned. I just hope he doesn't figure out what it is and tries to use it on me later. That would make for an interresting phone call to the Peace Corps office. =)

On a completely other note, I had a wonderful experience exploring this thosand year old monastery in the middle of nowwhere mongolia. It spoke to me on so many levels and allowed me to step back and examine the contrasts of faith. I wrote to Nick about it already and have enjoyed getting to digest all that I saw. Here are a few of my thoughts that I sent to him:

“As I was weaving in and out of the 1,000 year old, wood carved buildings, I couldn’t help but admire the devotion of those living in a place like this. I wish my life were similar to their obedience to worship, even if the God I would worship would be different. There is power in suppressing all that is worldly and I applaud them for that. Each section seemed to hold its own sacred nature. I especially liked walking around the buildings that were hidden in the back. They were broken- some locked- but mainly just run down and deserted. It was odd to me that for Buddhism to be centered around the idea that enlightenment can be attained by letting go of worldly submission, every centimeter of the main worship areas were absolutely covered in gaudy items, money, gold, statues, etc. There is the same desire to harvest, obtain, and worship materials. Objects. Possessions.

While the monastery was absolutely beautiful and I am beyond grateful to get to experience such a place, I couldn’t help but feel slightly uneasy about that type of lifestyle. As I said before, on one hand, that type of commitment and devotion to live without the necessities and dependency on the world is simply stunning. I mean that should be the same desire of Christians. However, I think that is only half of faith. These men are in such a secluded area that no one can find them. It takes 5 hours through streams, over rocks, and through hills just to come close to seeing it. While they are blocking out the ugliness of the world, they are also blocking out those that live in it. There is no sense of action to their worship. They live in routine. While it is obedient, there is little application. It is like practicing a sport all day long, hours on end, but never playing a game. You are never tested. These monks are giants in terms of compliance and submission, but midgets in nature of battle, mechanisms of process, and action. Aside from the difficulties of living in solitude (which I do commend them for being able to rely on nature and somehow deal with the implications of loneliness), there is no adventure in that. I absolutely love alone time. I take it. I embrace it. I need it from time to time. However, on the opposite side, I adore community. Relationships. Being able to feel, hear, and experience. To come together and rest. Rationalize. Reason. Discuss. It is amazing. To live. To make mistakes. And to try again.

On the contrary, those that live in the world, live in the opposite nature of the monks and abuse this sense of freedom and practice. While the monks live their lives on a schedules and tallies, worldly centered people drown themselves in materialism and live solely for experience at the expense of others. There is a lack of concern in today’s culture, mainly in America. There is a disregard for satisfaction. We have become a possessive society rather than a nurturing society. We want to own everything, including our faith. This is how we find value not only in ourselves, but how we rank others. Our possessions are beginning to define who we are, rather than our abilities. We should be asking ourselves, not what else we can own, but what we can do with that we have. We want to feel so assured, yet we are never satisfied with the security of God’s promises.

If nothing else, there is one similarity amongst the two. Both in seclusion and overindulgence, there is a lack of balance. With isolation there is a lack of human interaction and sharing of experiences. With gluttony of materialism, there is a lack of giving and contentment.

I want both. I want to worship God with the same submission as the monks while living amongst the brokenness of the world. I want receive whatever treasures the Lord may give me, but also let generosity be the movement of my hands and feet. More than anything, as I walked along that trail today, the wind swaying my skirt, with my magnet in hand, I realized that I want to do all of that with you. I am so thankful for these moments alone. This time apart. Because if nothing else, it has absolutely opened my heart and mind to the beauty found in the power of presence. This overwhelmingly contentment and reliance on God has allowed me to comprehend the weight and power of a single person. I take in every second of this time away from you because it will only make me appreciate the future that we will one day build together that much more. The balance we will formulate. I want our freedom to be found in what we give away not in what we will possess. Let us be stewards of steadiness, obedience, and compassion. All that we have is given by Him. Let our hearts rest in His promises and security not solely in routine or drowned in discontentment.”

In other words, balance is key. Each day I am realizing the power of exploration. The importance breaking out of schedule. Living life one day at a time. Taking in every sight, sound, smell, touch, laugh, and activity. Travel a different path. Make a point to take a different route to a regular desination. Give something away that you truly want to keep. Be compassionate. Take time away from the choas of the world. Sit in silence. Enjoy company. Light a candle. Find balance. Remain steady in hope while testing narrow paths. It is in that balance that we can truly learn to reach and understand those on the opposing sides. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me, I challenge you to make a point to just understand. Take the time to research and listen to someone that does something completely dissimilar to you. Taste a sample of change. You might be surprised at what you find.

In the meantime, I am off to pack. In Darkhaan, I will hopefully get to update you guys again and revist that orphange from last time. I am stoked. Then, I can clue you in on my whereabouts for the next 24 months. Yay! So much will be answered in those few seconds when they shout out my site destination. Can't wait.

I hope you all are well. Know that I miss you dearly.

-Kim

p.s. here are some pictures from the trip to the monastery last weekend. Enjoy!

welcome!

hike

money doesn't grow on trees...but mushrooms do!

sheep

one of my trainers getting "rebirthed"

jr. monks

walled.

message in the mountains.

windows

abandoned statues

ger and monastery

candles

broken doors

scarfs and milk

view

side temple

almost every mongolian can write in this ancient text. i can barely handle cyrillic. haha

what can i say? i am a sucker for old architecture.

Here are some from a ton of events. There is the orphange visit, camp, and random details in between.

Enjoy!

Orphanage:

These kids will sing your face off.

The orphanage music room/mongolian instruments. freakin awesome:

One of the best days yet. Orphanage crew. The boy to the left of me is my partner in crime. He loves the Spurs. It was instant love. =)

Naadam Horse Race. It went across the road so we had to literally pull our meeker over and wait. So rad.

Camp:

me cutting wood. that's right. i am now mongolian trained with an axe.

friendly catepillar

goat anyone?

the hike:

After a every rain:

going back to my roots.

our kitchen/eating area at camp

you have never seen a fire like a mongolian fire

hope you are all well.

ALL MY LOVE

kimba

Hello All!

So I am officially back in Sukhbaatar. The last 3 days were probably the most astounding and memorable since coming to Mongolia. The summer camp with those children was absolutely incredible. The kids were ones from the second largest city in Mongolia and were either extremely poor or from the streets. Still, they had the ability to show love beyond my comprehension. It happens to me every time. I completely adore these children in record speed. Yesterday morning, as I stood next to the meeker that would be bringing us home, I could feel my heart breaking. The kids held my hands as we walked from the ger, where I had rested my head the past couple of days, to the main gate. Some of them literally ran and jumped on me, nearly knocking me over. It was awesome. The connection that can be made with such little language ability never ceases to leave me dumbfounded. I can’t get over it. I hope that all the children learned something. Each Volunteer that was with me was in charge of running a few sessions. We taught a life skills class (mine was on self-esteem) and a game - both in Mongolian. We also taught a short English lesson. More than that, I hope the children enjoyed our company as much as we did theirs.

There is something so remarkable about the countryside here. Maybe it’s the view. Maybe it’s the unexplainable feeling of freedom that comes with the open land. The adventure. Being so connected and reliant on nature. I love it. I admire and respect every Mongolian family that lives like that. I was able to be a part of their world and see this land in ways I never deemed possible. It rocked my world. Here are a few highlights of the trip in no particular order:

1. The hike. Two current volunteers were in charge of running the camp and training us during our stay. I can’t tell you how great they were. Both are near the end of their service and getting to hear all that they were able to accomplish in their two years here is inspiring. On our last day with them, they took four of us on a hike straight up the side of this mountain. It is one of the few forests I will get to run through in Mongolia. It was dense and a fairly easy hike, but one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. We ate wild strawberries along the way. They were just like the ones I had in Russia! You have not had strawberries until you have eaten the ones on this side of the world. They are these exceptionally small, most delightful bites of deliciousness that you will ever eat. Even the ones that aren’t ripe still taste good. It’s incredible. A few of you know what I am talking about. Team Russia For Life! Anywho…we continued up the hike, pass the river, ran into a heard of horses along the way, finally reached the top and chatted it up for a while. These two guys had incredible insight. It was a perfect way to bring the trip to a close.

2. The one-on-one basketball games I had with “Kobe Bryant”. This boy was incredible. On the next to last day, I saw him practicing by himself, so I decided to join him. I can never turn down a good game of ball especially with one of the cutest Mongolian children I have ever seen. After one game of this kid absolutely destroying me, I was utterly embarrassed and forced to turn up the defense. After the next game, he gave me the title of “Michael Jordan’s sister”. Our laughter and the sound of the ball against the wooden backboard echoed throughout the hills. We played until the sun went down and we could no longer see the rim of the basketball goal. It was glorious.

3. My Alaskan sleeping bag, mosquito net, and ger. What a way to sleep. I loved starting each morning by knocking off all the insects that got stuck in my net and died, then rolling out of my bag to open the “sun-roof” to the ger. I had the privilege of opening and tying down the small cover that lines the ger roof. Peace Corps also provided all volunteers with the most intense sleeping bags I have ever seen. I am not joking when I tell you that I sang it songs of praise every night before falling asleep. Sometimes it would be silently because singing in bed is against Mongolian customs. I remember the sleeping bag I had growing up, it was forest green with black, gray, and red plaid lining. My family would always take these camping trips when we first moved to Texas. Don’t get me wrong the bag got the job done, but I am pretty sure I had the same sleeping bag from the time I was 5 until 18. I think we finally threw them away when my mom and I moved back to California. There were burn holes from where the nylon caught on fire when I slept too close to the open flames, they reeked of mildew from all the rains we encountered, and they carried memories from each house we lived in along the way. It was awesome. But this new guy. Ohhhh….it is a palace and the only hopes I have of surviving a Mongolia winter. It can withstand negative weather, it is long enough to literally go over my head with room to spare, it has a small build-in pillow, and the padding in that thing is as good as my mattress back home. It is a keeper. I think I will write a song about it one day. (*side note to Savannah and Laura- it will be track 2 on the sounds of Kim Lewis cd that will hit the billboard charts. Right after the animal noise song.*) =) No really. Thank You Peace Corps and the makers of Alaskan sleeping bags. You rock my filthy face off. I salute you.

4. Scavenger hunt. Oh this was quite an adventure. Danny, the current volunteer that was running the camp, took it upon himself to create a list of 50 things we might find in the Mongolian countryside. He rounded up the kids, counted them off, and gave each group two current trainees to work with. We had two hours to find each of the 50 things on the list, take a picture of it with our digital camera, and make it back to camp. The only difficulty is that the children did not speak English and the list was in Mongolian. Yoomie and I had the absolute best group. We traveled to all areas of the countryside. The kids were drawing things in order to explain what we needed to find. They even at one point threw me on some random herdsman’s horse. It was beyond extraordinary. We visited some gers of the families that lived nearby, climed a mountain or two, picked wild strawberries, chased some goats, and even got a picture of a marmot. It was a mind-blowing awesome time. Plus, I think our team won. Hahaa. Danny never announced the winner but my kids knew they were the champions. =) I mean we found all but 2. I think I it was impressive.

5. The view. Both night and day. The sun over the tops of trees and the stars that filled the night sky. The pictures I will post later after getting them from my fellow volunteers will say it all.

6. The food and labor. It was after all titled “labor camp”. We each had to do a little bit of true Mongolian living while at the camp. This included everything from kitchen work to chopping wood for the stove. I am dangerous with an axe and a knife. I can peel a mean potato with a butcher knife and with the help of the cutest Mongolian grandpa ever, can chop the biggest log into tiny slivers with a single swipe of an axe. Yes. I am slowly becoming Mongolian. One of the guys at camp also let me go for a ride on his horse. It had been a while but brought back so many memories. I missed that portion of my life. I got to tell the other volunteers about the horse we once had that would follow you anywhere if you had a glass of momma’s homemade sweet iced tea. I also showed them the order of barrel racing. I took a trip down memory lane to the country side of Kim Lewis. Haha. No really. It was great.

7. The disco and bonfire. On our first night, we connected a generator to an old boom box and played one of Robin’s rap cds. The kids and us danced for hours. They have some moves I’d never seen. I taught them how to do the worm and c-walk. They loved it and ended up being better than me by the end of the night.

On the last night, they built the largest bonfire I have ever witnessed. It was not stacked, but stood up straight like a teepee. They literally cut down small trees and just leaned them against each other. It was intense and the flames reached the high into the night air. It got a little dangerous when it fell after about 30 minutes, but we enjoyed it all the same. Ashes dropped, music was playing, and we danced all night. It was a perfect way to end camp. Enjoying each other’s company and laughing until our sides ached.

8. The talent show. The kids divided into 2 teams and performed skits, dances, song, and read poetry that they had prepared during the first two days. There was even a trio of beat-boxin Mongolian boys. I almost peed myself with excitement. I had never seen so much talent as I did in that room. Those children are capable of so many things. I pray they never lose sight of their abilities and aptitudes. Even more so, I pray that their circumstances at home never prevent them from accomplishing all they are capable of doing.

9. The Mare’s milk- both fermented and not. Yes that is correct. I drank milk straight from the horse’s body. It was so good. Even better than the organic milk I buy back in the States. It was warm, smooth, and had a slight coconut flavor. Incredible. Right next to the camp lived the horse family. They are actually pretty famous because they race their horses every year. This year they won a washing machine. It was sort of funny walking inside of their ger and seeing a washing machine. I think they might have solar panels to help run it but am not sure. Anyways, to celebrate their win, we passed around a giant bowl of fermented mare’s milk a few times. It was sour but fairly easy to drink. Mongolians will get pretty wasted on this stuff but apparently American’s will crap their pants before getting drunk. It is almost like an alcoholic yogurt. Strange but nonetheless another thing added to my list of new experiences.

All in all, it was a blessing to get to be away from the classroom setting and actually work with kids. There was so much I was able to see, feel, and experience in those 3 short, but eventful days. What I was familiarized with, the knowledge and practice, will be my driving force behind the rest of my time here in Mongolia. For now, it feels good to be home, back in the presence of my host family. I only have 1 month left to learn the language as much as possible and spend time with the ones who have helped me comprehend the ways of this culture. I probably will not be getting to post as much as I would like because I will be spending as much time as possible completely emerged in this culture. I will have class in the morning, tutoring sessions in the afternoon, and working with my family as much as I can to help me prepare for what is to come when they turn me lose on my own in a new community. I am anxious, excited, and hopeful. I will do my best to stay connected during this time.

I trust you are all well.

All my love,

Kim

Here are some pictures that were supposed to go with the last two posts. I will have some from camp up later this week if I am lucky. =) miss you all. mwah**

HAIR CUT ANYONE?:

chop away!

http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c362/kimlewis/cutaway.jpg

cousin

the bro:

cute right?

mom

COOKING! MONGOLIAN GRUB.

me fetching water

dough time

boys cookin

i love Salomon's dog

random horse

JASON'S PARTY:

crew

mongolian lovin

wrestling/ pre arm breakage

So this must be short and sweet cause I don’t have much time. Just wanted to let you know that I had by far the best day since I have been in Mongolia. I have been incredibly ill the last two days, but woke up today in a new body. Or so it feels. I finally got to eat something without upchucking it a few minutes later. First time in 48 hours. Woot woot!

Today was also the first time I have had to give a presentation. Of course everything fell through with our audience but we scurried up some other children last minute. Well the “other children” turned out to be some kids from a local orphanage. Oh. My. Word. Team Russia shout out right now:

I was trying to figure out how many of them I could fit in my luggage.

Beautiful. The presentation went perfect. The kids were so well behaved and vocal about what they thought. Couldn’t have been more better. I guess things just work out for the best some times.

So afterward the 8 kids took us back to the actual orphanage. We just spent the last 3 hours with the entire 35 kids just hanging out. They have a music section of the orphanage with a teacher, so some of the kids put on a mini-concert for us equipped with instruments, dance, and some throat singing. Then we took a tour of the place. It was actually one of the nicest orphanages I have seen. After that I got into a conversation with some of the boys about basketball and told them that I love the Spurs cause I grew up in Texas. They were so excited. They knew little English, but could definitely tell me their favorite players on the team. It was rad. So after saying that I love basketball, we had to play a little 5 on 5. Sooooooo Good! I could do this for days. And almost did until my trainer just dragged me away. One lucky volunteer might actually get placed at this orphanage to do grant writing. Yes Please! I would love to be with those kids. Robin and I are actually going to go back tomorrow during our last night here to hang out. We just couldn’t let today possibly be the last time we see those faces. It shall be a glorious reunion. Plus, I have to finish the ball game from today.

Now I must get some more food and make up for lost time.

Tomorrow we leave for Labor Camp. Aka more kid time, language class, learning how to chop wood, Mongolian scavenger hunt extravaganza. Be back in a week.

I will miss writing you guys but promise to update you as soon as possible.

All my love.

Kim

***PS. SORRY ABOUT NOT POSTING PICTURES. PHOTOBUCKET HATES MY GUTS AND SO DOES THE DIALUP IN MONGOLIA. PROMISE TO FIX THAT SOON. MWAH***

What a crazy couple of days.

Yesterday was Jason’s birthday. I don’t want to give away too many details about the day since Big Brother seems to read this blog, but I will give you the minor sidenotes. Here goes:

It started with ridiculous amounts of food and cake.

A few games of innocent basketball and whiffle ball.

Ended with Jason being flown to Thailand because he broke his arm wrestling.

It was quite the birthday for him. Hopefully we will get to see him in Darkhan and that everything works out ok. It was quite the scare for all of us. All in all it was a crazy day.

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Tomorrow is our mid LPI (language proficiency test). I will officially be ranked as riding the short bus to the language school. It’s alright though. It leaves much room for improvement before the final test that is actually graded.

Today was interesting. We went to class all a little shook up from what happened to Jason the night before. We had a few hours of language and then called it quits. Since the test is tomorrow we did not have technical training. I know I still needed some time to study a bit more, so Yoomie and I said we would meet up later. I came home, got to talk to Nick for over an hour, which was incredible, and then went over. We went to the market and bought a few items on our own. It was pretty rad being able to actually ask how much things cost and understand the response. Yay for slowly integrating! We bought some fresh bread, flavored tea, earrings, cabbage, and called it a day. The electricity was out all day so we couldn’t cook much. Anywho, when we got back, Andrea joined the study party. We had a great couple of hours just getting down some of the basic tenses of the verbs, going over easy phrases, etc.

After dinner, we walked outside and discussed everything from tattoos to marriage. It was great to just hang out and get to know my fellow volunteers a little better. I really enjoy these girls. We seem to be the three goofy, easily amused bunch. I am pretty sure we cried from laughing so hard at least 12 times. So there we were drinking some tea, sitting on the steps leading to Yoomie’s porch, starring at the mountains and having a great conversation when suddenly, her gate flings open and Mr. Ed walks in.

I kid you not, some random horse uses his head, nudges the gate wide open, walks through, looks at us, and without the slightest bit of hesitation, walks into the yard and starts munching away on Yoomie’s grass. We were in complete shock. I of course had a 2 second rebound rate until I was leaping off the porch and at the side of the horse. I was braiding its mane, petting its nose, and considered jumping on it’s back and going for a ride. It was incredible. Perfect way to end a good day.

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I got home as the sun was setting at 9:20 pm to find my mom dragging in some homemade screen door. Its great to watch my family rig things since the big bro is away studying in the capital. So it’s just us. The 3 women doing it all. Pretty exciting. The beauty is that fixing things around the house is where I am most experienced. (thanks mom!) After tossing my backpack full of Mongolian books down on my bed, I hear some ruckus coming from the entry area. I walk out to find my mom wedging this screen onto the back of the door. It was suck. So I jump in on the fun, grab a hammer and rip the hinge straight out of the wall. We move it down about an inch so the screen will clear the top of the doorframe, and nail everything back in. It was a great bonding moment because the tools that I was forced to use were some sort of mini sledgehammer and broken pieces of a real hammer. Classic. But we laughed, called ourselves men, dusted off our hands and called it a night.

Now I am off to bed to get up and take the test tomorrow. Then I must pack cause we leave for Darkhan on Wednesday morning.

Lots to do.

Hope everyone is well.

Love love love.

kimba

So my eregtay doo (little brother) is now officially bald.

It is an old Mongolian tradition to not cut the hair of a child until they reach a certain age. This explains why when I first met my little brother and he had two pigtails with glittery barrettes clipped in his hair, I thought he was a girl. Well the time came for his hair cutting ceremony and was I in for the ride. All my life, the extent of my family consisted of my mom, brother, and I. I always lived vicariously through the line of other individual’s families. I must quickly give a nice big thank you to all of you who were willing to share your families with me. You know who you are. =)

All that to say, I have never seen so many people crowd around one large meal for a celebration. I don’t know what it is about family that makes my heart so overjoyed. There were 12 relatives that came just to cut this child’s hair. When I got home from my lesson the night before, it was just my mom and sister preparing the entire meal. Yes. They had to cook everything the night before because there was so much to do. I turned the clear doorknob and stepped into chaos. As I kicked my shoes off at the front door, I looked ahead to see, I kid you not, 7 large tubs of peeled potatoes soaking. My eyes widened as I turned right, down the hall of carrots and cabbage. I made a left into the kitchen to find the two lovely ladies of my family slaving over the stove of meat and noodles. Flour was strewn about, pots were everywhere, water was boiling in every direction, and I was in pure shock. I felt like I was part of the scene in the old captain Hook movie with Robin Williams. You know the one where they start imaging all the food on the large wooded table that extended for days? Well that was my reality, minus the pink, blue, and green food coloring. =) I offered to pull my weight, so they asked me to make my American cookies, or Americaas ball as they call it. I made the dough, cut up some peanut butter cups and white chocolate, courtesy of the greatest mom ever, and joined in on the festivities. We stayed up until 1 am, cooking, laughing, and communicating through broken Monglish. It was incredible.

In those moments all of the stress of this new situation, learning the language, fighting off rabid dogs, and missing home disappear. It was beautiful. After cleaning up, I did a little reading and jumped into bed. I awoke 5 hours later for my language lesson. During the break, I had the wonderful pleasure of skipping out on the second half, because the actual celebration was going to begin. I arrived at my house to find my little brother running around naked, tons of relatives that I had no idea who they were, and enough food to feed the entire village. Aside from the lack of communication, it felt so good to be a part of something unlike anything I have ever experienced. To look over my left shoulder and see tons of faces all belonging to the same lineage. To look to my right and see the same. The joining of two families over the love of my little brother. It helps that my sister and brother-in-law are the cutest couple ever. My bro has been away studying at the University in the capital so it was nice to have him around again. He pretty much always looks out for me. Vodka was being toasted and passed around the table, shot after shot, and my brother was passing me juice and other things to make sure I did not get intoxicated. It was rad. That protection. That care that comes from someone I rarely see but admire so greatly. This family is incredible. I can’t image what it must feel like to have it be your own family. I am sure many of you have had large get-togethers or crazy Thanksgiving dinners with random relatives, but I never have. This was my Thanksgiving. Hearing conversations and laughter from every end of the table. I sat there, taking in every moment and wondered to myself when I get to be a part of this with my own family. I look forward to that day. The moment when tons of people are able to sit side by side around one of the largest meals I have ever seen and give toasts to health, happiness, and the blessing of family. It will be a glorious moment to experience this again and be able to actually understand the conversations because I would be able to speak the same language. =) what a day that will be.

So before the actual meal, each person gets to take turns actually cutting off a chunk of hair. It starts with both the grandpas, then dad, then mom, grandmas, cousins, etc. Then it got to me. I am sitting there holding this pair of kitchen shears with a beautiful scarf tied in two large knots around the finger handles, holding some of this child’s hair that I am about to hack off. The same hair that was so sacred that the family refused to cut it for 3 years. 3 years of growth, gone in an instant with the quick snip of my fingers. Wild. What a privilege. I felt honored to be a part of this. It was a beautiful moment. And my little brother is the cutest thing ever. Check out the pictures below if you don’t believe me. So the other half of the tradition is shaving the head of the child the next day. I came home from a wonderful day of laughter and cooking at Salomon’s house to a shaved head little brother. He most definitely looks like a boy now. He is such a riot.

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Ok so Salomon’s house today was awesome. We have little tasks and things that we must learn each week with our host families in order to eventually survive on our own this winter when they turn us loose. So today we thought it would be fun to get all the volunteers in this area together and then divide among two host families and learn some basic Mongolian cooking techniques. It was remarkable. We literally cooked for over 3 hours. We had the fire going to boil the water and oil, I was in charge of making all the dough and rolling it out, some of the guys were chopping meat, other’s peeling potatoes and carrots, etc. There was music, laughter from our trainers about how we were destroying this meal, and many crazy moments with giant butcher knives. All in all, it was a beautiful afternoon. We really came together as a team and cooked quite the feast. As long as Peace Corps changes their current rules and allows us to all live under the same ger roof, I think we will survive Mongolia living. =) No really, it was quite a treat.

In case I haven’t mentioned it yet, there is a large lack of communication in Mongolia. People tend to do things at their own pace and say whatever they think might be the truth at the moment. So, my mother told me that we were also washing clothes at Salomon’s house and insisted that I bring my clothes and washing tub with me this morning. So there I was, traveling over a mile, carrying a washtub full of my underwear, my nalgene, backpack, a rolling pin, and giant butcher knife as I walked along the gravel path. It was quite the sight. When I arrived at school, no one else had their clothes. There was obviously not enough time for me to walk back, so I decided to bring them. Well my undergarments were soaking as we made our delicious meal, and after it was all over, I decided to stay and finish my panty washing party. The funny thing about washing is that it takes many steps. I am pretty sure I explained these steps in a previous post. So, I asked my lovely friend Salomon for a bucket of hot water. He brings me this old rusty pot. I think nothing of it. There I am scrubbing away and then throwing my clothes into this pot of hot water for the rinsing cycle when suddenly, Salomon’s aunt comes running over to me, yelling random phrases that I don’t know. She then grabs Salomon and starts yelling and pointing to the pot of my soaking underwear. It then came to our attention, that this pot was one of their lovely cooking dishes. Yes. That is right. The same pot saturating my wonderful stewing underclothes was one they use to boil vegetables and noodles. I began laughing hysterically. Salomon’s aunt was not as amused. She yelled at Salomon and told him to wash the pot, but this task is sort of difficult seeing how they do not own dish soap. We were baffled. Salomon looks at me and asks, “you used my families cooking pot to clean your underwear?” I was more embarrassed than I have been in a long time, and am pretty sure his family will not be asking me to stay for lunch ever again. Yeah well. Something ridiculous was bound to happen right? Anywho…thought I would share that moment with you guys. Cause it is RARE that my face turns the shade of red that it did today. Comedy at its finest.

Hope you are all well and your underwear are as fresh and crisp as mine. Now go spend time with your families and embrace the company and conversation that only they can provide.

Mucho love.

Kimba