In the whirlwind

I know I know....you're going to wonder why in the world I'm blogging at a time like this.
This is definitely one of the busiest weeks of my semester! Good busy.
Maybe too much good busy though.
Anyways, I just scarfed down some macaroni cheese and a pickle.
Don't judge.
Now I'm off to choir, then ceramics, and then it will be time to hit the books!

Mhmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Breathing in and out,
Aanna

The Unexpectedness of Mondays

Today I had one of the coolest opportunities...

Dordt has a business consultant profiling students for our public relation funding currently and I have had the honor of being her photography assistant.

I learned how to think fast and innovatively, take charge, and be efficient in my portrait photography.

However, I also was in the ideal environment to have journalism experience. A huge part of the profiling is interview...watching the consultant interview, interact, and extract the story was huge for me.

Amazing confirmation that I love what I'm doing here at Dordt.

On another note...

I've been thinking about selfless love a lot--I know, I know, drastic shift. Bear with me.

Something that hit me was that the hardest part about selfless love is that in doing so, you give up the right to ask for it in return. Last year I asked God to teach me what it meant to love with a selfless Christlike love...and man oh man, He's definitely given me opportunities to learn. It might be trial and error...but the things I have learned will last me for my whole lifetime. It's a constant growing process--one that takes a soft and surrendering heart with each new morning.

I've noticed that the hardest part for me is the lack of reciprocation. What do I do when I'm pouring Christ's love out and not getting any in return? Placing my security, comfort, and strength in God will result in a fill that will never be drained. There's some days when I'm so focused on Christ and what He is doing in my life and the lives around me that I feel as though I can't pour out fast enough--it's simply the overflow of what God is pouring into me! Sometimes the hardest part is knowing how to place all of our insecurities, worth, and desires in our Savior.

I'm going to end this with a challenge; a challenge as much for me as for you:

Throughout your day, ask yourself "What does Christ's love look like in this situation?" Be quiet for a while, and God might reveal it to you.

As Christians, we are blessed to be a blessing.

Peace.

Golden Opportunities...

So many wonderful opportunities...

People ask me what my major at Dordt is. From what the majority of my time is spent on, people would immediately say photography. This year has provided so many chances to put my photo passion to work and, in turn, I'm learning sooo much.

I'm working for the advancement office/year book. It's great.
I get paid for going to basketball games. Can't complain. ;)

I'm also working for the school newspaper as a photographer and staff writer...after adding a jounrnalism minor my Junior year, I thought it best to get as much experience in as possible. It's been a huge learning experience...let's just say my goal of challenging myself more than the previous college years has definitely been accomplished!

In the past 3 weekends I've had 1-3 photoshoots whether it's for a jazz band concert, play dress rehearsal, or senior photos. Right now I'm swamped with over 1,500 photos to edit.... shh..don't tell.

This photo was taken at my 2nd Sioux Center home, the Fruited Plain, with my cousin Elisabeth. She came down last weekend to visit and get her senior photos done. It was a spectacular time filled with laughs, pictures, and brownies topped with fudge and ice cream.

Life is good. Eternal life is better.

Don't forget to thank God for your blessings today!

Just Be.

So many sounds, smells, sites, and not to mention thoughts surrounding me on all sides. The Fruited Plain is a quaint coffee shop/winery and attracts the biggest variety of people.
Whether it's the people sitting in the corner discovering new rubic cube solving tactics, high heeled and straight haired women enjoying their wine and night out, or simply a run down college student like me with their hair half up and a water bottle by their side frantically doing homework...it's sure to be a good time
--if not only good means for people-watching.

I'm hurriedly typing away on my computer in order to finish my paper due before break starts tomorrow. It's only a short 2-day plus weekend break, yet I feel as though it's Christmas Eve.

Reality has hit. I haven't lived in my house I call home for longer than a 6 week period since highschool. As the years have passed since then, my appreciate for family has grown--my heart aches to just Be. To be with the ones I've experienced life with--the ones who know me best. Perhaps writing my essay on home in the previously mentioned writing class has spurred these thoughts. I've realized that my home is not limited to a physical structure.

If home is where the heart is.

Well.
My family is my home.

9/11 remembrance

This semester I added a journalism minor and am now a third of the way through Advanced Expository Writing. It's been a challenge--one of the hardest classes I've taken at Dordt--but I can already see an improvement in my writing and am starting to gain a sense of my style. If I've learned one thing it's that writing takes a lot of time! However, I enjoy it. Our first assignment was due the week of the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Our professor had us write our own personal narrative of our experience that day 10 years ago. I know it's long. It doesn't hurt my feelings if you don't read it. Thought I'd throw it out there though. As you read, perhaps it'll take you back to that day.


--

Converging Worlds

I’m the early bird of my family—after my mom, of course. As a four-year-old I still remember waddling out of my bedroom door on a direct route to my mother’s lap. Our mornings spent together were a time of quiet before another busy day began. This Tuesday morning in September was no different. I groggily plodded downstairs to find my mom doing laundry. Once she saw me, she quickly forced a small tight smile upon her somber face. Something was missing. The familiar crinkles around her eyes didn’t match—something was wrong. “Go look on the TV, Aanna,” she wearily said, “Some men flew planes into big buildings in New York.”

I confess. My first reaction was that of a twisted form of excitement. Something had happened. I scrambled over to the other room and fixed my eyes on the television. My eyes widened as I slowly took in the live footage. As the urgency of the situation dawned on me, I tore my eyes away from the screen and sprinted upstairs to wake my sister from her sleep. I secretly enjoyed the fact that I finally had a liable excuse to jolt her from her deep slumber. “Britta!” I shouted as she slowly opened her bleary eyes, “some stupid-heads flew planes into towers!” That was all I said to her before bolting downstairs again and plopping myself in front of the TV for the show. I was still entertained.

I continued to watch the destruction. It was as if I was watching one of those forbidden R-rated movies, except shockingly real before my eyes. As the massive skyscrapers surrendered to the devouring flames, my excitement vanished. It was as if my former thrill twisted into a knot that settled in my stomach. I was ten years old. The legendary “Twin Towers” were nonexistent in my mind and New York City was a place populated only by rich people and celebrities. Suddenly, my small world in Sioux Falls, SD, consisting of frustrating math tests and sewing my own Barbie clothes, collided with an unknown world—a world that consisted of hatred, grief, and bitterness. And blood. So much blood. I all too clearly remember hearing an interviewee on the radio say that they saw rivers of blood. “Rivers!?” my mind screamed. In my innocence, I couldn’t comprehend such horror. I was the child who had nightmares for weeks after seeing a person die from a knife wound in a movie. Suddenly, that evil wasn’t limited to the screen. This was the world I entered on September 11^th, 2001.

In a span of ten minutes—from waking up to gluing my eyes on the TV—my world no longer consisted of whether my favorite Barbie would wear pink or purple. My mind was a whirlwind, as if I had just jumped off a spinning merry-go-round. I couldn’t fathom the fact that humans had the capacity to be so evil—so full of hatred for people. My people. For the first time, I became aware of the world surrounding America, and the people existing in those countries. Who were these men? They were the “bad guys” right? Unaware of my hungry stomach, I continued to watch this world play out in front of me. I saw small white flecks amongst the ashes and soon realized those flecks were people, people who would rather die on their own accord by plummeting to the ground rather than burn while trapped in a 110-story skyscraper. Such desperation was unreal.

Britta soon joined me in front of the TV; she had to see what these men that I had dared call “stupid heads” had done. Days passed. My perspective and vocabulary changed from “stupid heads,” “bad guys,” and “towers” to “hatred,” “al-Qaeda,” and “America.” These words became common. Church was not an exception; this new and scary world merged with the safe atmosphere in church. My Sunday school teacher’s words seemed to bounce around and echo in my head like a marble in a tin can: “they’re predicting a war.” War was a language I understood. The entertainment I had initially felt was gone, yet her words didn’t portray the depth of the seriousness of my new perspective.

My world had experienced some war from my grandpa’s stories to the lives I created for my Barbies. My sister and I would frequently create love stories resembling that of the classic Civil War movie, Gone with the Wind. I recall the pain my characters experienced as they physically let go of their loved ones, at a complete loss of whether or not they would reunite after the war’s end. A fear seeped into my soul on September 11^th—one that resembled Scarlet O’Hara’s bitterness and anxiety. I once heard that “Fear makes us feel our humanity.” My experience with this fear was different; I felt the humanity of others. I couldn’t bear the stories of loss saturating the news; I continually closed my ears to the rising number of deaths. However, one fear gripped me above all the rest. It consumed my mind. Finally, I could bear it no more.

Attempting to ignore the fear that was gripping my heart, I apprehensively approached my mom. “Does daddy have to go to war and fight the bad guys?” The tick of the clock was like a gong in my ears as I waited for my mom to answer. The Barbie worlds I created were becoming frighteningly real within my own life. My mom’s eyes softened as she saw the desperate love I revealed and explained how daddy would never be asked to enlist, even if we went to war as my teacher had predicted. My chest slowly eased out of what felt like a boa constrictor preventing normal airflow. My dad was safe. My own life would not be shaken.

My dad’s safety, however, did not take the world and its worries away. Stories were still told. There was a numbness in people’s eyes as well as a pain that was still quite new to me. Once those doors to a new world filled with pain opened, they could never be closed; a small part of my innocence was ripped from my hands that day. The world opened to me that Tuesday morning has continued to be twisted, shaken, and turned in many directions. There are still times when my stomach lurches at the shock of pain this world is capable of causing. 9/11 was indeed a pivotal moment in history, yet the books are still being written.

I had the privilege of visiting Ground Zero this past year. A memorial is now built in the Twin Towers’ place. Stories are still being told. There is a continuous thread within those stories—a hope for the future. The determination that unifies us as hurting people in this world is symbolized within the foundation of the memorial and far outweighs the crushed spirits and lives buried along with the rubble of the Twin Towers. Life, with it’s joys and struggles, will continue, but let us move forward with the knowledge of our past and anticipation of our future. After all, we are the ones who fill this world. As Hans Christian Anderson said, “Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” My original horror of 9/11 has disappeared, yet the knowledge gained remains. That perception of hope beneath those stories live in my life—hope of a world freed from the evil that strives to ensnare us.

Panera Paradise

The sweet crunch of granulated sugar.
The pleasant surprise of delightful cinnamon amongst the sweet.
The enjoyment of a perfectly baked bagel with the golden crust surrounding the warm soft bread.
Combine this with silkily smooth honey walnut cream cheese the the cool refreshing drink of an iced latte...
...you might get a taste (literally) of what my day with some of the best people in the world was like.

Some may see Panera as an overrated cafe full of people who have nothing better to do than gossip about those around them or cynically discuss the recent news.
However, among the sweetest people I know, today it is paradise.

Happy birthday Michelle!

And we're off!

I just zipped up my suitcases.
I'm surprised I was able to without sitting on them first.
I am about an hour away from leaving for camp.
I have such a mix of emotions.
So much excitement--this has been my dream for such a long time!
I can't wait to see how God uses this summer in countless ways. To sum it up, I'm expecting the unexpected:)
I am going to miss my family and friends here; however, it's only a little more than a month more than my time in Norway last summer.
I'm pumped to work with kids and staff--I can only imagine the community that's going to be built through these 3 months.
So for this next week I'll be hardcore training for my lifeguard certification, then the next 2 weeks will be counselor training. And in the beginning of June, let the campers arrive!
Stay posted!