revolutionary in training

They say life is like a box of chocolates… you never know what you’re gonna get. When I left my home in San Francisco to move to London this past September with nothing but a MacBook and a few clothes (well, perhaps more than just a few), I certainly had no idea what was in store for me. I only knew that I had to follow my dreams and see what new adventures this would lead me to. A few months later with a new home, friends, church community at HTB, and a job at international development agency, Tearfund, I opened that box of chocolates again and this time it was a Turkish delight.

Spending a few weeks in Istanbul over the New Year I was welcomed with open arms by my dear friend, Zeynep, and her two daughters, Asya and Taya. Almost four years had passed since I’d spent the summer with them, though we quickly re-established our little harem and the girls set about dolling me up in their finery and decorating me with jewels dripping from my ears as night after night I was wined and dined by Turkish princes. (They may not have been actual princes but I certainly felt like a princess!) In true Turkish style, their hospitality could not be outdone and my days were filled with motorcycle rides through the ancient streets of Istanbul, exploring the nearby mountain ranges and villages with new friends, and of course, cruises on the Bosporus river with wine in hand and enchanted music drifting through the night as twinkling stars set the sky ablaze. Turkey is truly a magical place but the real delight for me is the treasured relationships I have there: times spent with Asya posing endlessly for photos like we were international models instead of two giddy girls sitting at a Starbucks; laughing at Taya’s impersonations of Hannah Montana and all things Disney; and sharing heart to hearts with Zeynep and learning to drink wine without falling over (for the most part).

Leaving a big piece of my heart in Turkey, I headed back to London and over the next few months continued to enjoy a life filled with deep friendships, strong community, and the occasional jaunt to the English countryside. And, because I’ve always had an obsession with chocolate and just can’t keep my hand out of the cookie jar, I also ventured to Berlin where I had my passport stolen and the British Embassy threaten to deport me to Canada. After drawing up some top secret plans to sneak into Turkey sans documentation, I was allowed to go home to London where the madness was really about to begin. I was soon wooed by an English man who ticked all the boxes on my “husband wish list” (minus the critical element: ‘wears good shoes’) and despite recent memories of a broken heart, decided to take courage and let myself fall in love again. All was well in the world: a weekend trip to Paris saw me reunited with my dear Canadian friends, Tam and Cali, and a most hilarious adventure ensued as we hopelessly lost a shoe in the Louvre fountain, only to have it pop back up to the surface 10 minutes later after we’d made up a song about our bare footed loss.

… and then my contract at Tearfund expired and I reluctantly joined the ranks of the unemployed. For those of you tempted to think that equates to a life of leisure, let me introduce you to the HR situation in England where it can take days to fill out job applications, a month to shortlist people for interviews, and another couple of months to actually hire and commence employment. My life now consisted of hours upon hours of scouring the web for jobs and writing essays for applications. I networked, volunteered, met with HR personnel, and tried to stay focused on why I came to London in the first place – to find a job that would fulfill my passions. The days turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months, and eventually I was turned down for a dream job I was perfectly qualified for because they hired someone with “more UK experience”… which could be just about any of the 60 million people in England, though I hear the Queen is otherwise employed.

Along the emotionally turbulent journey of unemployment and dream chasing, the oh-so-perfect-husband-to-be candidate decided to break my heart. As he sat there on my couch one April day taking back his promises to love me forever without any warning or explanation, I thought to myself, “Jesus wouldn’t do this.” In fact I told the boy this same thing and amidst my tears and grief briefly considered a new marketing opportunity for “WWJND – What Would Jesus Not Do” bracelets. While it is true that Jesus would never love me and leave me, I realised he also pretty much guarantees that life is going to involve heartache and sacrifice, most especially for those who take up their cross and follow him. I guess I forgot about that part of the gospel when I sold everything I owned, and left behind family and friends to follow what I believe is my God-given purpose, but I’m well acquainted with it now.

After three months of hard work, I’m still unemployed, newly homeless, and back to eating cereal three times a day. I really believed that God was going to reward my faith and my efforts to pursue my calling by giving me a good job, but the Great Procrastinator seems to have other priorities. Instead of providing a job and some financial security, God has seen fit to give me the most amazing friends and community. A friend of a friend of a friend, put me up for months before I got my first job in London, girls from work came and slept over every night the week after my heart was broken to make sure I wasn’t alone, a room full of mates recently helped me celebrate my 29th in high style, and my church has supported me with prayer, places to sleep now that I’m homeless, and plenty of volunteer work to keep me from going out of my mind with boredom. Okay, so maybe God actually does know what he’s doing.

It turns out that I’m the one who doesn’t know what she’s doing, or rather where she’s going. I’ve got lots of ideas about what I want to do with my life and most recently I’m convinced that involves working with the church to inspire its involvement in the fight against global poverty. But I’m just beginning to grasp this vision and I can’t say how I’m going to get there, or when the doors will open to make this dream a reality. So faced with my own version of poverty and unclear as to what the next step is on my journey, I’ve decided to open that box of chocolates again. As I just can’t seem to get enough of that Turkish delight, I’m heading back to spend the summer with Zeynep and the girls. I figure a few months of rest in the endless sunshine and turquoise sea on the coast of Turkey should help me discern God’s direction for what to do next. And if not, at least I’ll have a great tan and another exciting adventure to tell the grandkids one day.