Today I woke up early, a consequence of a 7:00AM (or earlier) alarm during the week,  and stared at my ceiling. Then, rolling over onto my stomach with a sleepy and rather unladlylike "Oomph," I stared into my black pillowcase. I hardly remember if it was black because of the fabric or my closed eyes, but it doesn't really matter. After a while, I sat up and texted Abby to see if she wanted to go to Eastern Market with me. Over an hour later, we hit the ground towards Union Station. The Girl's Day with Abby was a sweet, spontaneous blessing. Abby has this way of making you feel comfortable in your own skin, and conversation with her runs easily. 
Once we made it to the Eastern Market stop, we weren't sure which direction to head, so we walked around until we came to a church rummage sale. That was a blast. We ended up buying a few stuffed animals- two for her dog, and one as a gag gift for my brother, although there were a few things that caught our eye. Fortunately, our pocketbooks were saved by the fact that we had no way to take many of these things home (like the crystal serving bowl we were both eyeing; or the ladder-style book shelf that would have looked great in my apartment.... oh well!).

Thirty cents poorer, a lady directed us towards Eastern Market, and we began to walk again. 

Eastern Market was a lot of fun! It was a cross between a flea market, a farmers market, and whatever is between the two. I'd like to go back with a grocery bag because the produce looked good and reasonably priced, and they had huge bouquets of flowers for $6.00. 

I was tempted. So tempted. 

Abby found a beautiful fresh-water pearl ring, and I bought a sunhat, and we moved to a different section. There was a lot to look at, and it was a perfect way to spend a Saturday. Most days until now, barring this past week because I've been feeling under the weather, have been jam-packed with something. We're in DC, so we have to make the most of it, right? I'm finding that a bit more moderation is necessary. Yes, we only have ten weeks... but that doesn't mean everything has to be done in the first five. It's an unreasonable demand, and your body will let you know that. 

After wandering around most booths, Abby and I had girl talk, nachos, and shared a burrito at District Taco (second time in two days-- that good, and pretty affordable for fast food here). I hadn't realized how very, very much I missed my sister-in-love (thus named because we can't legally adopt one another as siblings), Bridget, until today. 

On the way back to the metro we grabbed sunscreen/tanning oil at a corner CVS (you can guess which my European turn-red-but-never-brown skin grabbed), and then ducked home to throw on swimsuits. Girls at the Solaire had offered to let Abby and Kendra use their guest passes for the pool, and another girl had given hers to my roommate and I to use. Saying yes was terribly easy.

Before we knew it, the sun was heading down and we had been lying sleepily beside the pool for three hours. I was a bit disappointed that I didn't have a tan line. That's silly, isn't it? At least I didn't burn. I had wanted, desperately, to have a pretty tan. Oh well. Does tan develop over a couple days?? This is something I don't know since I've never purposely tried to tan. (Usually my time is spent slathering on more 500SPF sunscreen.)
This was my first time in a swimsuit in years, really. I think the ChapFit program last semester really built my self confidence and the way I look at myself. The fact that most of the people at the pool were female probably helped, too. Either way, I got a great half nap in. Yawwn. 

After I got home, showered, straightened my hair for Sunday, and returned from Walmart with groceries, it was past 10PM and I really didn't feel like eating a heavy dinner. Laying in the sun so long had dehydrated me, and so I was battling a headache as well... so I ate a nectarine for dinner and went to sleep. It's a rough life. 

All in all, it was a very relaxing day. I'm glad that we didn't go running all over creation to look at as many DC hotspots as we could. Instead, it began by watering a sweet friendship, continued with a call from the young man who always finds ways to make me smile, and ended with a call home to dad. Beginning or ending a day talking with my dad is really the best thing ever, and I'm thankful when either opportunity presents itself. I feel so blessed to have the relationship I do with both of my parents. DC is a fun, enriching experience, but being home in six weeks will be equally amazing.

     This morning I had a meeting with my supervisor to catch up on projects, talk about how things have been going for the past month, and afterwards I had a call with Dr. C. It was really great to reconnect, even if it was only fifteen minutes.

     I was told to leave early from work (3PM) since there wasn't anything for me to do. I checked out a couple of things on my computer prior to leaving-- one of the things I found was that there's a National Museum of Health and Medicine in Silver Spring, MD. That looks incredibly interesting, but by the time I saw the webpage for the museum it was too late to grab a train and get there before closing time. Oh well. Roommate #1 had invited me to come to Silver Spring to an ice cream social (and paper making party!) that her internship site was hosting, so I spent the remainder of my free time before I had to leave walking around Dupont Circle. At one point, I poked my head into Kraemers bookstore because I had been told it was a great bookstore..... I thought it was a waste of time. :/ Books a Million across the park has a better store, I think. Live and learn!

     As I wandered around Dupont, a homeless man asked me for a few quarters to buy himself a sandwich. He stood outside of a Subway sandwich shop wearing dingy clothing and holding several quarters in his hand. He extended them towards me, the question hanging in the air. "Would you give me more?" 

     This is a sight that is common in DC, although sometimes people perform in some way to "earn" the donations. (This evening on the way home, a man sang loudly in the metro car my roommate and I were riding in.) People here seem to have three reactions: ignore and walk by, give change, or acknowledge and say "Sorry, no."

     He was standing outside of a Subway sandwich shop, and not carrying any change I offered to buy the sandwich. What good will a few quarters do, really? He walked in ahead of me, asked for a soda cup and the bathroom key, and that was that. He didn't say thank you, which honestly I didn't really care about. What struck me was that he didn't order a sandwich. He didn't seem to have any need for it. If I was in a tight spot, and someone offered me a sandwich, I'd at least get one and save it for later. I shake my head when this happens and the desire not to help people who ask for it grows a little bigger because I know the reality is that while there are homeless people, there are people who make at least $400-$500 a day pretending to be homeless. That's not a desire I want. 

     I'm not sharing that story to give myself a pat on the back ("Look at you, you offered someone a tuna sandwich. What a great person you are!" [insert eyeroll here]), but so that I can share the revelation that I had later on: it made me think about how we sometimes approach God. "I need this!" I can see myself saying that, holding out hands with nails that are dirty from all of my human sin. This is something inconsequential, something that won't last-- like the fifty cents in the anecdote above. Or, perhaps, things like "I really need them to accept this past-due application!" "I really need a good grade on this test I haven't been studying for." "I really need them to like me." "I really need ..." 
I've been there. Those have been the hurried prayers I've whispered while multitasking and focusing my mind on my to-do-list rather than remembering the power of God.
We ask God for more.... but more of what? More of unimportant things, and less of what we really need. Then, when God says, "I know you want fifty cents, but I can do more than just that. Come on.", I think sometimes we go along with him just for a little while-- and then go after what we wanted anyway. I say that because I'm that stubborn-headed sheep that just doesn't get it some days. I was ready to buy the homeless man (was he homeless? Who knows.) whatever he wanted, but he just wanted a sweetened drink full of carbonic acid, aspartame, and salt. God wants to give me (us!!) the world .... so why don't I find myself in a place of continual faith with this revelation that I could ask for anything?? I know my track record, and I know God's track record -- and I know which one isn't looking too good. Even still, I ask for small favors. "Help me remember all of these hormones, at least until after my test!"


Is it that I'm afraid to dream big? 


Is it that I'm afraid to trust God enough to give Him complete control?

Is it that I don't trust that God can handle my "big prayers" or the goals that seem way too big to ever come true? 

Maybe. 

     That's the opportunity for a turning point, though... isn't it? That moment of realization that you can live recklessly, abandoning real faith, or abandon the safe, faith-atrophying comfort zone?

     Among the immaterial things in my life that I treasure most is my comfort zone. My personal bubble. It's a place where I know what will happen. I know what to expect, and most importantly, when to expect it. If I were to list the activities that happen inside my comfort zone "leaving comfort zone" would not be among them. 

     Yet that's been precisely the place I've been for the past month. Outside of my happy little bubble. The longer I spend outside of it, the less fondly I look at the prospect of going back. It's funny, isn't it? I fought God so that I could stay in my comfort zone, but DC is the vehicle God is using to permanently evict me from my former home. 

     There are people who really need help. You don't have to look far to see that. Whether it's homeless people, or the prostitute and the man who think he's not seen following her into an alley, or the empty, tired eyes of the stranger you stand next to on the metro.. people need help.
Walking by and turning a blind eye, whatever their intentions and stories are, doesn't seem like a good way to continue. 

     Homelessness seems to be a bad issue here, and a part of me wonders who the people are that really need the help, and who is just wanting to take advantage of an easy way to get some kind of income. There's this heartache that I feel because I've become so coarse and unaffected by poverty in my own backyard- I feel jaded because of so many experiences that I've had similar to the one from earlier today. It's a war in my heart that I've been battling lately-- Do I care? How do I show it? Who needs it most? Who needs it at all? 

     I'm struck with something my mother told me once. "It's not my money." We're stewards of everything God has given us. What I've found is that being a good steward is difficult sometimes. The conclusion I've come to, though, is that what others do with any money or objects I give them is really between them and God. It's not my money, it's God's. I usually don't give money since I rarely carry cash- I try to offer to buy food, since most people cite that as what they're trying to get money for. It seems to be a lie, more often than not, but it is what it is. I'm not called to pass judgement on their choices.

     Clayton from Arlington Church of Christ told me that he's beginning a summer campaign in DC to serve the homeless here on Thursday nights. I'm really hoping that I can help with that because I'm so tired of trying to find ways to help and getting shot down. I feel burned out, and sometimes I find myself in that place where it's easier to turn a blind eye and keep walking. That little voice says "They just want it for alcohol. They're making a ton of money off of everyone else." That's not where I want to be.

    Brandon Heath has this song, "Give Me Your Eyes." That's been going through my head this evening.

     Transformation is not easy or comfortable on any level. God's been working on my heart in so many ways since I got here, and not just in the way that I view homelessness. The walls I've built around my heart and through my mind have been steadily cracking for the past few weeks. now they're staring to tumble like Jericho. My comfort zone is changing. It's scary. It's exciting.

     Woke up without the slight fever, the chills, or the shakiness. What a relief. I felt exhausted, and still like I had been run over by a truck, but at least I didn't feel ill. 
     Things are continuing to go well at work. I'm trying to enjoy the peace and calmness of not having a lot of tasks to complete right now because I'm told that next month will be very hectic, but sometimes I struggle with appreciating the slow pace and feeling unproductive. Thankfully my current research project is a broad one, so there's always work to be done on it.

     At work I'm doing research into how other programs and organizations transition their young children/clients/[insert your own descriptive word here] from practicing isolated fundamental motor skills (throwing, catching, jumping, balancing, etc) to combining those skills to create sports skills. A lot of programs kind of just push kids into the proverbial swimming pool and expect them to just pick it up, or modify the rules so it's a little easier (I personally have some big issues with the latter, but that's another bunny trail). I haven't really found anyone who  ahs described their program as transitional, although a few descriptions I've read online kind of hint at it. I'm a big fan of the transitional model where you integrate skills and help them learn them along the way rather than going straight from "Point A" to "Point B" with some kind of Star Trek-esque transporter device. A lot of programs seem to be missing the importance of the line that connects the two.


     I cannot describe how excited I am to be working on something that has to do with developmental motor skills. I had two classes last semester with Dr. Culpepper (who I adore as a professor; he challenged me to really think, and while I don't remember everything from those two classes I think that a lot of it stuck with me because of the challenge) on motor learning (Motor Learning and Control, and Lifespan Motor Development). Those two classes literally changed the way that I look at people. Now I watch their gait, and how they demonstrate motor skills. Kids in particular. It's no wonder that people watching is so fascinating to me; though I don't care to guess people's stories, I am interested in how they physically interact with their environment. 

     I called and emailed Dr. C. today to ask him a few questions. It's the summer, so he may be gone. hopefully we can get in touch to chat! He's knowledgeable, so I think he'd be a good resource to tap for my research, but I also miss talking with him. When you find those teachers you connect with (and, at least for me, push you to go further), you don't forget them. 

     I probably should take my own medicine and email some other people this weekend. 
The weeks have flown by so quickly here in DC. I can't believe that the fourth week of my internship is winding up. 

     Have I really been here over a month?

    After work I power-walked to Dupont Circle with one of my officemates. He was heading to meet friends, I had plans to meet up with family friends for dinner. Their daughter is a bit older than I am, and she's been working on the Hill for a while. It was fantastic to reconnect with them. We went to Nando's for dinner, which seemed like an upscale El Pollo Loco. It was really great. Definitely somewhere to go back to. We grabbed custard for dessert (where did we put it??) and talked some more. It was sad to part ways from them after only a couple hours, but I thoroughly enjoyed what time we were able to spend together. Hopefully their daughter and I will meet up again in the coming weeks. I had been texting her to try to set up dinner plans for this evening, and never received a response: we laughed, discovering that her phone number, somewhere in the communication between her dad and mine, had changed a digit. With each other's proper phone numbers and a last photo, we said goodnight.

    I hadn't thought of how lonely of an experience DC would be. Yes, you're surrounded by all kinds of new and exciting things---  but that familiar face and history go so far towards soothing the homesick ache that every intern here will feel at some point. 

     Transparency is a good thing in relationships for several reasons. For one thing, it helps you gauge how much you really trust someone. Enough to be transparent? 

     So let's talk about my transparency with you, blog reader. You see these fleshed out thoughts, edited photos (Snapseed, anyone? Anyone? No? Well, look into it. It's fantastic. (Available on iPhone and Android)), and all about a week after the fact. Oh well, at least it's dated properly. That's not very transparent, is it? I even lie about the day it's posted on! Sheesh. 

     I construct the blog mostly with the Weebly app; before I downloaded that, I had kept a long bullet-point list  going on my phone, but the app makes it so much easier since I can upload photos directly from my phone to the blog draft. Before I had been uploading them to Google Drive, downloading them to my computer, and uploading them to the blog. Time. Waster. Now I have enough time on my hands to sit and blog about how I blog! Fascinating, right? Probably not. Moving on.  

Here's what I had from 8AM to about 1PM:

dad called!

still not feeling great. escalators haven't been working this week.

it was a bit muggier today... the humidity was a bit more tangible, although there was a cool breeze, so that helped.

new employee orientation 9am-1pm

went home afterwards because I felt unsteady and ill... hoping it's just fatigue.


As you can see, it's not particularly fleshy, but there is still enough detail to spark something when I get home (or when I get around to finally writing the blog post). 

Spoiler alert: It's not just fatigue. 

     This morning, despite waking up a great deal later than I wanted to ----

     What? Oh. Yes, fine. Transparency. Sorry.

     Ahem.

     This morning, despite lolling around in bed for an hour in a half-asleep "Ugh, I don't feel good" haze, I managed to get out of the door before 8AM. Put a gold star on her chart, Bob!

     It was a miracle. It was a miracle because in the hour it took me to get out the door, I was uncommonly productive. Having only had 6-7 hours of sleep, I was particularly on it this morning. As someone in class this evening said: "holla!" (What does that even mean? All I know is that it's some sort of affirmative exclamation. Oh gosh. At least I have my dictionary, even if I don't have the lingo.... I think I'm a social disgrace to all college students.)

     Within an hour I had:

Had a face mask (I've been converted. I'm a lushie. It's ah.ma.zing.)
Washed my hair 
Styled my hair (walking outside in this humidity with wet hair? DISASTER.)
Remembered to put moisturizer on my face (my female officemate gave me this to try out)
Chosen an outfit (bad intern: always pick out your clothes the night before!)
Chosen a different outfit
Contemplated high heels
Nixed that thought without much ado
Assembled everything I needed (sans sunglasses-- more on that in a second)

     ... At 7:50 I was shoving my gladware-packaged lunch into my purse (probably not the best idea if we're being honest; I need to use my lunchbag more...) and thinking about whether or not I had everything. Forgetting my sunglasses on my dresser has become an unfailing fixture in my morning routine, and this morning was no different. There are two options by the time I remember: 1) walk half a city block back to the RAF, or 2) brave DC summer with bare eyes. It's about a 50/50 for the two in terms of popular choice. Mostly it depends on if I feel like trudging back up stairs anytime soon. 

     The reason this morning that I neglected to go back in to pick them up (new excuse every day!) was that at 7:56, as I was struggling with fitting the plastic container around the notebooks, papers, phone charging cords, and other random paraphernalia that I keep in my purse, my phone began to ring. 

     I smiled, thinking it was my Granddad. We've made it a habit this week to talk in the morning while I walk from my apartment building to my metro station, so I wasn't off-base with my assumption. 

     But it wasn't my grandfather. 

     "Daddy" flashed across the screen while the phone played a strange ringtone that I hadn't assigned. 
With my parents on the west coast, I avoid calling them before 10/11AM, so I knew when he called me that he was out working. Start the day off by talking with dad? You bet! As irreplaceable as Granddad is, his morning conversation slot had been usurped.  

     It was quite lovely; we caught up on each other's lives, and I told him a funny story about something that had happened at work. This was perhaps the first time I'd ever wished that the metro wasn't so close to home. Too soon, I had to hang up because I was on the train and headed for a tunnel to go underground. It was a short call, just 8 minutes, but it was the highlight of my day. 

      Sitting down on the train when I first boarded was surreal. I found myself briefly wondering if there was some sort of Pre-Holiday in anticipation of July 4th because the train car I boarded didn't resemble a sardine can. The mystery solved itself about 12 minutes later when I found myself at my stop, staring at my phone. The time couldn't be right. I was so very, very early.  
     Apparently, it pays to beat the be-at-work-at-9AM crowd!!

     I had stayed up late the night before in order to catch someone for a short chat (time changes are partially the bane of my existence as far as communication with the people I care about goes), so I was still feeling groggy when I called my Granddad. Along the way I spotted the cheerful yellow sign of Au Bon Pain, and realized that popping in for a coffee and a bagel (in order of importance) wasn't such a bad idea. He and I talked as I walked to work this morning. It's a longer walk, partially because I have to wait for two crosswalks, so I may start calling him at that point. We'll see how it works out. 

     We said goodbye as I walked up to my building and scanned my security badge. I wasn't feeling well, but I sat down at my desk and worked a bit as I was waiting for time to pass until the 9AM New Employee Orientation. Orientation went well; the various divisions within the company each made a short presentation of what they did, and who was involved. It was pretty interesting. At the end, we had a trivia game, and I ended up with a Special Olympics lapel pin. Score!

     I left the office after orientation because I had developed a low grade fever, and was continually feeling like I was slipping down some health slope. Yuck. So I did what always helps: I called my mom. We chatted as I walked back to the metro, and then I enjoyed the beauty of riding the metro during the middle of the work day. Or, I imagine, I would have enjoyed it if I hadn't felt so ill. Part of my wanted to lean against the window, but the part of me that realized that fifty other people had probably done that in the past hour kept me upright. 

     When I got home, I finalized the presentation for this evening's class and printed out my handouts. Finally, an hour before class, I collapsed on my bed and willed myself not to go to sleep. 

     Class was good, although I didn't stay for all of it. My fever was on-again-off-again today, and it came back during class. 2/3 of the way through, I handed my phone to a friend to record the class (with Mr. I's permission) and went upstairs to bed. 

     Rachel dropped off my phone after class, and Kendra showed up about ten minutes later with a care package: a ton of ibuprofen, bite sized chocolates, an Earl Grey tea bag, and a sleepy-time tea. She's so thoughtful. I couldn't take the ibuprofen (I had taken some earlier), and I already had a cup of chamomile on my bedside table, but the chocolates!? 

     Fair game. 

This morning I walked into the office a couple minutes before 9AM, thinking I had been told that I didn't need to be a part of the conference call-- miscommunication! She had been talking about a different call. Thankfully, I arrived before this particular call with one of the regions on the other side of the globe began. I didn't contribute anything, but rather listened and tried to keep up with the conversation. I learned a lot today about how Special Olympics funding works. 

There really was not much to do today besides quick tasks. To be honest, I felt a bit useless. The things that needed to be done simply weren't things I could address. Sigh. Oh well. I keep reminding myself that it's going to get incredibly busy soon!

Our crock pot is back in use! We didn't make time to draw up a weekly meal plan last week, and so we did our own things (and ate out). Not the best.  Last night we drew up a game plan for this week. Success! 
Today was Picadillo! 

That's right. 

I made Cuban. 

It was tasty! The girls decided it was a carb week, so we'll be doing pasta for the rest of the week.

Continuing the trend of waking up before my alarm, I became aware of the sounds of 3rd street sometime during the early morning at 6AM approached. The left window was open halfway, the only thing that was reminiscent of my attempts to air out the apartment last night. It has been strangely muggy inside (though the hallway is usually humid, the apartments definitely lean towards being arid) when I had come home from small group. Oh well-- I've learned not to fight my internal clock.

Something that's frustrating about living at the RAF is that our internet is screwy. My computer has recently decided that it doesn't want to connect to our apartment wifi, and the wifi is spotty at best with the other devices we have. Go figure. The squeaky wheel gets the grease: I've asked four different times to have it fixed. Even if the connection issue is with my computer, the wifi is still unreliable and that's for the entire building...

I think that I should make a confession.

Today.... I caved. 

They're not cheap, that's for sure. I decided to reward myself for being frugal with groceries so far. Some people buy potato chips.... I buy avocados. Mmmm!

Barring an extremely good sale at Giant, Walmart generally has better food prices. Except where avocados are concerned. Everyone here thinks they're made of gold or something.

I miss southern California-- $0.50/avocado sounds a lot more like what I want to see. 

Work was short=lived today; we had programming at a building that was walking distance from work, so I left shortly after lunch. 

Career Bootcamp was .... disappointing. I don't have much to say about it because I don't have anything constructive to say. It was an unfortunate afternoon. 

Afterwards, Roommate #2 and I walked to the nearest metro... a quiet evening at home is definitely in store for us tonight. 

This morning I sent a quick text out asking people to be downstairs by 9:10 to catch the train to Arlington (we were late getting out the door last week). Surprise!! Everyone was waiting downstairs-- early! What?! And we had an extra person! We added one more chap for the week with a visitor! 

We met Dr. Patty at the church. Worship --ahhhmazing. I may ask about joining the singing group. I'm not a fan of praise teams, but this one sits in the pews with microphones....  I wouldn't dream of joining a praise team on a stage, but sitting down is something I don't have an issue with. We'll see... God has put a gnawing desire on my heart to be serving here at church somehow.  I've been talking with them for a week now... we'll see where God puts us!!

We had photos afterwards with an elder and his wife, both alumni, and then Dr. Patty left to save the day somewhere else while we became better acquainted with the alums over lunch. It was so very nice of them, and we had a wonderful time.  

On the way back to the RAF, at least two guys tried to get my attention. I stomped on one guys foot (COMPLETELY on accident!!), and when he said "There are better ways to get my attention. ;)" 

Oh geez.

I heaved a deep internal sigh and thanked God that we were so close to our transfer point.

One lesson DC has taught me is that strangers are not dependable. You can't depend on them to have some end game, and you can't depend on them to just be nice.  Some will chat you up to pass time on the metro, and others will seem nice at first and then barge through your introvert bubble without an invitation. There's no consistency! On the second train, some fellow decided to bang on my window.
I'm emotionally exhausted from being so heavily engaged in social situations between church and lunch, and from not having this stranger take the hint that I didn't care to talk to him, and so the window thing almost undid me.  I was sitting there daydreaming of my quiet room and doing mundane chores -- silently.  

Finally home, I did just that. For three hours I recharged by tidying up my half of the room, reorganizing a couple drawers in my dresser, writing letters and postcards, and journaling. It was all done in glorious silence. 

There was a FIFA taco party in the basement at 5PM, but I chose to go to small group alone again. It was a quiet ride to the Huntington stop, so I took the time to write another postcard...  

I love small group. I feel such a warm connection with them. It's comfortable. I spoke up a lot tonight during the discussion.... it felt nice to feel so comfortable.

Tonight I drove home with another intern, the woman from last week, and another young man who goes each week to small group. It was thoughtful and I was thankful not to have to ride the metro home alone for the hour it would have taken.