I type to you from 34,841 feet above the earth’s surface. I think I’m somewhere near the North Pole. Most of the time I keep myself so busy that I don’t enjoy simply writing. Since I’m not going anywhere for 15 hours I will take the time to share a few moments of my Thanksgiving Day with you.
Have you ever flown stand-by before? It can be a grewling process. Hoping, praying that somehow you’ll get a seat on the flight you so desperately want to get on. You and a small crowd of people stand by the gate agent desk after every paying passenger is on board. Everyone waits for the deep sigh of relief that is the call of your name signifying that they have printed you a ticket. Knowing today’s flight from Chicago to Hong Kong was going to be a long one, I was putting all my positive thoughts toward getting a seat in First Class. Unlike most of my flights throughout the year, this had an actual possibility of happening. First class. Yes PLEASE. So in the days preceding this flight I’d send up little prayers of “Lord, please give me a flight in First!?” And since I’m wanting to hear God’s voice more on, well, every subject, I was attempting to listen.
During the hours before the flight, I felt like the slightest whisper from God was, “You’re not getting first class today.” What?! Must be hearing God wrong. He didn’t just say that? Nah. This is one of the few or only possibilities I will have for an amazing seat in First Class! “Please please please will you give me a seat in first?” Silence… with a grin. Do you ever feel that – God’s just grinning at you not saying a thing like an all-knowing dad? I tried to quench my whine of a prayer and tell Him how I’ll sit wherever he wants me to. Grimicing I thought, “So Lord, where will I be sitting?” He’s says, “Now how am I supposed to surprise you if I keep telling you before it happens? Sometimes I just want to leave it till the last second. Be patient.” Ooookay. He’s always good to me. I have no need to worry. But I still was caught holding my breath a bit. Finally, the call came over the speaker, “Passenger Melilli!” Awesome – I’m on! … but where? I ran over to the desk to gratefully collect my ticket. 7H. What does 7H mean? Seems like the front, but dare I get my hopes up? Wheeling my bags down the line to get on board, I decided to just get in the coach class line and handed the gate agent my ticket. He smiled and said, “I think you’ll be closer to your seat going through this door.” And ushered me through the other line door – the red carpet one!
As I practically skipped down the jetway, I was still a bit puzzled. I had thought business class was overbooked. Turns out it wasn’t! As soon as I sat down a flight attendant breezed by offering a tray filled with glasses of champagne or orange juice. I helped myself and tried hide my shear elation at the total comfort around me. God was right (as always), I wasn’t in First Class, but I was sure well taken care of. Thank you so much, Father God!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Walking by Faith
Now that the DTS is over and I have some time to travel around and see friends, I've been asking the question of myself, "How do I remain consistent in this life of following Jesus in all seasons?" Through this past weekend I've learned a lot about how to do this.
Recently I was debating going to this conference called Jesus Culture. "The conference is based on three principles: Encounter, Equip, Send. Our heart is to see a generation Encounter the presence of God and his radical love for them." - taken from their website. So I've had it on my heart to go. The ways I was sensing God telling me to go were just barely in the form of a whisper. Looking at my finances and how exhausted I was from travel it did not look like a good idea at all. I had been seeking to be more obedient to God's voice, so I decided to go in faith, trusting God to work out the details.
I arrived in Leicester with hours to kill before the registration for the conference opened up. After an hour at a coffee shop, I decided to go check out the venue. When I entered, bypassing the signs that read "Do not come in before 5PM!", I met a girl running around getting things in order. I explained that I had no where to be as I didn't have a place to stay and would be more than happy to help out in any way I could. She started to suggest different hotels, which I had looked into and knew were too expensive. I told her how I felt like God was going to provide something and asked her name. "Faith", she said. Oh yes! - I just met FAITH and felt like that was God just encouraging me that I didn't need to worry about it.
Since they didn't need any help, I set off in search of a park bench to read. Walking along I prayed silently... Abba, I know you're going to work something out for a place for me to stay tonight. Could it be with some lovely people in their home? and could I please have a bed and a room to myself? That would be really nice. I grinned to myself wondering what could happen.
When I returned a few hours later, I registered for the conference with a lovely girl named Sarah. While I was storing my backpack, she came up to me and asked if I would like to stay in their spare bedroom. (!) We hadn't talked more than a couple of minutes and she was opening her home to me. Thank you Lord! I later found out that normally she and her husband, Davy, would have taken in someone from the conference, but this year they didn't yet offer the room. God was saving a place for me!
The conference got off to a great start with every young person engaging in worship. There were probably around 400 young people there all passionately pouring out their praise. I had come expecting this and just enjoyed every minute. The Jesus Culture band plays wonderfully - but their hearts for Jesus are what shined brighter than the unified instruments. The whole time the speakers were dynamic and relevant, bringing fresh ideas. We all felt the presence of God moving among us during this time. As epic as it all was, I kept thinking about the days that follow a conference like this and how it was up to me daily to make the choice to follow Jesus in this same way.
I was especially impacted by one of the teaching sessions with Kim Walker, a worship leader. She simply told her testimony. Kim spent a few years not leading worship at all and during that time focused on loving Jesus with all she had. She said that she still was attending a school at Bethel Church and working, but any spare moment she had was an opportunity to connect more with the Lord. Her singular obsession was Jesus. Above all she guard this connection with His Spirit in every decision she makes. Later God slowly started opening up the doors for her to sing publicly... and now many many people are being ushered into the presence of God through her music. The title of her session was "Living a Lifestyle of Worship" which is exactly what I left desiring to explore more deeply on my own.
Personally, I was encouraged over all. God refreshed my weary heart and gave me lots of words and promises to lift me up. He has continued to add to my vision for future discipleship schools and give me new dreams.
Also, I needed a ride back to London. Someone in the conference pointed me in the direction of a guy named Nick who lived in London. I asked if I could ride with him and without hesitation he said yes. God provided again!
In general, I'm reminded of how we, as the body of Christ, should be like this naturally. So often we ignore the verses that say to take in the traveler or stranger in the name of fear or "what if...?" Most of my time I am that stranger in need. I was so blessed by the hospitality of Sarah, Davy, and Nick in Leicester. Throughout my year I can say there are many times that I encounter the love of Jesus in people that are willing to take me in as their own. I look so forward to someday having a home where I can extend the same generosity to others! Mi casa es su casa!
Recently I was debating going to this conference called Jesus Culture. "The conference is based on three principles: Encounter, Equip, Send. Our heart is to see a generation Encounter the presence of God and his radical love for them." - taken from their website. So I've had it on my heart to go. The ways I was sensing God telling me to go were just barely in the form of a whisper. Looking at my finances and how exhausted I was from travel it did not look like a good idea at all. I had been seeking to be more obedient to God's voice, so I decided to go in faith, trusting God to work out the details.
I arrived in Leicester with hours to kill before the registration for the conference opened up. After an hour at a coffee shop, I decided to go check out the venue. When I entered, bypassing the signs that read "Do not come in before 5PM!", I met a girl running around getting things in order. I explained that I had no where to be as I didn't have a place to stay and would be more than happy to help out in any way I could. She started to suggest different hotels, which I had looked into and knew were too expensive. I told her how I felt like God was going to provide something and asked her name. "Faith", she said. Oh yes! - I just met FAITH and felt like that was God just encouraging me that I didn't need to worry about it.
Since they didn't need any help, I set off in search of a park bench to read. Walking along I prayed silently... Abba, I know you're going to work something out for a place for me to stay tonight. Could it be with some lovely people in their home? and could I please have a bed and a room to myself? That would be really nice. I grinned to myself wondering what could happen.
When I returned a few hours later, I registered for the conference with a lovely girl named Sarah. While I was storing my backpack, she came up to me and asked if I would like to stay in their spare bedroom. (!) We hadn't talked more than a couple of minutes and she was opening her home to me. Thank you Lord! I later found out that normally she and her husband, Davy, would have taken in someone from the conference, but this year they didn't yet offer the room. God was saving a place for me!
The conference got off to a great start with every young person engaging in worship. There were probably around 400 young people there all passionately pouring out their praise. I had come expecting this and just enjoyed every minute. The Jesus Culture band plays wonderfully - but their hearts for Jesus are what shined brighter than the unified instruments. The whole time the speakers were dynamic and relevant, bringing fresh ideas. We all felt the presence of God moving among us during this time. As epic as it all was, I kept thinking about the days that follow a conference like this and how it was up to me daily to make the choice to follow Jesus in this same way.
I was especially impacted by one of the teaching sessions with Kim Walker, a worship leader. She simply told her testimony. Kim spent a few years not leading worship at all and during that time focused on loving Jesus with all she had. She said that she still was attending a school at Bethel Church and working, but any spare moment she had was an opportunity to connect more with the Lord. Her singular obsession was Jesus. Above all she guard this connection with His Spirit in every decision she makes. Later God slowly started opening up the doors for her to sing publicly... and now many many people are being ushered into the presence of God through her music. The title of her session was "Living a Lifestyle of Worship" which is exactly what I left desiring to explore more deeply on my own.
Personally, I was encouraged over all. God refreshed my weary heart and gave me lots of words and promises to lift me up. He has continued to add to my vision for future discipleship schools and give me new dreams.
Also, I needed a ride back to London. Someone in the conference pointed me in the direction of a guy named Nick who lived in London. I asked if I could ride with him and without hesitation he said yes. God provided again!
In general, I'm reminded of how we, as the body of Christ, should be like this naturally. So often we ignore the verses that say to take in the traveler or stranger in the name of fear or "what if...?" Most of my time I am that stranger in need. I was so blessed by the hospitality of Sarah, Davy, and Nick in Leicester. Throughout my year I can say there are many times that I encounter the love of Jesus in people that are willing to take me in as their own. I look so forward to someday having a home where I can extend the same generosity to others! Mi casa es su casa!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Evangelism. The scary E word.
God has been teaching me a lot about evangelism over the past few years. Today my conclusion is that it's simply being genuine in friendship and relationship without a 5 point process to selling Jesus. Just love people - in that they will encounter Jesus.
Every Friday night my school and I go into downtown Christchurch to practice the big "E" word. If you came across us in the city square you might see some playing football (soccer) with international students, others playing music and drawing a rhythm-loving crowd, some doing sidewalk chalk with kids, and dispersed throughout this scene are our students having conversations with whoever God brings across their path. No one has a "Roman road" laminated card in their pocket in case they need to reference how to lead someone to Jesus. It's love and kindness displayed in all sorts of creative ways.
Lots of questions are raised in this environment. Some are in regard to people being baffled at why a group of young people would simply want to hang out and care for others. Our own students often get into theological conversations that cause them to have to go back to the Bible and seek out answers to better understand their faith. Some people who don't believe in Jesus start to question their own views of God.
But what would you do in this scenario... Our group of fun-loving drummers are drawing a big crowd. The local Evangelist who has brought his loud speaker and "How to find Jesus" diagrams is also drawn to this group with the intent of converting some. As he knows we also are followers of Christ, he starts to find his way to the front and take center-stage hoping to launch into a sermon. In and throughout the crowd are YWAM students meeting people and engaging them in genuine conversation. If you are one of these drummers what do you do when the Evangelist asks to preach?
Every Friday night my school and I go into downtown Christchurch to practice the big "E" word. If you came across us in the city square you might see some playing football (soccer) with international students, others playing music and drawing a rhythm-loving crowd, some doing sidewalk chalk with kids, and dispersed throughout this scene are our students having conversations with whoever God brings across their path. No one has a "Roman road" laminated card in their pocket in case they need to reference how to lead someone to Jesus. It's love and kindness displayed in all sorts of creative ways.
Lots of questions are raised in this environment. Some are in regard to people being baffled at why a group of young people would simply want to hang out and care for others. Our own students often get into theological conversations that cause them to have to go back to the Bible and seek out answers to better understand their faith. Some people who don't believe in Jesus start to question their own views of God.
But what would you do in this scenario... Our group of fun-loving drummers are drawing a big crowd. The local Evangelist who has brought his loud speaker and "How to find Jesus" diagrams is also drawn to this group with the intent of converting some. As he knows we also are followers of Christ, he starts to find his way to the front and take center-stage hoping to launch into a sermon. In and throughout the crowd are YWAM students meeting people and engaging them in genuine conversation. If you are one of these drummers what do you do when the Evangelist asks to preach?
Friday, January 23, 2009
On the road again...
I've been encouraged to blog more, so here it goes...
An open road lies ahead of me. It's liberating yet still a little scary no matter how many times I do it. I departed the safe haven of Nashville this morning and flew to my childhood home of Denver. One of my favorite past-times is to be a tourist in my own hometown, so that was my mission today. The friend I'm staying with will not get off work until 5:30 and that left me with hours to explore. However, I did not get far with my huge backpack...
After taking the public bus to downtown I wondered a few blocks looking for the right coffee shop to retreat to until 5:30. As I walked I encountered various people asking for donations for this or that non-profit. Glimpes of my self reflected in storeshop windows revealed how silly I looked with my monsterous bag and I realized I was yet again homeless with my belongings on my back. Shuffling down Larimer Street I could see a good cafe, however there was another donation-asking guy standing between me and my goal. Even though my shoulders where whining under the weight of the pack, I listened with eye contact as the guy explained his predicament. He said he's selling a paper that helps raise awareness about homelessness and poverty and the proceeds of the sale ($1) go to help people like him that are struggleing and out of money. I tried to listen with an open heart not sure of what do to. After his speal, the question came, "Would you like to help me out?" And in my mix of fatigue and not sure how I could honestly be a help what came out of my mouth was a flat "no" and an attempt at saying I wish him the best of luck or something lame like that. As soon as the word left my mouth I felt like someone punched me in the stomache. The reality was, I lied to him. Everything in me wanted to help him. I live to help others now. It's my heart, it's God's heart. c o m p a s s i o n.
In my awkwardness I retreated into the shelter of the cafe and had time to think about the situation as I waited in line for coffee. I felt aweful. Sure you can't help everyone (I'd already turned down a few), but it's my heart's desire to help... somehow. I dug around in my bag and found a couple of snack bars and some money. Little hope-prayers went up that when I went
outside he would still be there. Sure enough, he was.... I apologized for lying to him and explained that it truely is my desire to ... help. He gave me the paper in exchange for the money and snacks and smiled as he walked off. Although I felt a little better, I wish there was someway to do more sometimes, you know? My encounters with people are brief as I travel, but I do pray that that guy would come to know the greatest HOPE and source of LIFE in Jesus.
Writing to you from The Market on Larimer Square...
An open road lies ahead of me. It's liberating yet still a little scary no matter how many times I do it. I departed the safe haven of Nashville this morning and flew to my childhood home of Denver. One of my favorite past-times is to be a tourist in my own hometown, so that was my mission today. The friend I'm staying with will not get off work until 5:30 and that left me with hours to explore. However, I did not get far with my huge backpack...
After taking the public bus to downtown I wondered a few blocks looking for the right coffee shop to retreat to until 5:30. As I walked I encountered various people asking for donations for this or that non-profit. Glimpes of my self reflected in storeshop windows revealed how silly I looked with my monsterous bag and I realized I was yet again homeless with my belongings on my back. Shuffling down Larimer Street I could see a good cafe, however there was another donation-asking guy standing between me and my goal. Even though my shoulders where whining under the weight of the pack, I listened with eye contact as the guy explained his predicament. He said he's selling a paper that helps raise awareness about homelessness and poverty and the proceeds of the sale ($1) go to help people like him that are struggleing and out of money. I tried to listen with an open heart not sure of what do to. After his speal, the question came, "Would you like to help me out?" And in my mix of fatigue and not sure how I could honestly be a help what came out of my mouth was a flat "no" and an attempt at saying I wish him the best of luck or something lame like that. As soon as the word left my mouth I felt like someone punched me in the stomache. The reality was, I lied to him. Everything in me wanted to help him. I live to help others now. It's my heart, it's God's heart. c o m p a s s i o n.
In my awkwardness I retreated into the shelter of the cafe and had time to think about the situation as I waited in line for coffee. I felt aweful. Sure you can't help everyone (I'd already turned down a few), but it's my heart's desire to help... somehow. I dug around in my bag and found a couple of snack bars and some money. Little hope-prayers went up that when I went
outside he would still be there. Sure enough, he was.... I apologized for lying to him and explained that it truely is my desire to ... help. He gave me the paper in exchange for the money and snacks and smiled as he walked off. Although I felt a little better, I wish there was someway to do more sometimes, you know? My encounters with people are brief as I travel, but I do pray that that guy would come to know the greatest HOPE and source of LIFE in Jesus.Writing to you from The Market on Larimer Square...
Friday, December 26, 2008
Life was easier before Poverty had a face
Poverty has a face. I've seen it and lived in and around it. She has hands and feet and an empty belly. He has a laugh and tears and lives under a bridge. These people have names and their faces flash through my mind on a regular basis.
When I was naive about the concept of Poverty, life was easier. I could spend my money without thought of others. I could live my life with seemingly no consequences to others. I could function in our modern society without feeling isolated and strange.
Now when I bring up the subject that pulses through my veins, I'm greeted by blank faces and defensiveness. If you want to throw a wet blanket on any situation talk about poverty. It's the conversation killer of all time. When I've asked God to break my heart for what breaks his, I had no idea how isolating it could feel. Now I'm plagued by actually caring. There are people out on this planet by the masses suffering and dying and I CARE. I haven't fully walked in their shoes (for those that have them) but I've sat next to them. Bandaged a few wounds. Prayed for their healing. Listened to their dreams.
In the mix of the holidays I am greeted by these flashbacks. I've been out THERE long enough now that the emotions and experiences have fully stuck. I can't escape the full reality of our brothers and sisters around the world under layers of comfort, entertainment, and ignorance.
When I was naive about the concept of Poverty, life was easier. I could spend my money without thought of others. I could live my life with seemingly no consequences to others. I could function in our modern society without feeling isolated and strange.
Now when I bring up the subject that pulses through my veins, I'm greeted by blank faces and defensiveness. If you want to throw a wet blanket on any situation talk about poverty. It's the conversation killer of all time. When I've asked God to break my heart for what breaks his, I had no idea how isolating it could feel. Now I'm plagued by actually caring. There are people out on this planet by the masses suffering and dying and I CARE. I haven't fully walked in their shoes (for those that have them) but I've sat next to them. Bandaged a few wounds. Prayed for their healing. Listened to their dreams.
In the mix of the holidays I am greeted by these flashbacks. I've been out THERE long enough now that the emotions and experiences have fully stuck. I can't escape the full reality of our brothers and sisters around the world under layers of comfort, entertainment, and ignorance.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Birth pains
Wait just a second... I think I'm having another 'ah ha!' moment. It's birth pains. All this craziness of the last 3 years and 3 loops around the earth combined with my current state of again asking 'who am I and where am I going?' are birth pains. Something good is coming of my little life, I can feel it. I've felt this season before. It's where I question everything, feel God is a little distant, and am not sure if I'm moving forward or simply running circles in my mind.
The most confusing part of my year is when my worlds collide. After I've spent so much time abroad, holding loosely to my own traditions and being flexible with those around me, I return to Nashville, Tennessee, and hit reverse culture shock. During my time away I've changed. People around me don't necessarily notice it right away and I myself don't know what subtle changes have taken place. Often it's years later that I can see the full impact that international experiences have had on my life.
In the meantime I'm left a bit dumb and mute. I have heart tremors that mix the deep desires to share my stories knowing full well that most people I talk to will never be able to relate. I'll watch a child in the States refuse to eat the many many things placed graciously before them by their over-accommodating parents while having flashbacks of malnourished, barely alive children in the slums of India. How do I cope with this?
Somewhere I linger in limbo my first few weeks of being home. The over-abundance of the USA slowly creeps back into my vein and again I feel fat, dumb, and happy. So many elements of our comfortable, convenient lifestyles threaten to make all those challenging moments I've had in dirty, impoverished areas of our earth disappear. For a while I hang between the two worlds seeing both of them clearly and not sure how they can actually co-exist. I try with desperation, not knowing what words to use, to stretch my arms between these extremes and somehow make them connect. How can I shake these first and third world nations to enter into relationships and enrich one another with their beautiful forms of wealth and resources? Their is an amazing exchange that can take place here. HOW to go about it is my current life question.
The most confusing part of my year is when my worlds collide. After I've spent so much time abroad, holding loosely to my own traditions and being flexible with those around me, I return to Nashville, Tennessee, and hit reverse culture shock. During my time away I've changed. People around me don't necessarily notice it right away and I myself don't know what subtle changes have taken place. Often it's years later that I can see the full impact that international experiences have had on my life.
In the meantime I'm left a bit dumb and mute. I have heart tremors that mix the deep desires to share my stories knowing full well that most people I talk to will never be able to relate. I'll watch a child in the States refuse to eat the many many things placed graciously before them by their over-accommodating parents while having flashbacks of malnourished, barely alive children in the slums of India. How do I cope with this?
Somewhere I linger in limbo my first few weeks of being home. The over-abundance of the USA slowly creeps back into my vein and again I feel fat, dumb, and happy. So many elements of our comfortable, convenient lifestyles threaten to make all those challenging moments I've had in dirty, impoverished areas of our earth disappear. For a while I hang between the two worlds seeing both of them clearly and not sure how they can actually co-exist. I try with desperation, not knowing what words to use, to stretch my arms between these extremes and somehow make them connect. How can I shake these first and third world nations to enter into relationships and enrich one another with their beautiful forms of wealth and resources? Their is an amazing exchange that can take place here. HOW to go about it is my current life question.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Sicily
Quality is a word that keeps coming to mind here in Sicily. It is as if the best characteristics of the French and the best characteristics of the Germans blended together and became Italy. You have the passion, romance, and moment-to-moment enjoyment of life blended with perfectionism, intelligence, and pursuit of the best in every arena. Everything is done well. Be it a pastry, playing World Cup football (soccer), or a pair sunglasses, the goal will be pursued till it reaches it’s best possible state.
Now I will be the first to admit that I’m biased here. This is my inaugural journey to the motherland – Sicily. In 1918 my great-grandfather arrived in the United States via a boat. Like thousands of other immigrants, he came with little to no money armed only with his trade. Baton Rouge, Louisiana, was his choice location to settle and open his tailoring business. I knew him in his later years. Spending time in my great-grandfather's tailor shop were precious moments to me. I never knew what to expect, but always looked forward to time with my Italian Paw-Paw. There was a deep sense of pride in every suit he made and hem he stitched. As I would stand on the wooden box in front of the mirror in his shop he would move around me with his measuring tape chatting in Italian and making me a beautiful imaginary dress.
Paw-Paw refused to retire. He would have died with needle and thread in hand at his shop if we had let him. Against his will at the age of 94 the family ‘took away’ his drivers license. That was no happy day for him. Soon after the doors of his tailor shop were closed and he begrudgingly spent his days at home. At the age of 97 he passed away and with him went the old world trade of tailoring.
As I travel Sicilia, meet the people, eat the food – I am gaining much insight into my great-grandfather and my Italian heritage. The passion for the best things in life ran true through his veins. Being here is also helping me make sense of my strange affection for olive oil, garlic, and every other Mediterranean food. I would like to blame my Sicilian roots for my endless search for outstanding food.
Despite the language barrier, I’ve never felt so at home in another country. The way of life here makes sense to me. The people, the places, and the pace of life are strangely familiar. Little things like the abundance of Vespas, or coffee made rich and strong sets me to giggling to myself. It’s like all of my favorite things in life are actually part of a functioning society wherein these people all appreciate the same things! (Granted this is from a completely humanistic point of view…)
I can’t help but sit back and savor the perfection of the cannoli, the breeze of the sea, or the style of the Italians passing by.
In the midst of this, I am faced with my own American identity. The flipping of my flops is the first giveaway. Even my posture is a bit different. Have you ever noticed that? Americans have a certain way of walking and simply standing. Now this might be my imagination, but it seems to me that in the States we are not as concerned with the perfection of your handbag or desire for more fine jewelry.
Now I will be the first to admit that I’m biased here. This is my inaugural journey to the motherland – Sicily. In 1918 my great-grandfather arrived in the United States via a boat. Like thousands of other immigrants, he came with little to no money armed only with his trade. Baton Rouge, Louisiana, was his choice location to settle and open his tailoring business. I knew him in his later years. Spending time in my great-grandfather's tailor shop were precious moments to me. I never knew what to expect, but always looked forward to time with my Italian Paw-Paw. There was a deep sense of pride in every suit he made and hem he stitched. As I would stand on the wooden box in front of the mirror in his shop he would move around me with his measuring tape chatting in Italian and making me a beautiful imaginary dress.
Paw-Paw refused to retire. He would have died with needle and thread in hand at his shop if we had let him. Against his will at the age of 94 the family ‘took away’ his drivers license. That was no happy day for him. Soon after the doors of his tailor shop were closed and he begrudgingly spent his days at home. At the age of 97 he passed away and with him went the old world trade of tailoring.
As I travel Sicilia, meet the people, eat the food – I am gaining much insight into my great-grandfather and my Italian heritage. The passion for the best things in life ran true through his veins. Being here is also helping me make sense of my strange affection for olive oil, garlic, and every other Mediterranean food. I would like to blame my Sicilian roots for my endless search for outstanding food.
Despite the language barrier, I’ve never felt so at home in another country. The way of life here makes sense to me. The people, the places, and the pace of life are strangely familiar. Little things like the abundance of Vespas, or coffee made rich and strong sets me to giggling to myself. It’s like all of my favorite things in life are actually part of a functioning society wherein these people all appreciate the same things! (Granted this is from a completely humanistic point of view…)
I can’t help but sit back and savor the perfection of the cannoli, the breeze of the sea, or the style of the Italians passing by.
In the midst of this, I am faced with my own American identity. The flipping of my flops is the first giveaway. Even my posture is a bit different. Have you ever noticed that? Americans have a certain way of walking and simply standing. Now this might be my imagination, but it seems to me that in the States we are not as concerned with the perfection of your handbag or desire for more fine jewelry.
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