Carpe Diem

They served us french fries for dinner last night. That was epic. I realize more and more at each meal how many choices we have available to us in the states. In Italy, they have pasta with every meal. Then a meat, a potato. Salad. Done. At home, pasta is only a genre of food. We have tacos, burritos, huge meal-sized salad, burgers, chicken, tons of veggies, barbecue, pie, dip-n-dots, shish-kabobs, funnel cake. It's overwhelming. I plan to not eat any form of noodle for August and September. And if I have to, it has to be in a thick meat sauce like the Italians have never seen.

On a totally different note...I have been thinking a lot about the choice side of friendships, and the choice side in all of life, really. I have thought for a good while that as Christians we put too much emphasis on protecting ourselves. But we cover it sneakily by saying that we are protecting each other, when really we are simply scared. Matt Adair, my pastor in Athens, has asked our congregation a couple times how different would our lives be if we really believed the gospel. That's not a new thought at all, but every time I hear it I have to stop for a minute to think about it.

I think that if Christians believed in the gospel, the entire element of protection would fall away from relationships. (I'm not talking "guard your heart" here, if that's what it sounds like.) There wouldn't be hesitancy in loving each other. Not just in dating relationships, but in friendships and families. You never see Paul holding any love or honesty back from the churches in his letters because he is afraid that when he leaves they will crumble. He knows they won't. I think that is how friendships should be. Because if we don't love now, and seek each other out now to encourage, and really know each other deeply, when will it happen? It won't. So forget the whole idea that we should only tell a few people what we are deeply struggling with or deeply in love with. Because if our lives are really about other people and not about ourselves, then there is no need to keep quiet. To be reserved.

Share. That is what I am saying. Not deep dark secrets. But if I admit to someone once a week the reality of my doubt, chances are that person will be encouraged. And I'll feel a sort of relief. And that is a church. Everything I have learned lately that has meant something to me has either been out of Romans, or out of the mouth of someone around me. And if those people weren't willing to risk exposure and share their thoughts with me I would be...I don't know. Less. I would be less.

This all stems from my fear of not having enough time. There. I said it. But I think I'm more because of it. For the first 2-ish years of college I was the queen of putting a guard up. But I can't do that now. Because there is some reason I am where I am. There is a reason I have PSC. There is a reason I am in Italy. And my time is not my own. I learned that this year when I finally understood that my anger over being sick isn't really justified. Some people say it is when they are trying to encourage me. But I know that it is a lot better than what I really deserve. My time is not my own. But more than that, my story is not my own. I lost the rights to it when I became a Christian. How great is that?

I have to give back. That is the only way I can justify the incredible gift of being....here. Alive. Healthy.

Oh and the picture above is our fifth roommate, Jacopo. Brit and I adorned him with eyes and a bowtie. But he supplied the personality. Katie and Liza are slightly frightened by him, which makes it that much better.

I snapshot of Cortona

Well hello. This video was made by a UGA student last semester in Cortona for his Italian Culture class. It is about Marco, the good-looking Italian teacher. Just so ya know, the chorus is something like, "all the pretty girls say, Ciao Marco"

I uploaded it so you can see a little of what Cortona looks like. It's beautiful. And small. And so Italian. And yes, there is an outdoor escalator. In the last shot in the piazza, notice the guy in red in the background. The best.

transition

Well. I left L'abri about 10 days ago. I think it is likely that I should have stayed. But, my last two days there answered some important questions that I didn't know I had but that I needed to figure out.

Going from L'abri to the UGA madness in Italy is the hardest transition I've had. It was rough. Thank God for Britney.

On one of my last days in England I sat down with Jim, who was a doctor for people with terminal diseases before he left the medical field to work at L'abri, and was able to ask him what he says to people with serious diseases. The conversation was quiet, if that makes sense. Jim asked me questions, and he sat, and he thought. He was wearing a straw sunhat. I told him that sometimes I feel like I'm running out of time. And sometimes I feel like God is expecting me to do something huge with my life. But I don't know what He is expecting and I wish He would give me specific instructions so that I don't mess up - because I want His will. When I said all this Jim paused, looked at me, and said, "Anna, what do you want me to say that would make this conversation bring you peace?" And I thought for a second and told him I wanted to know it was okay to be ordinary. That I didn't have to do something huge with my life. That being ordinary is pleasing to God. Jim just smiled and said, "Anna, in all honesty I can tell you that being ordinary is pleasing to God." He encouraged me to live in the present moment. To hold on to the hope of eternity but not to yearn for it in a way that takes me away from my life here and now.

Jim told me I seem like I am always carrying around a burden. I think that simple conversation may have lifted it.

So I am in Italy now. Naples, Rome, now Cortona. I would add some pictures put my mac crashed so I'll get to that later. Everyone says that this study abroad changes your life. Heather and I laughed about that a couple days ago, but after seeing four Bernini sculptures and a room of Caravaggio's I think Rick may be right - I came as an art student, but I might just leave this country as an artist.