adventure |adˈvenCHər, əd-|: (noun) an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity; daring and exciting activity calling for enterprise and enthusiasm; (verb) engage in hazardous and exciting activity, especially the exploration of unknown territory
Two weeks ago I was in Tijuana serving alongside nineteen other twenty-something-year-olds. And to be honest, it wrecked me.
Back in the Fall I was asked by my church to accompany our Spring Break missions team to Tijuana as the videographer. I’m lucky to have a few friends on staff who know my heart for Latin America and were pushing for me to go on this trip specifically, but because I was going to do a “job” (or at least in my head that’s what I thought), I didn’t think much about it until we arrived.
We stayed in Mexico for five days (a nice balance since it was a total of five days driving across the country there and back) to serve the team at Centro Shalom. I knew no one on my team — with the exception of acquaintances I had formed through mutual friends — and to be honest, my heart was postured pretty poorly going in. I believed that my week would be spent in the background glorifying a mission without playing a real role in the work itself. I was wrong.
The Freibott family roots drink from the same river the city of Nuremberg was borne of.
A city whose history stretches back through centuries, founded around the 1040 building of the castle of the duke of Bavaria, King Henry III. The settlement became a Bavarian city and saw the flourishing of arts, a thriving educational status, a blooming industrial commerce, and the rise and fall of the Nazi Party. During World War II the city saw Nazi rallies and trials, the bombing of the city, and the Allied trials of the Nazis. Since the war-torn state of the 1930s the city has rebuilt itself and its reputation and is now a beautiful Bavarian city in the southern part of Germany, allowing its history to direct its empathy and its contemporary status as the second largest Bavarian city. Continue reading “Nuremberg, Germany”
A few weeks ago I had a magical weekend, and I’ve finally got a spare second to reflect.
After a full week of classes in Cambridge, my friends and I took off for the Isle of Wight, an Island “forgotten by time,” as they say. A place of retreat into natural beauty and the sights and sounds of what I have always imagined to be the quintessential English town, all by the sea.
I was first made aware of the Isle of Wight by one of my professors from my home university who grew up on the island. She mentioned that I had to make a trip down while I was in England and after a little research and some help we figured out how to make the trek. I gathered a few friends from my program here and we were off. We left from London in the morning to arrive in the historic town of Portsmouth for a Ferry to Ryde.
Remember a few months ago when I visited New York and basically thought it was the greatest place on the entire planet?
New York was a special place for me because it was messy and full to the brim of people. I love the idea of a city bustling with thousands of faces – of stories – from every corner of the world; and that’s exactly what London is: a city with millions of people everywhere.
One night, I stood at the corner of what had to have been an eight-way intersection and laughed like a madman because I was in extrovert’s paradise. Continue reading “London, England”
As I am writing this it is 8:30 pm and the sun is just now setting, casting the empty white walls of my apartment under the spell of an orange and pink sky. I am thinking about the color palette of a coral bedroom with gold accents, the idea of an ocean-themed bathroom and a farm-themed kitchen space, matching furniture and plate sets, and the idea that one day I will be grown.
In this moment I can hear the bustle of a fan on the floor beneath me because my washing machine went out two days ago and saturated the hallway carpet and linoleum floor with lukewarm water that has tainted the entire apartment with the stench of stale water. This recent washer debacle coupled with my recent two week “tour” of the Northwest, has led to a series of conclusions.
When my washing-machine started spitting its contents onto my recently cleaned floor, I made a startling observation – I called the rental agency via a series of alternate phone numbers and after receiving no reception, I dialed my Mom.
I have recently been blessed with an array of job interviews and networking opportunities. Almost like clockwork, the second or third question that interviewers on my campus ask is: “where are you from?”
In that moment, there is always a hesitation on my part, a moment where I genuinely consider the question and wonder which answer to give.
At the beginning of my Spring semester I accepted a job as a contributor to the campus yearbook, The Chinook. I was honored when our Editor asked me to be a representative at the College Media Association conference in NYC.
I would spend four days in the Big City with other team members who work for the Office of Student Media, learning media strategy in the morning and exploring the city at night.
We live in an era of comfortable Christianity where girls strut through church pews in yoga pants with calligriphied-tattoos of “worthy” on full display trumpeting the slogan of the redeemed while they sip their skinny vanilla lattes from Starbs (hold the foam, there’s hidden carbs in aerated milk). A society which neglects the truth of the gospel in exchange for a lie, we are the Romans 1:25 church.
We are so uncomfortable at the recognition of our unworthiness. In a world where we strive to classify every person as good and holy, it is suffocating to actually believe what the Bible says about our human condition – there is no one righteous, not even one (Romans 3:10). This means that with every fiber of my being I am wicked, to the core, there is poison in my heart and venom in my veins. There is nothing redeeming about me, my sins are blacker than night and thicker than coal. I am unworthy. Continue reading “Unworthy”