I came across this while flipping through one of my old journals. Its a conversation i had with God.
This blog was written in October, shortly after i got home from Rwanda. Emmanuel let out a sigh as we pulled up to the church. A rudely built, but beautiful old building, used for many years as a place of worship was now a memorial. Purple is the color of mourning in Rwanda and i saw purple everywhere, along with bullet holes.
As i walked up to the church, there was a pungent smell, a dirty smell. Its hard to describe. Before i even got to the door, i thought "Je ne veut pas etre ici." and the feeling intensified as we toured the church.
Fifteen years ago, a genocide occurred in Rwanda. The events leading up to it are complicated and the history is long, but in April of 1994, neighbors started killing neighbors because of what tribe they belonged to. The killings lasted for 100 days, and the death toll was around one million people. Thousands of people came to this particular church for refuge. Roughly 4,500 people packed into the church thinking that they would be safe when the killing started.
Our guide, who was eleven years old when the genoicide hit, explained to us that the holes in the cement floor just under the door way were from the grenade that the attackers threw to blow open the door.
He also told us that he survived by burying himself in the midst of dead bodies, blood and limbs and playing dead. He struggled to breathe because of other people's blood that pooled near his head and when, after two days he got up, he had to peel his face from the dried blood on the floor.
The piles of clothes everywhere were the clothes of the victims who weren't so lucky. The alter of the church was blood stained, and there were 'tools' of killing laying on it.
Once again it thought "je ne veut pas etre ici." We walked down into a little memorial. There were skulls laid out in rows, one even had the person's name written on it.
Behind the church, there was a crypt. A mass grave, if you will, of the 4,500 people who died in the there. There were a few steps to go down into it, and i could see caskets at the bottom of the stairs. My dad asked me if i wanted to go down there. I told him no, i didnt, and then went down the stairs.
There were metal shelves about 8 feet high. On the shelves were bones, piles of bones, and skulls. Or what was left of them. Some of the skulls were just fragments, i shudder to think how they got that way.
Just fifteen years ago, these were real people. Who laughed and sang and danced. I couldnt shake the feeling that there was evil in the crypt, these people died because of evil. As one Rwandan put it, during the genocide satan was loose in Rwanda.
The Rwandans have a proverb that says something to the effect that God goes all over the world during the day, but he sleeps in Rwanda. They also say that he slept somewhere else during the genocide.
After the genocide, Rwanda was reborn. In the wake of such terrible things, Rwanda has responded well. I was reminded of this, as i came out of the crypt, and i heard the sound of children's voices.
They had just gotten out of school for the day.
I woke up to the sound of thunder and the dramatic flash of lightening. Marching over the hills of Rwanda were thunderheads just waiting to unleash their anger on the city of Kigali. Being from Oregon, i'd never really experienced a thunderstorm of this magnitude, we dont really get thunderstorms here. I was actually legitimately afraid.
If there's one thing that sticks out in my mind about growing up in the Emerson household, its tea parties with daddy. Believe it or not, thats the thing i remember most my relationship with my dad prior to my teenage years.
It was pretty simple for him. He'd say something like "Lets have a tea party!" and we would go scurrying off to get it all ready. My sister Jami and i would get dressed up in our best Daisy Kingdom dresses, and then run to my sister Traci's room and ask/beg to borrow her miniature tea set for such an auspicious occasion as this. I remember the tea set well, it was mostly white, with lavender accents and lavender and white checked mini napkins... I always was jealous of it, i think Traci still has it. Anyway... We'd then run and ask mom if she had something to eat for our tea party, and we usually came away with some stale graham crackers or something like that. To be honest, im not sure i know what a not stale graham cracker tastes like...
All that dad really had to do was show up and smile and talk to us and tell us we were precious. Bingo, AWESOME dad in one easy step!
My dad and i laugh about this now, but truthfully, it did a lot for my relationship with my father. He cultivated in me a trust for him and an absolute security in fact that he loved(s) me. Having a tea party suuuch a girly thing to do, but my dad loved us, and so he came to our silly tea party with undersized tea cups and stale graham crackers, and loved us by speaking to our little girl hearts where we were at... Im thankful for my father, and for my mother too... I am who i am as a woman because of my dad's love and my mom's example... Well, and a plethora of other reasons too...
Tonight, after spending a good part of the last few days reading theology and thinking about the Christian faith in a very logical manner, im ready for something a little less cut and dry, a little less controversial... I decided to have a tea party with my Holy Daddy. While logic, theology and critical thinking skills are important, there's something to be said for an emotional connection with my Daddy, Jesus... I can theorize and think and live in a world of abstract possibilities, and miss the relationship. Tea parties with Jesus are important, at least for me. Jesus still looks at me over a cup a tea and some homemade shortbread cookies and smiles at me and tells me im precious while i tell him about all of my theories and hypothesis... or even just dump all of my silly girlish feelings on him... in spite of it all, i am confident in his love, and his steady and soothing voice compelling my wayward and sinful self towards his holiness...
I may not dress my best for Jesus, or bust out the stale graham crackers, but i connect with him over tea in a way that can never be rationalized.
Thanks goes to my earthly daddy, who, while still a fallen human, gave me a small picture of what a heavenly father looks like.
My mom, for stale graham crackers, and her nurturing of little hearts
Traci, for her tea set.
And Jami for being my tag-along. :)
And Jesus for having tea with me tonight, as i try and figure out what the heck predestination is all about.
"I thought it was 'if a body catch a body,'" I said Anyway, i keep picturing all these little kids, playing some game in a big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, i mean - except me. And im standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What i have to do, i have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - i mean they're running and they don't look where they're going I have come come out from somewhere and catch them. Thats all i'd do all day. I'd just be the Catcher in the rye and all...." J. D. Salinger Catcher in the Rye
The beach is not the place to work; to read, write or think. I should have remembered that from other years. Too warm, too damp, too soft for any real mental discipline or sharp flights of spirit. One never learns. Hopefully, one carries down the faded straw bag, lumpy with books, clean paper, long over-due, unanswered letters, freshly sharpened pencils, lists and good intentions.
The books remain unread, the pencils break their points and the pads rest smoothly and unblemished as the cloudless sky. No reading, no writing, no thoughts even - at least, not at first.
At first, the tired body takes over completely. As on shipboard, one descends into a deck-chair apathy. One is forced against one's mind, against all tidy resolutions, back in into the primeval rhythms of the seashore. Rollers on the beach, wind in the pines, the slow flapping of herons across the sand dunes, drown out the hectic rhythms of city and suburb, time tables and schedules. One falls under their spell, relaxes, stretches out prone. One becomes, in fact, like the element on which one lies, flattened by the sea; bare, open, empty as the beach, erased by today's tides of all yesterdays scribblings.
And then, some morning, in the second week, the mind wakes, comes to life again. Not in a city sense - no - but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind; what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor. Perhaps a channelled whelk, a moon shell or even an argonaut. But it must not be sought for or - heaven forbid - dug for. No, no dredging of the sea bottom here. That would defeat one's purpose. The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should like empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea.
--Gift from the sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.
The building is beautiful. The warm wood is inviting as you walk in the door. As you walk through the hallways the building becomes more and more beautiful. It has an interesting history, however, in one of the hallways there are portrait drawings of the nuns that are said to haunt the hallways. Ghosts from the building's history.
Its said that way back, the building was home to the Lucas family, one of the daughters in this family drowned in a nearby pond, her ghost still walks the area.
In its not so distant history, the building was a convent. A hospital of sorts. One of the wings was used to house the older and sickly nuns and another wing is said to have been a Psychiatric ward. Roughly 200 nuns lived and died in the building. Their bodies are buried in a cemetery not far from the UMSL campus. It seems though, that some of their souls did not rest as well as their bodies did
The drawings that are on the wall in one wing of the buildings are taken from student sightings of the "ghost nuns". Strange things happen to the students that live in the hall on a regular basis. Some hear running on the floor above them when there is no one there. Some hear a tapping on their door when no one is there.
Today, the building is used as the Honors College building for the University of Missouri - St. Louis. My best friend spends most of her time in this building. I was able to shoot some pictures of the building while she was in class. Finding out the history of such a beautiful building was fun and intriguing.
Note: Maren and Steven and Renita, If i got any of my facts wrong please let me know. =]
Citation: Drolet, Kate. "Ghost of the Provincial House." The Current (UMSL Student Newspaper). 2/24/03
Traci and i will both admit, she's somewhat of a difficult model. Not because she isnt beautiful, because she is. Gorgeous, acutally. She just feels really awkward in front of a camera.
We've had many conversations as to why this is, and I dont have much room to talk on this one, because im awkward in front of a camera too, but im the photographer so it works out really well for me.
Anyway, she says she feels like there is someone else there when my camera is around. Like someone she doesnt know very well is hearing her talk about some of her deepest feelings and emotions an observations. An interesting concept, i understand where she is coming from.
Because of this she is always very stiff in front of the camera. She is never completely comfortable and herself when its around. No matter how good the lighting is or how amazing the spot is, i can never quite get my her to be comfortable enough to get a non-posed shot. Its been a little frusterating, but really good for me - if i want to be a photographer im going to have to learn how to draw out subjects from the awkwardness of being the center of attention - so i'll learn what i can from this.
I've been so lucky in the past, that eventually my models relax and enjoy being in front of the camera, but not Traci... She's different. I think i like it about her though, capturing a real smile from her is an acomplishment and she's a challenge. She's helping me learn a lot about photography. Its really good for me, and i like the challenge :)
She told me the other day, that she thought she might do better if i had some sort of goal for her to accomplish. Like, "I want the outcome of this photoshoot to look like this..." kind of thing. Something that i am trying to get across with the pictures.
I thought about if for awhile. It was a really pretty day and that always makes me want to take pictures, and Traci came home and i was like "Sweet!"
I told her i wanted to explore her idea of beauty. I asked her to think about what makes her feel beautiful and thats what i wanted to shoot.
She surprised me with her answers...
Photograph 1-3
Traci feels beautiful when she's streching. She says its something to do with the fact that she was in gymnastics for years and she likes the feeling.
Photograph 4
Traci like the feeling of her hair when its half dry. She doesnt think it looks very good, but she really likes the way it feels when she runs her fingers through it. It makes her feel beautiful.
Photograph 5
Traci feels beautiful when she's wearing those shoes. She didnt give a reason why, but i suppose there's just something about wearing heels that makes a girl feel grown up and beautiful. She says they hurt though. She also likes wearing a slip by itself. I think she said because she likes how it feels on her skin.
Shelli
Im not sure how or why these pictures came about. It was a girlish whim i suppose.
I do belive though, that every picture taken has some sort of hidden meaning, if that makes sense.
I didnt take these pictures for any concious personal reason, i just took them. I didnt take them to make a statement or a point. I took them for me, and im not really sure why. I just felt like it. I guess they are a representation of how i felt at the time. Dont read into them, dont draw your own conclusions, and please, dont laugh... they are what they are, and im not even sure what they mean.
Maybe, they're coming from a feeling of a complete lack of beauty in my life. This feeling mostly come from the fact that i spend half my time in starbucks dress code, and the other half of my time too tired to put any effort into my appearence. It used to be that i would put together outfits to wear on my outings into portland, and dressing up all cute to go see Brian. Lately, you're lucky if you catch me in something besides jeans and a tee-shirt, and i ONLY put on make-up when i see Brian.
Not that its bad, i love wearing jeans and t-shirts... but, i want to feel pretty. I want to feel feminine, and i havent, in a long time. Its too much work, it takes too much time, its not practical for the cold, its not blah blah blah... i have all these excuses... i dont really know why.
Anyway, this photoshoot happened the other day... I wanted to use Jami, but she was sick. So i was like "fine, i'll use myself!" I dont really make a habit of doing self portraits... i think its kind of ridiculous to do a billion of them, but at the same time they're sort of an emotional release too, maybe its a pride thing, or maybe im just afraid that if i take pictures of myself, people will see my heart open in the picture. Maybe its a combination of both...
I went upstairs and put on the black dress. I never really have any occasion to wear it. I think i've worn it once, to the symphony. I never go anywhere nice enough to warrent a gorgeous black dress. The lipstick was an afterthought. It was in my makeup basket, i was just like "eh, why not."
I was wearing slippers, it was a bad idea. It was all muddy so i ended up taking them off. So there i was, in the middle of february barefoot and sweaterless, in the middle of a field of dead grass and weeds, in a black dress and red lipstick taking pictures of myself. Thats a funny thought. Maybe thats why i dont do self portraits... i just look stupid doing them...
It was great though, i really enjoyed it. I felt pretty i guess. That was nice.
Im still not sure what they mean, but meaning or not, they were an emotional outlet.
So there you have it, one of my first attempts to use photography as a personal outlet rather than trying take the most amazing picture in the world.
enjoy?
Shelli
I used to wear a star necklace. Pretty much all of the time. It was a simple white star made out of some sort of shell material on a plain black string. Nothing fancy but i thought it was cute.
I bought it in Mexico. My cousins took me with them on thier vacation to Mexico to nanny thier 18month son. It was awesome. We were walking a long a strip in Playa Del Carmen, a town a little ways out of Cancun, and i saw a variety of necklaces made out of some kind of shell material on a simple black string hanging in the door of a shop. For some reason they caught my eye, the star especially, but we kept walking and i didnt want to stop. I kept looking for another shop that carried them, but this little shop was the only one. Luckily we had to walk back by it to get to the car.
I did end up buying it. I probably payed too much for it, but by that time i was too tired to try and bargain for a better price from the wrinkled mexican lady who was running the shop... whatever.
When i bought it, it didnt mean anything special. I didnt buy the necklace because stars had some sort of specific meaning to me. I just bought it cause it was cute, and i wanted a necklace from Mexico.
What was interesting, though, is that as i wore it, it kind of became something special. I hardly ever took it off. If i did, people would notice, my family and friends would comment on the fact that i wasn't wearing it. It was interesting. I tried a few times to make up a really good story as to what it meant, but nothing seemed quite right. It just was what it was, a simple star necklace that looked really cute with dresses and jeans alike. That, i think was my favorite part about it. I could wear it with anything!
Two years i wore that necklace, i think... It went through about 3 strings, but i still kept wearing it.
This spring/beginning of summer me, and 4 cousins my great aunt and my grandma went to Hawaii. It was a great trip. All 5 of us cousins got along really great and we truly just had a good time with each other.
While we were there, My cousin Hannah and i were walking in the lobby of our hotel (which was amazing, the lobby was all open air and the hotel was just beautiful!) and there was a Hawaiian lady selling trinkets on a table there. My grandma told us we should go look when we were down there, so we did. Amidst the carved turtles, and bracelets that say "Aloha!" there was a bunch of random necklaces made out of whale bone on a plain black strings. They instantly caught my eye, but i didnt really like any of them because honestly, who wants a carved turtle around their neck? Sort of at the bottom of the pile, though, there was the most beautiful little seahorse pendant. It was intricatly carved and even had a small shell for an eye on it. I was told that these were all walebone necklaces that were hand carved by the vendor's husband. It was goregeous, i had to have it.
Unfortunatly, Hannah picked it up first. Her friend Alyssa LOVES seahorses. She was going to get it for her. I was a little bummed, and i asked the lady if she had another one. She fished through a bunch of baskets but didnt have any luck. She kept looking though, and luckily found another one. feuf.
I bought it, and took it back up to my hotel room. Then i took off my star. There was almost pang of remorse as i slid the star off of my neck, but the seahorse was SO cute, and besides, the star didnt MEAN anything too me, just like the seahorse didnt, psh! It wasnt really true though, the star did mean something to me, i'd worn it for so long that it just did.
I put the star in my makeup bag and tied the new necklace around my neck. It was really pretty. I sort of missed it for awhile though.
I ended up giving the star to my boyfriend, he kept it on his keychain and i think because of that, the tips chipped off and it broke. I was sort of sad, but at the same time, i wasnt.
I almost feel like that star symbolizes a time of my life that is over. I know its just a silly little thing, but i wore that star ALL THE TIME. Through a lot of highschool i wore that thing, through a lot of experiences and a lot of stuff, i was always wearing that star. It was bold, it was bright, it was sassy. Oh yeah!
When i bought the seahorse, a new chapter of my life was begining to unfold. I had literally, JUST graduated from highschool. Responsiblility and worry was weighing heavily on me for lots a reasons and spring and summer were a time of immence change, and a lot of pain and questions.
I remarked to my boyfriend at one point, that the seahorse is a much more delicate item than the star was. Its beautifully carved and made with care, where the star was just a simple pendant. I felt like it was the same with me. I felt like i was more delicate, i felt like i was less bold, and less sassy. I feel like some of the roughness in me has been worn off, some of the points of the star are gone. Its a good thing i think.
The seahorse i wear now symbolizes a different time in my life, i guess, and different ME really. Spring and summer and even fall, shaped me into something completely different, SOMEONE completely different.
Its interesting to look back and see the changes. Its exciting.
Shelli
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