Honeycrisp™

If any of you have ever dared to mention the word “apple” around me, you probably know that there is only one variety that I consider worthy of my taste buds.

The flippin’ Honeycrisp™.

This is a story of how my professor purchased happiness.

The Bronx understands!!!!

I literally asked someone to capture the moment. I'm not joking people.

The sunglasses are hiding tears.

Now I don’t understand the exact process of how this miracle fruit came into existence, but the magic happened at the University of Minnesota. Despite not studying at the U of M, this fact  makes me more closely-related to the celebrity apple than you are.

.... also a Minnesota creation.

I am riding this high horse because, if you have ever tried a Honeycrisp™ apple  in your short, bittersweet life, then you will know: this thing is different. This beautiful apple is different, and different is good. And from that moment on, every other apple has been but a sad comparison, a sad reminder that were not eating a Honeycrisp™.

Honestly if at this point you still haven’t tried one (and are in the states), stop reading and go buy one. Holy crap, its fall for you guys. GO BUY A FLIPPING HONECRISP™ APPLE AND WEEP FOR ME. WEEP FOR THE GIRL IN BRAZIL WHO CAN’T EAT THE SWEET FRUIT OF JOY and so goes to the beach to drown her sorrows in sunbathing.

Just kidding, I'm good.

In all seriousness, I’m fascinated with the process of “creating” something that occurs in nature – selectively choosing and grafting strains of fruit in order to grow something that would not have happened naturally. I have tasted and seen the beauty of the Honeycrisp™, which is created according to the same metaphor used to describe non-Jews becoming part of God’s people, part of His “family tree”.

And a more well-known bit...

“I am the vine, you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit. Apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

When someone becomes a child of God, they are taken off of the “vine” that they inhabited, and transferred to a new vine. They no longer find their energy for living from the roots of the old vine – because they are no longer connected to it. Go ahead, try to find sustenance in the roots of your old vine! Gol’ darnit it don’t work! Becaause... your source of life is new.

And what happens when the source of one’s life changes??? What happens when all of a sudden, my “branch” is grafted onto a new vine? The branch of my life produces a different fruit. It can never produce the old fruit. And the fruit of the vine of Jesus is like a flippin’ Honeycrisp™ apple. It is more perfect than any other apple.

Of course no fruit can ever be perfect, and of course some people may not appreciate that little package of sweetness and beauty like I do. But the scientists who created that apple at the University of Minnesota are probably still at it – tweaking and perfecting something that is already an incredible improvement to other apples. 

I have been taken from a vine that produced nothing, and have been grafted onto the vine that produces sweet and beautiful fruit. My life is so far from perfect, but I can tell you that I am a different apple on the vine of Jesus than I would be on my own vine. And because I draw my life strength from Him instead of myself, I am no longer strengthened or satisfied by things that are meant to self-satisfy.

Last night I was brought to joyful tears when I got the news that someone I had been praying for (but honestly had not thought about for a while) has been grafted onto the vine of Jesus.(Metaphor-talk for: this person acknowledged that she had sinned and separated herself from God, and trusted in Jesus to both forgive all of her sins and to take charge of her life – Jesus became the source of her life.)

Already, there are signs of a completely different attitude and approach to life in this individual – which brought me to think: how could someone who has not experienced the same transformation understand what it is like to become part of the family of God??? Jesus already had this metaphor covered (for real, read this) but it struck me with a new depth a few minutes ago.

 Try to keep up:

• You are a branch on a tree that is either dead or straight up nasty.
•  “Jesus put me on your tree!,” you say, “I’m straight up nasty and don’t have true life!”
•  Jesus grafts you onto his tree and says, “I hope you like things that taste really good, because we only produce awesome fruit here. Just stay with me child.”  
•  All of a sudden your life/“fruit” IS DIFFERENT. And more delicious each day that you are on Jesus’ vine.
•  PLOT TWIST: this tree doesn’t die. Once your old tree is straight up rotted out, you still gon’ be with Jesus. 4EVR.

Evidently this doesn’t have anything to do with Rio, but significant things for me usually take place internally – hence my lack of event upkeep over here. I’ve also promised myself to blog right away once I get hit with a thought, because if I wait too long I will complicate any insight and confuse it until it disappears into nothing.

So hopefully this marks a new beginning for this blog – a new strain of apple ;)

Love you guys – whoever you are. Nothing could possibly make me happier than for you to join me on the tasty tree.

Mugs of wine

The state of my room often feels like a good indicator of the state of my mind/heart. Recently the room has been pretty messy – the kind of messy that I don’t really know how to clean up or where to put things or in what order to wash the articles of clothing lying on the floor.

I feel right now like this will transfer into my writing here, but I guess sometimes I need to just push through. I can’t sweep the floor until I put all the junk away – control the disaster first, organize later. Throughout the week I’ve even had a few verbal quips run through my mind that have made me excited for my next post, but I’ll be lucky to remember any of them at this point… or remember how I had conceived them in a written context. With this blog on my mind I’ve been surprised at how my brain works in overdrive (even when I don’t want it to) to represent the stimuli that I am taking in daily as metaphors and turns of phrase and pictures and allusions and gifs.

Yup. I made my very first gif, and now I don’t remember at all how I had intended to use it.

Whatever this was supposed to be, it's fabulous.

Wow it been 20 days since the last post –-- no wonder I have no idea where to begin. So here is a spewing of stuff:

• Spending a lot of time doing events with an organization that brings together exchange students to Rio from all over the world in order to participate in cultural and other events in the city. This group has been a huge blessing! I’ve met some awesome girls from all over who are kind, welcoming, funny, and the right amount of crazy. Holler at my two brave Brazilian Ana babies whose maturity made me believe that they were at least a bit older than myself. The past weekend I went on a trip with this group to the beach city of Búzios, which is located a few hours outside of Rio and turned out to be the experience of a lifetime. I have never seen beaches and water so clear and gorgeous and pristine. My friends and I inadvertently picked the best room in the hostel. Private beach. Free breakfast. Free boat tour to said awesome beaches. Saw a stranded penguin. Toured the town and other beaches with 3 friends in a should-be-illegal buggy. Didn’t kill anyone in the buggy.

hello hostel yeeeee boi

Brazilians almost let me drive this thing - never driven a manual transmission in my life.
Recipe for death.

•  I love Wednesdays. One class at 11am, then the day free. This past week I walked to a restaurant with a friend after our classes, bought an açaí and listened to the fine musical stylings of a man playing guitar across the street. As he was packing up to leave I ran over to give him a few bucks and struck up a conversation – he gave me his business card and I now am obsessed with the idea of hiring him to play for my hypothetical birthday-party-on-the-beach.

Rainforest goodness. Recipe for life.

•          I’ve been late to my first classes every day.  One Tuesday that I was feeling especially guilty, the professor happened to post on the door that class would commence 30 minutes late that day. Situations like these make it difficult for me to distinguish real time from Brazilian time. I think I am slowly understanding more of what my professors are saying – I’m only taking classes in Portuguese, so it is a challenge to grasp actual academic content, not to mention process and engage with the class. If I learn a new word, I call the day a success.

•         Went to a beach town on Saturday and had pretend surf lessons. The “instructors” pushed us into the oncoming waves and said “get up!” Fall, rinse, repeat.

•         This Sunday was amazing – I went back to a church that I had visited before (as a result of a miraculous encounter with someone who knew the WORD [after we met in a Bible/Christianity class that I almost didn’t go to because I knew I would need to drop it] and brought me to visit his church), and had one of those moments where the sermon spoke directly to me. “The more you seek personal satisfaction, the less satisfaction you will find in Jesus." The service was followed by the afternoon spent with some awesome ladies from the church getting to know their neighborhood, eating good food, and eventually joining in their ministry at a nearby hospital praying for children and their families. Awe. Some.

This blog is a bagunça.

The End.

[By the way, the title is a reference to a goodbye dinner I had with one of my friends who was only here for the summer + a bit. Looking at the menu with the intention of ordering a glass of wine, my friend read English translation: “mug of wine.” So girl orders a “caneca de vinho,” assuming the phrase had been adopted to signify a classier liquid-carrying object. (Wine seems very simple here – Red or white? Dry or smooth? End scene.) Turns out if you ask for a mug of wine, you get wine in a coffee mug. And there was much laughter.]

Debt

Yesterday was interesting (actually the day I wrote the previous blog post). I had the entire day to myself to relax and do what I please, but by the end of the day I was spiritually exhausted – without having interacted with hardly anyone. Usually before this happens, I have to publicly screw up a few times.

Tangent – I’m still trying to figure out if I’m introverted or extraverted. Maybe that would play into this as well.

Since I woke up mid-morning I had to get some chores done, ate breakfast, went on a run, showered and had the afternoon to relax, read the Bible, blog. However I’ve learned that it’s never good for me to plan on having a devotional in Starbucks, because inevitably some loud Portuguese people (different accents than Brazilians) will Skype their parents next to you.

So I never got around to reading the Bible and as I was preparing to go out with friends last night, I realized I was absolutely spent. On nothing. I will mull on spiritual emptiness at a later date.

I was already a bit late to meet my dinner crew and attempted to convince myself that I would pray as I walked over – immediately realizing that I was copping out on this relationship-with-Jesus thing. For a few minutes I attempted to pray, thanking God for something, asking Him for something… only to stop myself in the split second afterwards having realized that I’m not actual thankful for that. I don’t actually want that. So the Spirit and I groaned for a little bit. True life: I can’t hold up my end of a relationship with God without God.

My first beach/I’m-alone-at-dinner read is A Praying Life, which was recommended to me about two years ago and I have only recently begun, putting prayer closer to the forefront of my mind. Because of this book, there was one morning on the bus to school when I was trying to pray but couldn’t focus my thoughts and stay “in conversation” (if that makes sense), so I repeated the Lord’s prayer in my head. I got to “give us this day,” and considered saying “me” instead of “us”, but realized that at any point in the day there are probably plenty of people saying this prayer across the world, which is awesome.

Option #1: “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us”

Option #2: “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors”

(I just now realized that most translations of the Bible that I use say "debtors," even though I am more accustomed to option #1.)

When open door #2 on this prayer, I here my father (Gary daddy, not God daddy) singing the phrase, which I believe I’ve only heard on one occasion in my life.

My reactions to these phrases are so different!!!  I have grown up knowing that “Jesus will forgive my sins” to the point that it feels like my sins are there just for the sake of His forgiveness… like its His job to forgive and my job to sin.

Debt feels so different.

Back to yesterday. After my attempt at prayer, I left the apartment and began walking the couple blocks to dinner, rather lost in thought and probably not as alert as I ought to have been for nighttime in Rio. I don’t know if I had asked God to teach me something, but my mind was on this concept of debt and vaguely on the lack of hatred that I have for my sin.

{Another piece of media that has affected me recently is a sermon on forgiveness by Tim Keller, the second in a series about how the gospel transforms character. I have only listened to the first two (while on a 2-day road trip with my dad from Richmond to Minneapolis), but let me tell you, this one is a doozy. If you enjoy having the carpet ripped out from under you with love, I highly recommend it. This sermon addresses the debt between a “servant” (listen to the sermon and you’ll understand the quotations), his master, and the servant of the “servant.” This debt is clearly explained as sin between people and God, and between people and other people.}

So as I was walking to dinner, I was thinking about debt. Then I was hit with this picture:

Back in the dating days of my youth, I went out to dinner with then-current boyfriend at California Pizza Kitchen. Not super ritzy, not slouch, just some good food located in the middle of the first indoor mall in the USA. I don’t remember quite how the date went, but it happened to occur towards the end of our relationship. So here we are – I’m pretty sure we had ordered a salad and a pizza between the two of us, when the bill comes. Now boyfriend from the very beginning had been adamant about paying for bills. Before we were actually dating I felt the need to argue my way to the cash register in order to assert some independence (which I realize now that time we spent together “not dating” was just pretending that we were friends – oops tangent). So given this history, I assume that he will take care of the bill, because that was how our dates played out. Bill came, and boy didn’t have enough cash on him. Boy leaves table to walk through mall and look for an ATM, comes back empty handed. I had not brought any cash and now want to crawl under the table.

Just discovered that the Edina location closed. I will let my shame die with the wood-burning oven.

A couple booths over I notice a family friend, the wealthy parent of one of my brother’s best friends. Cue dramatic resolution-in-progress music. Our family was close with his, even spending one vacation together. So I tell boyfriend that I will ask this man to spot us the cash we were lacking (I remember shame-based events in my life pretty well, so I’m pretty certain that all we lacked was $5). First horrible feeling: approach table, call family friend by his first name. Aw dang, cherry on top, I’m not respectful. Second horrible feeling: family friend does not smile. Awwww you’re kidding me. Third horrible feeling: boyfriend is not groveling.
Grovel man, grovel!

I can’t remember if it was before or after lil’ boy and I broke up when I sent family friend a card with the borrowed cash and a note of gratitude/apology.

So maybe it is evident enough from this story that I do not do well with debt; both monetary debt, and debt of inconvenience, reputation, etc., to people.

I take my people-pleasing seriously (I say facetiously). I legitimately look forward to conversations with adult strangers/new acquaintances, because since I was a child I have enjoyed surprising people with how matuuuuure I am. One of my earlier memories is making my first grade teacher laugh during a parent-teacher conference because I said something thoughtful. And I absolutely take undue pride in this. I love my reputation – I know that sometimes I can even coast on it and get privileges others would not get, without having to demonstrate the “character” that I seemed to have proven previously. (I've been told that I'm hard on myself -- however this blog is a window into my brain. Welcome to the jungle.)

If I enter into debt with a person, ESPECIALLY a person of influence, I am undone. Absolutely. Undone.

Mortified. Destroyed. Would rather hide and tremble in a fetal position than face the world.

This is my attitude towards debt between myself and other people – but my debt towards God? The sin that I commit even in the process of gaining my “high ground” among others? I treat my sin like Jesus’ privilege to forgive.

But forgiveness is not just an attitude - not just an acceptance of the ish that I have done. Forgiveness of my debt towards God is literally (alright, metaphorically) God picking up the restaurant tab that I cannot pay for, a tab that faaaar exceeds my ability to reimburse in a thank-you note and grovel my way to good standing. I can do nothing to make myself look good to God. My spiritual thank-you notes, apologies, and $5 bills add up to anthrax mail.

This is what dawned on me on the way to dinner. Then I walked into a frayed bumper on car and ripped my jeans (don’t worry Mom, they’re still wearable).

Jesus forgives sin – not by lending a fiver. Not with a sour face and a sense of disdain towards this little 16 year old girl whose boyfriend is a total noob (sentiments of the moment). Not someone whose trust or approval I must earn by placating and groveling and complimenting and thanking. Jesus saw the un-payable, unforgivable, unsatisfiable debt that I have incurred both by just being human and by deliberately loving my sin more than I love Him, and He gave his very life blood so that I could walk out of this metaphorical California Pizza Kitchen a free woman.

Praise be to the One who has forgiven my debt and given me life.

Crashing parties taking names finding trashcans

I leave blog posts that I’ve begun in a folder that remains unopened for at least a week, and by the time I revisit them I want to stuff the whole lot of it into a blender.

So I might as well publish these things before I critique them to death.

To begin: imagine your group of friends/companions/acquaintances is in flux – a good, productive flux. You end up at the house of new friend for the first time, requiring directions and maybe a Google maps confirmation. You stay in the car until you are sure the numbers on the house match what you wrote down. Inside you wonder: do I take my shoes off? Does the basement have white carpet I’m going to mess up, or should I leave them on because people will be outside… bug spray? Dang should have brought that. Water – oop the mom is in the kitchen – what’s this kid’s last name again? Hiii Mrs… Johnbergstein…

However after a couple weeks, you are no longer the newcomer. You direct new newbie to the bathroom, and even know which trap door hides the kitchen garbage can. 

I have to admit that I struggled conceptually with this for about 15 minutes before realizing that I needed to switch the variables.

"Hello, Mrs. Johnbergstein, it’s good to see you again!" Or, now that you know how to get to the basement without ending up in the master bedroom, just walk on downstairs. Grab that water and/or bug spray. Skewer a mallow. Put the mallow on the gram. Scarf.

This is essentially the difference I feel in my new home. I walk straighter, instinctively protect my purse less (not carelessness, just less touristy), have more success at the grocery store and understand a bit more banter going on around me.

Yesterday on the street, a young lad painted as a Heineken bottle approached me and asked for some change. In this deal-changing moment, he saw past my blondeness and considered me worthy of Portuguese fluency/potential Brazilian status. At the grocery store, the woman behind me in line asked if I had a club card and offered her number for my purchases. The contrast of these experiences: if I so much as ask anyone to repeat themselves, they revert to crisis “no speak Portuguese” mode and attempt to communicate with their 100-word English vocabulary. “No, really, I speak, you just said that real fast, dude.” The bus system no longer wigs me out, which is a big deal considering that I have a registered handicapped internal sense of direction. In other news, today I ran around the lake and no longer felt like I was crashing someone else’s party.

Proceeding to text written a week ago:

Another thing that has made me feel at home is a constant and miraculous connection with helpers throughout my journey. My first Sunday here, my host “mom” attempted to explain and help me experience the bus system by taking me to her cousin’s house via bus. This was something unrequired of her, and incredibly significant to me – I feel most loved when someone takes my needs into consideration so that I feel secure and prepared for whatever task or challenge is ahead. She could very well have said “take bus 435” and would have done her part, but her desire that I know the ins and outs of the process was a blessing. In the end however, the bus we wanted never came and we had to taxi. ‘Twas the thought.

So Monday morning arrived, and I waited for my first experience on a public bus by myself (#suburbanproblems). My next task was to find an office on the 8^th floor of a building that I had never been to on a campus whose map I did not understand. As my bus pulls up, I got my fare out of my pocket and looked up only to see the face of the only other person I knew in the entire city of Rio de Janeiro. My fellow spider then guided me through my first bus ride and helped me navigate the jungle that is our Rio campus.

Some editing was needed.

Other encounters have blessed me just as much…

• After arriving late I was put into a lower level language class, the professors of which sent me to a class I probably would not have reached through standard procedure.
• Invited to lunch the first day where I discovered the $3 delicious Brazilian Sodexo meal I would have otherwise missed.
• Made a lovely friend whose aptitude in city living was much higher than mine and who held my hand through many firsts.
• Host brother of UR friend brought me to visit his church.
• All the sweet ladies in stores who talk to me and make me feel welcome into this new place.

Rio Re-cap for the Rents:

• Saw the Pope drive by Copacabana beach in the Pope-mobile and watched mass on a big-screen.
• Finished my month-long language intensive, and passed ;)
• Watched the sun set at Pão de Açucar, the famous “hills” connected by cable cars. The view was so absolutely absurd that at one point I was walking while looking over the city and straight up collided with a woman. I’ve been learning how to communicate, “I am so sorry”.
• Went to the restaurant where "Girl from Ipanema" was written... for the 2nd time.
• Cooked a real meal with a friend for some friends, and it actually turned out well.
• Favela tour in Santa Marta favela, the first to be pacified in 2008. There is a kiosk near the exit that had THE MOST ridiculous grilled chicken I have ever eaten. The experience was a little odd however, as at times it felt like the distinction between our tour group and the people living life right next to us created a sort of poor-people zoo.
• Tour of Centro district of Rio and visit to an outdoor samba event.
• Bought some kick-butt shoes at the only reasonable price to be found in the city.
• Much walking around the Ipanema and Copacabana neighborhoods and beaches.
• Makin franz
• Chillin out
• Blaggin
• Relaxing, all cool.

Some pictures/videos for your viewing pleasure:

Ascent to Pão de Açucar
Sunset at Pão de Açucar (Sugar Loaf Mountain)
(I attempted to link the videos directly, but Youtube will have to do.)

CAPITALISM: charge for photos with Pope-castle

ITSTHEPOPEwooptherehegoes

Visually spectacular. Kind of like Rio.

"Is this real life"

Me and my boyfriend, Ice Cream, enjoying the sunset.

Our waiter was enamored with the second girl from the left - "I lobe yew, yew are bewtiful"