Katie's Senior Portraits

She's a pretty girl, isn't she?

This is Why I Love Gymnastics Camp

Although I’m nowhere near done posting about Jerusalem, I have to take a slight detour to share in the hilarity that is preschool snack time.

This week, I ran a gymnastics camp for 4-6 year-olds. It isn’t so much gymnastics as it is watching small children almost kill themselves as they careen through the air off a spring board (narrowly missing, or sometimes hitting another kid), or teeter across a balance beam while looking sideways and saying in their non-inside voice “Hey, Teacher! Watch me!”

You quickly realize that saying those two words “be careful” has no merit whatsoever, and that when worse comes to worst, you just play a rousing game of “shipwrecked,” because at least it corrals them in the same general area.

My favorite part of camp is always snack time for the following reasons:

1. Snack, duh

2. The kids are sitting in chairs (for the most part)

3. The conversation

Snack time brings out the real kid inside the kid because they’re forced to sit there and just talk to each other. One of my favorite things to do is watch them talk and eat, and imagine a bunch of middle-aged guys in button-down shirts and ties at lunch hour doing and saying the exact same things. It’s really quite hysterical. You get the random screamings, the dreadful knock-knock jokes, the awkward comments about how another kid has boogers running out his nose, the folded arms and stern proclamation that none of the jokes were funny or worthy of laughter, and the revealing of too much information about their parents that would embarrass them to no end. Sometimes I stare at them and just start laughing because the visual is too much to handle.

This conversation, however, beat them all:

Kid #1: (leaning in towards kid #2 very closely) “Did you know you can die?”

Kid #2:  “Jesus died.”

Kid #1: (taken aback) “No, my mom said he’s still alive.”

Kid #2: “Nuh uh, he died a long time ago.”

Kid #1: “He’s dead here but alive in heaven.”

Kid #2: “Well, my grandpa died.”

Kid #3: (finding this conversation much more intriguing than any other) “Hey, my dad is really old. And he has a MUSTACHE!”

I'm not really sure what that had to do with anything, but I loved it anyway.

And here's a picture of a sweet mustache I found in Jerusalem, just for good measure.

The Bus

So, if you haven't noticed yet, I sort of have a problem...

I'm a creeper.

It's true. I take stalker pictures of people all the time. I really can't help it. When someone has an amazing mustache, or the coolest wrinkles I've ever seen, or some kid licking ice cream is just too stinkin' cute to handle, I just have to take their picture.

I recently discovered the city bus is a great place for stalker pictures. Here are a few of my favorites.

Andrew and Megan were so patient while I said, "Pretend to smile while I take a picture of that dude behind you." Seriously, the things I put them through...

Jerusalem, Jerusalem

As I sat in church this morning back home in Washington, my heart nearly shattered as I stared at the brick wall behind the speaker instead of this glorious view I enjoyed for the last 3 1/2 months.

We sang the same hymns that I had just sung at the Sea of Galilee not three weeks earlier, and the phrase "walk the path that thou hast shown" felt like someone was squeezing my insides, because I suddenly realized I wouldn't be able to walk in the Savior's physical footsteps anymore. I wouldn't be able to go visit the Garden of Gethsemane after church. 

The sacrament bread wasn't pita. It was just bread.

The speaker talked about David, that great king of Jerusalem. I thought of his palace I just went to a few weeks ago for the third time this summer. Then she talked about Peter. 

I was just at Peter's house. 

It took everything I had to not break down in tears over and over again, and I couldn't even describe why. In desperation, I opened my Bible and looked at the pictures and maps in the back. I found Jerusalem. It was nothing like the real thing, but it was the only consolation I had.

In Sunday school, we read the verses in the Acts about Paul having a dream in Troas about a Macedonian man pleading for his help. Not three months ago, I stood in Troas, reading this same verse as I looked over to Macedonia. They read the passages like they were nothing, and my heart simply ached because they didn't understand. I wanted to stand up and scream,"No, wait. You missed it," but there was nothing I could say. They couldn't understand. 

It wasn't their fault.

Church was hard today. It took me by surprise and with more impact than I was ready to handle. I knew Jerusalem had changed me, but I didn't realize how much. I'm sure this is only the beginning in a long line of these experiences, but at least I have 79 other students to go through it with me. 

I came home and stared at these pictures for awhile, and then I felt better. Although I'm not there anymore, my city still is. My beautiful, magical city. My Jerusalem Center experience didn't end when I got on that plane to come home. In fact, I think it's only the beginning. 

Jerusalem Time Lapse: A City of Many Colors

5:06 a.m.

5:26 a.m.

5:33 a.m.

 5:48 a.m.

 6:12 a.m.

6:16 a.m.

6:42 a.m.

9:41 a.m.

12:43 p.m.

4:10 p.m.

7:01 p.m.

 7:17 p.m.

7:28 p.m.

 7:35 p.m.

 7:42 p.m.

7:50 p.m.

8:00 p.m.

8:12 p.m.

And this is what I look like when I wake up at 4:45 a.m. the day of finals to take pictures. This is quite possibly the best self-portrait ever.

O Jerusalem, If I Forget Thee

After three flights and nearly 50 hours of no real sleep, I arrived back home last night. It's wonderful to be back in the United States where I don't have to go out in groups of three, I can wear whatever I want (I just threw away my white V-necks, and it felt great), I can have a cheeseburger without worry about breaking Kosher laws, and I can look people in the eye without them taking it as some message that I'm morally loose; however, I think I forgot a big chunk of my heart in Jerusalem. 

Over the course of the past 3 1/2 months, my life has been changed. The things I've learned have been more than just the date that Sennacharib invaded Jerusalem (701 BC, in case you were wondering) or that the manger Jesus was laid in as a baby was actually made of stone (I know, right?), but I've learned about other people, myself, and my God. While the facts I've learned will fade from my memory and the places will become a blur, I hope the principles I've learned, the feelings I had, and the changes I've made will never leave. 

I still don't know how I had the privilege of studying in that Holy Land, but I thank the heavens every day that I did. I was afraid I'd wake up this morning to find that it was all a dream and that it wasn't reality after all. The Jerusalem Center experience is completely indescribable. It's incredible, life changing, exhausting, educational, heart-breaking, inspiring, challenging, fun, spiritual, rewarding, humbling, terrifying, hard, easy, and everything in between. 

Pictures and words can't come close to portraying it in full, but I only hope that by sharing some here and there, I've been able to at least show you a little bit of what happened there. By the way, just because I'm home doesn't mean I'll stop posting pictures. It just means I have time to do it. I have hundreds I haven't even looked at yet. 

O Jerusalem, If I Forget Thee...

Never.